Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)(16)

“Monica, this is Spencer Bowan Cavanaugh. Non-profit founder by day, musician by night.”

“Nice to meet you, Monica.” Bo stuck out his hand and Monica rolled her eyes.

“Shut up. I’ll get the details later. Right now we have a room full of people that need to meet you . . . Mr. Cavanaugh.” Her to-the-point humor made fast friends with my cynicism early in our friendship. It came in handy in times like these.

As we headed to the meeting room, I was eager to hear what he had to present. How had a man, like Bo, decided to pick up the pieces of his deceased parents’ dream? As soon as he started speaking, I was fighting tears.

“My little sister, Rachel, was in a drug rehab facility by the time she was fifteen.” Bo didn’t make eye contact with me, which my glistening tear ducts appreciated. “She had been doing drugs for about six months when she nearly overdosed on cocaine and alcohol. She was in the ICU for a week before she was sent to rehab. My parents’ eyes were opened to the rampant drug and alcohol use among her friends and in our community. The issue crossed class lines, it didn’t discriminate. Pills, alcohol, and cocaine seemed to be the easiest thing for my sister and her friends to come by; it nearly killed her.” He inhaled deeply and continued.

“Rachel was in the rehab facility for almost six months. She was very depressed, and expressed several times that she wasn’t ready to go home for fear of using again, but she was home in time to start her junior year of high school. I had already been out of college for a year, so I was able to help Rachel stay out of trouble by spending a lot of time with both her and her friends. The summer before Rachel’s senior year, my parents started working on DROP. Their vision was a community action organization which provided realistic opportunities for young people to engage in, alternatives to drug use, and a place to seek help when needed. At the end of the first year my parents - Spencer and Vivian - were busy lining up donors and spaces, when they were killed in a car accident.” His voice clipped at the memory.

“Two years after their death I was ready, and able, to reignite DROP. I’ve spent the past two years securing financial backing, and developing a solid program with David Bryson. In our hometown, DROP has been fully operational for a year, and has successfully set up both a community center and a mentoring program. Now, we’re ready to expand. The problem isn’t just in our hometown - it’s everywhere. We’d like to align with an organization that focuses on domestic violence, as we’ve seen drug use in our teens is often paired with violence at home or violence in their relationships. Thank you for letting me share our story.”

I blinked for what felt like the first time since he started speaking, thankful my tears had burrowed back into their hole. I caught Monica’s eye, and she seemed to be thinking the same thing. Wow.

Monica rose and shared The Hope Foundation’s mission statement, and her work with community education. She noted that while our foundation didn’t have its own centers outside of offices, we did work in conjunction with domestic violence shelters. She concluded that, from her standpoint, being able to have our own center(s) would ultimately work in the favor of the community by providing a non-threatening place for young people or families to spend time, and not just seek us when they’re in crisis. All through Monica’s speech, Bo listened attentively. He continually shot me side glances and always caught me staring at him - I blushed every time.

Whatever hotness level I thought he attained in Finnegan’s was blown to smithereens when I saw him in business attire. I spent my whole life balancing the free lifestyle I grew up in, with the structured life I craved. Sitting across from me seemed to be another human being balancing conflicting lifestyles. And, I happened to know what his tongue could do outside of the boardroom.

When it was my turn to speak, I presented a resume-style list of the grants I was able to secure during the past four years. I lauded myself on my ability to maintain consistent and respectful contacts with people in both the public and private sector. Most of our success had come from outstanding government grant programs, but I’d spent the last year researching private funding options due to the financial mess of the government.

“Mr. Cavanaugh, Monica tells me that DROP has two, multi-million dollar backers. While we wouldn’t want to piggy-back off of those donors, would your grant writer be willing to teach me a little bit more about securing large funds from the private sector? My specialty is in public money, which is tight these days.”

“Yes, Ms. Harris. In fact, I know at least one of our backers would be open to financially supporting whichever organization DROP teams up with.” A boyish grin crossed his face.

“Oh? Do you mind sharing which one, so I can research them a bit?”

“Me, Ms. Harris. My parents were wealthy business people. When their estate was settled, I decided to use most of their money to fund their dream. My sister also puts her inheritance into the organization. I can’t speak for her, but I know I would be interested.”

Oh, so he and his sister are the two multi-million dollar backers. Neat. I kept my game face on while our boss, Carrie, called the meeting to end.

“Thank you, Mr. Cavanaugh. Ember, I’d like it if you and Monica could set up some more meetings with Mr. Cavanaugh, his community educator, and financial person to see if this is a collaboration that would work on the nuts and bolts level. It all seems very promising, so I’m leaving this project to the two of you.” She left, followed by her secretary, and Don, our IT guy. Monica, Bo, and I were left in the empty meeting room to discuss a time for our “next meeting.”