Perfect Little World(15)
He had received several grants, a substantial amount of money, to test his theories, and he focused on a few neighborhoods, finding ways to link new parents and their children, putting aside resources for child care and development, getting those without children or who no longer had children within the age range involved in outreach with their neighbors, and, finally, providing communal spaces for interaction and growth. Initial studies had shown significant improvement in the development of these children, regardless of socioeconomic background or family history. For Grind, however, it wasn’t enough to get people to see their neighbors as potential sources of support, he wanted them to see one another as members of a singular family, but this seemed troubling to his colleagues, moving into a kind of new-age therapy, and so they continued to focus on hard data and scientific methods.
“Well,” Preston replied, his pale skin, he could feel it, turning deep red with embarrassment, “I don’t know how successful it ultimately will be. It requires long-term studies, and further testing has found new issues that we’ll have to address moving forward.”
It was a habit that he found difficult to break, the way he talked about the work as if he were still a part of it, as if he had anything to do with the studies now, having removed himself from all of it.
“I mean, rather, that someone else will have to address. I am, as you may or may not know, no longer directly involved in the Artificial Village project. My name is still listed as an advisor, but I couldn’t tell you exactly what the status of the project is at the current moment. If you want to become involved in it, I know they would appreciate your support. I could put you in touch with the proper people.”
“Dr. Grind, I am very much aware of your circumstances,” Mrs. Acklen said. “I have quite a bit of time to devote to my interests; I do my research. No, while I think it is worthwhile and deserves attention, my interest is not with the Artificial Village project. My interest is, to be frank, with you.”
Preston’s face grew even hotter, a heat wave passing through his system. Was Brenda Acklen coming on to him?
“I’m flattered, Mrs. Acklen,” he responded.
“Call me Brenda, please,” she said, smiling.
“Only if you call me Preston,” he said.
“Certainly,” she replied. “No need for formality here.”
“Well, I’m very honored to meet you, as I said earlier, and I’m very grateful to hear your kind words about my work. I’m just not sure what it is I can do for you, why I’m here.”
Mrs. Acklen took a sip from her iced tea. “Preston, could I tell you a story? Do you have time for that?”
Preston felt like time had stopped, that he had entered some kind of vortex when he stepped into Mrs. Acklen’s office. “I have time, certainly,” he said.
“I grew up in an orphanage. Did you know that?”
“I read something about that, yes,” he replied.
“Well, when I was four years old, my father died of a heart attack. A complete shock to the family. And my mother, in his absence, had to find work to support our family. His parents had long since died and he had no siblings. My mother’s father was dead and her mother was in a state-run hospital. She also had no living brothers or sisters. She was, for the most part, entirely alone. She did her best to raise me and my older brother, but times were hard and she eventually felt that she could not take care of us. So she took us, without warning or explanation, to the Church of God Orphanage in Knoxville. I don’t know if you were aware, but a good number of children in orphanages at that time were not actual orphans. It was common for parents, fallen on hard times, to give up their children. In fact, there were several boys and girls at the orphanage who would be reunited with their parents and then, six months later, brought back to the orphanage when money had again run out. But that’s not entirely important, I suppose. I just thought you might be interested to hear it. The point was, Preston, that the traditional view of orphanages, especially at that time, was that they were depressing places where children were abused and neglected. And while that was quite true of some places, I have no doubt, my time at the orphanage was, frankly, a gift. My mother, bless her, had psychological problems, which were exacerbated by my father’s death. She hit us and put us through quite a bit of emotional abuse. She could not care for us. The orphanage could. I loved my time there, not least because I met my husband. I truly believed that each and every child in that home was my true brother and sister. I felt a kinship greater than any nuclear family. And while the staff was by no means a substitute for a mother and father, they treated me with kindness; I was loved, in some way, by not just two parents, but by a large group of people with whom I interacted daily. In fact, once I was old enough to leave the orphanage, Terry and I moved into an apartment while he started working at the store he would eventually own, and I felt so lonely in that place, removed from all my friends. I was completely out of sorts. And when we had our children, again I felt adrift, no one to help me or show me the best way to take care of these babies that had come into my life. And though we got through it, far better than most people, and we made a wonderful life for ourselves and our children and their children, I can’t help but think back on that time in the orphanage as the best years of my life. Isn’t that silly?”
“I don’t think so, Brenda,” Dr. Grind replied, feeling something click in his brain, his affection for Mrs. Acklen growing as she voiced something that he had considered for many years now.