Donna Hill - Chances Are

Brenda blew out a breath and slowly shook her head of spiral curls. “If it’s not one thing it’s something else. But at least we’ll have a shot with this public service thing.”

“That’s what I’m hoping.”

Brenda looked at Dione’s profile for a long moment, assessing the faraway look in her expression. Although they weren’t what you would call best friends, and didn’t share a lot of personal secrets, she felt she knew Dione well enough to sense when something was troubling her. But Dione had always been so self-contained, in control and focused. She seemed to have her life totally together. And even in the three years that she’d been working at Chances Are, Dione never shared her life story or why she decided to open the house. No more had ever been said beyond, “It’s something I felt compelled to do. Someone had to do it.”

Dione Williams was a private person. No one seemed to really know what drove her. What gave her the determination and drive. Maybe that’s just the way she was. But Brenda had serious doubts that it was that simple. Something pushed Dione Williams. Whatever it was, it had one helluva hold on her.

“What time is this guy coming?”

“Ten.” She fidgeted with the collar of her camel-colored silk blouse, then suddenly stood. “I’m going to check with Betsy. See how she’s making out with the girls. It’s time for day care to open.”

Brenda watched her walk out and wondered again what was stirring beneath the cool-watered surface.

For the third time that morning, Dione inspected her building from top to bottom, finally stopping in the basement where day care was in full swing. Sesame Street was playing from the small, portable television, the soft scent of baby powder and sweet formula filled the air.

Betsy looked up from changing the diaper of one of the toddlers, seeing Dione standing in the doorway. Betsy set the baby boy down on the floor, gave him a light tap on his bottom and crossed the pale blue floor. She stopped directly in front of Dione, the top of her graying head just reaching Dione’s chin. She stroked her cheek.

“What’s wrong, chile? You got that haunted look in your eyes like when you was worrying over one thing or the other. Or about that baby girl of yours.”

Dione forced a tight-lipped smile. “Just want to make sure everything is okay.” She looked over Betsy’s head, her eyes scanning the room.

“Of course everything is okay. Now, you want to tell me what’s really bothering you, Dione Williams?”

Dione met Betsy’s eyes. “I don’t want them to find any fault. We need this thing to work Betsy.” The little Betsy did know about their situation was enough. She didn’t want to tell her just how desperate things were. That she hadn’t taken a paycheck in more than a month, that she stayed up nights working and reworking the figures to make sure that the bills and the staff were paid, that the politicians were no longer interested in the plight of homeless young mothers, they had new agendas. How could she tell this to the woman whom she’d silently pledged to take care of?

“Of course it will. You just need to have a little faith.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Did you make out okay with Kisha and Theresa?”

Betsy waved her hand in dismissal. “Those two were so excited, I almost couldn’t get them out of here for school and Theresa off to that special reading test.”

Dione smiled, then checked her watch. “I’d better get upstairs.” She turned to go.

“I know something’s bothering you, Dione,” Betsy said, halting Dione’s exit. “Let it go. Everything will work out. Always has.”

Dione nodded, wanting to believe. But it had always been hard for her to have blind faith, ceaseless hope. She couldn’t depend on the intangible things—things she couldn’t see, couldn’t touch. Hopes and dreams dissolved, like mist burned off after the morning sunrise. She couldn’t trust emotion, only reality. Emotion got you in trouble. Made you stop thinking with your head. She couldn’t afford that. Emotion had cost her once, she couldn’t let it cost her again. Especially now.

Garrett slowed to a stop in front of the building and checked the address against the one written on the slip of paper. Frowning, he leaned closer to the passenger window and checked again. His gaze ran up and down the well-kept brownstone, the curtains and blinds that lined the oversized windows.

This couldn’t be the place. Maybe he’d gotten the address wrong. But he was pretty sure he hadn’t. This was a shelter? His vision of a shelter was nothing like what was in front of him. Probably just a front, he concluded. They couldn’t very well have an eyesore in the center of this middle-class neighborhood. He was certain the inside would meet his expectations.

He shut off the car, took his portfolio from the passenger seat and got out.

By the time Dione reached the main floor, she spotted Garrett through the glass-and-oak door, and was once again seized with a gentle wave of caressing heat, her earlier frustration soothed and massaged away.

She took a breath and unlocked the door, putting on her best, happy-to-see-you smile.

“Right on time,” she greeted, stepping aside to let him pass. She caught a whiff of his cologne.

“That’s just one of my many attributes.” He gave her that dimpled smile and tugged off his Chicago Bulls baseball cap.

For a moment their gazes connected and Dione had the strangest feeling that he wasn’t talking about his filming talents.

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