Beatrice pointed angrily at me.
“She was buying milk this morning!”
“True,” I said. “And somehow I still found time to help someone.”
Beatrice demanded another opportunity.
“Volunteer under Rachel’s supervision,” Walter said. “Show consistent commitment, and we’ll discuss your future.”
“Under her?”
I smiled. “Don’t worry. The apron still fits.”
I expected Beatrice to leave permanently.
Instead, several weeks later, she surprised
me.
That evening, I told Mom about Walter’s offer.
“You’re taking it, right?” she asked.
“I don’t know. What if you need me?”
“Rachel, I needed help recovering from surgery. I didn’t ask you to put your whole life on hold.”
For once, I had no argument.
The following morning, I telephoned Walter and accepted.
Three months later, our program was assisting over a hundred families weekly.
Walter visited my office one afternoon.
“The board’s reviewing candidates for foundation director,” he said.
“Good luck finding someone.”
He smiled. “Actually, Rachel, your name’s on the list.”
I stared in disbelief.
“This time, you’ve got three months of results behind you,” he added. “Think about it.”
One Thursday, Daniel called.
“Rachel, somebody’s here asking about volunteering.”
“Who?”
“You’re going to enjoy this.”
Twenty minutes later, I arrived.
Beatrice stood beside the supply table, wearing jeans and sneakers instead of designer gowns and
expensive jewelry.
Her expression remained deeply irritated.
“Walter said I should start somewhere,” she muttered.
“That sounds sensible.”
“Don’t make this difficult.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She glanced toward the shelves.
“How many families actually get these boxes?”
“Over a hundred every week.”
Beatrice appeared genuinely surprised.
“That many?”
“And the number keeps growing.”
She remained quiet for several seconds.
Then she pointed toward a large delivery box.
“Well? Are you going to show me what to do?”
I handed her an apron.
“Of course. Let’s start with the turkeys.”
