they bug me.”
The childish phrasing puzzled Rick for a moment, until he saw his younger daughter nod in agreement. “Me, too.”
“I don’t bug you,” Caitlin corrected her with a frown.
“Yes, you do, but it’s okay. I still love you.”
“Aww...” The older girl beamed at her little shadow and pulled her close for a sideways hug. “That’s so sweet. I love you, too, Froggy.”
Rick laughed out loud, and Emma looked up at him. “Froggy?”
“When we were waiting for Aubrey to join us, we let Caitlin name the baby. There was a character in a kids’ movie at the time named Froggy, and she picked that. We thought it was cute, so we went along. After that, it became one of our inside family jokes.”
“I’m very familiar with those,” Emma commented, smiling as she stood.
“I’ve met your brothers, so I don’t doubt that for a second.”
While they finished off their snack, they chatted lightly about the weather and the upcoming spring concert and art show to be held at the school. While his daughters occupied themselves by rearranging Emma’s dwindling stock by color, Rick noticed a stack of flyers sitting on her table. Recognizing her sister-in-law Lindsay’s handiwork on the promotional material, he picked one up to see what it was about.
One-of-a-kind jewelry designed and handmade by Emma Calhoun. All proceeds to benefit the Liberty Creek After School Arts Program.
Amazed that she was giving up an entire Saturday and not keeping any of the money she made, he turned the sheet toward her. “I didn’t realize you were doing this for nothing.”
“Not for nothing,” she corrected him sweetly. “For a bunch of awesome kids who enjoy art as much as I do.”
“Is the program really in danger of being cut?”
“Always. It’s open to students of every age, and they bus kids who want to participate down from the middle and high schools. It’s a great alternative to them going home to an empty house, but every year the school budget gets tighter, and there’s only so much money to go around. Last year we barely squeaked by.”
“How many students use it?”
“That’s not the point,” she reminded him curtly, a flash of temper pinking her cheeks. “Children deserve to have a creative outlet, and some of the older ones need a place to hang out after school. This program does both.”
The scolding was delivered in the same soft voice she’d used before, but it seethed with a frustration that told him she’d delivered this speech many times before. Hoping to soothe her ruffled feelings, he smiled. “It sounds like a valuable thing to offer, and I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I was just curious about the numbers, because sometimes using them to illustrate your point carries more weight with bureaucrats than pure sentiment does.”
“Well, that’s different,” she announced, shaking off the fit of temper with a breezy laugh. “I guess I’m so used to defending the arts, I get my back up too easily. Thirty-four kids come in on a regular basis, but around holidays like Christmas and Easter we get more because they like making gifts for people.”
No mention of Mother’s Day, he noticed, although he was fairly certain that was also on the list. He appreciated her avoiding the difficult subject, and while he didn’t normally interfere in people’s endeavors, her sensitivity made him more inclined to volunteer some advice. “If you’d like, we can sit down and review the finances for the program, see if there might be a way to generate the revenue you need to keep it on firmer footing. That way you and your Rembrandts-in-training wouldn’t be so dependent on the school board to keep the club afloat.”
She blinked up at him as if she didn’t quite follow his train of thought. “Finances for the program?”
“How much is earmarked in the budget for supplies, your salary, things like that,” he clarified as patiently as he could. Sarah had often accused him of assuming that everyone had his affinity for numbers and how certain strategies affected a company’s bottom line, he mused sadly. Apparently, his approach to problem-solving still had some room for improvement.
“Oh, there’s no salary involved,” Emma told him, laughing as if it was absurd for him to think there might be. “I go into the budget hearing every May and beg, praying they’ll find some money to help offset my expenses.”
Rick couldn’t believe what she was telling him. He’d never met anyone who so willingly sacrificed not only their free time but also a chunk of their own money to make sure kids had a fun place to go after school. From her answer, he realized that while the school contributed a share, it didn’t fund the program entirely. That left Emma picking up the rest on a teacher’s salary, which he suspected wasn’t all that much in a small town like Liberty Creek.
“Maybe parents could pay a small fee to help defray the costs.”
Emma firmly shook her head. “Folks around here have a tough enough time making ends meet as it is. I’m afraid if I ask for something like that, their kids won’t be able to come anymore. That would leave some of them going home to an empty house after school, and I can’t stand the thought of that.”
“This isn’t a big city,” he argued sensibly. “It’s not like they’ll get into trouble with a gang or something like that.”
“But it’s lonely,” she argued, compassion deepening the blue of her eyes in an emotion he could almost feel. “To my mind, that’s just as bad for them. I’d rather put in a few extra hours of my time and give them a bright, constructive place to go hang out with their friends than know they’re by themselves, plopped in front of the TV or some video game until their parents get home from work.”
That was the challenge so many modern families faced, Rick knew. As he’d worked his way up the ladder from floor teller to bank management, he’d always known that he was fortunate to be in a business that had allowed Sarah to be a full-time mother, and now enabled him to afford a dedicated nanny and housekeeper. If he had to cope with day care and car pools on top of his demanding job, he wasn’t sure how well it would go. But he was fairly certain that his girls wouldn’t be nearly as secure and happy as they were now.
This was his first opportunity to work as an assistant branch manager, and he wanted to shine in the position. Not so much for himself, but for his sweet girls. While Patriots Bank was a collection of modestly sized regional offices, his boss and mentor had made it clear that his intention was to groom Rick for something more. That meant a spot at one of his larger banks that offered an equally larger salary. Then Caitlin and Aubrey would have a permanent home to grow up in rather than the time-worn rental near the square that he’d been forced to take.
Rick acknowledged that there was no way for him to replace their mother, but he’d do everything in his power to make certain his daughters never wanted for anything he could possibly give them.
“I get that,” he relented, letting go of his usual pragmatism to see things from Emma’s vastly different point of view. “And I think it’s great that you’re willing to do it. I also think you deserve to be compensated for your time.”
“There are more important things in life than money,” she told him. Nodding toward his content daughters, she smiled up at him. “Being a father, you know that better than anyone.”
It wasn’t exactly a scolding, but her gentle reminder hit him harder than if she’d yelled at him for being a coldhearted, capitalistic jerk. He couldn’t recall the last time that he’d paused in his busy schedule long enough to consider what was most important in his life.
Without question, his family came first. But during the past two years, while struggling to cope with the demands of his career and raising two precocious daughters on his own, he’d become more concerned about making it from day-to-day with no major disasters. He adored his girls, and he’d do everything humanly possible