Her Kind Of Hero
He was right. Addison Manufacturing was in trouble and would sign, if not today then soon. Dana nodded. “Sure. Okay then. We’ll talk.” She turned on her high heel and walked toward the door, opening it as Harold’s assistant was about to enter with a tray of pastries and coffee.
After retrieving her suit jacket and briefcase, Dana took the elevator down to the ground floor and considered her options. She did have other work to do, but she wasn’t expected back until tomorrow morning. It was a bright balmy day in mid-May and this was a rare opportunity to play hooky.
She headed for a coffee shop on the concourse, thinking tea and a sweet treat would make her feel better about not making her deadline. Once she had a scone and herbal tea, she picked up a copy of the Tribune that someone had left behind and lazily flicked through it.
She stopped at an article in the second section of the paper. The headline—No More $$$ for Kids—caught her eye, but it was the photograph that captured her attention. She set the mug of tea onto the table and, hands shaking, studied the picture. It must have been taken a few weeks ago—maybe mid- or late April—because the trees in the background were still in bud. The man in the photo was standing in front of a two-story building. He looked different now than he had that day. He had hair, though not much, and looked a bit bulkier than she remembered. He was a man now, not a boy. Dana wasn’t certain she could trust her memory though. For years that day had been only a jumble of sounds—shouts and screams—mixed with the grinding of metal on metal. Faces remained a blur, but she could vividly recall the strength of arms and hot frantic breath on her face. It had to be him.
Dana read the caption beneath the photo—“Matt Rodriguez, executive director and founder of KidsFirst Place”—then skimmed through the short article. His organization, a drop-in center and outreach program for inner-city kids, had learned that a funding request was going to be halved due to municipal budget constraints. A camp for those kids was in jeopardy of not running this summer.
“‘It’s a shame that the city doesn’t put kids first,’ Rodriguez said. ‘Surely politicians can figure out that investing money early in a kid’s life will pay off a hundredfold for them and for the city. Or can’t they?’”
She dropped the paper onto the table. This was the moment she’d thought about many times over the past twenty years, but faced with it, she was at a loss. Every system in her body seemed to have slowed down, except for her heart, which pounded against her rib cage. Of course, she had options. She could wait for her body to calm itself, finish her tea and go home. Or she could... What? Try to find him?
Face it, Dana. You only have two choices: ignore this or check it out.
But instinctively she knew there was really no choice at all. She dug into her purse for her phone, looked up KidsFirst online, then gathered up her things and left the coffee shop and hailed a cab.
“Sure this is the right address?” asked the cabbie, eyeing her.
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Your call,” he said and flipped down the meter, heading for the South Side. Traffic was light and the taxi pulled up in front of a beige brick building before Dana had a chance to figure out what she would say or do if he was there. Especially if it really was him.
After paying the cabbie, she stood on the sidewalk a moment, staring at the storefront window and the name stenciled on it—KidsFirst Place. Dana took a deep breath and went inside. The interior was bigger and more welcoming than she’d expected from the outside. A large open space that continued as far into the building as Dana could see. She walked past an alcove of coat hooks and cubbyholes, a bulletin board crammed with scraps of paper and beside it, a whiteboard displaying a schedule of events and programs.
No one was around. Dana paused to scan the room for a reception desk. As she walked farther in, she came across two women tidying up a reading lounge. She also spotted someone hunched over a computer in a row of desktops. One of the women noticed her and came toward her.
“Can I help you?”
“Um, I’m looking for Mr. Rodriguez.”
“Are you from the media?”
Dana wondered how many media types carried briefcases and wore designer suits. She made an effort not to sound patronizing when she replied, “No, I’m not.”
“Just that Matt’s been kinda swamped lately, with people wanting follow-up interviews.”
“It’s a personal matter.”
“Um, okay. He’s in his office. Down that way, past the kitchen. If the door’s closed, just knock. We’re pretty informal here.”
“Thank you.” Dana walked past the woman, thinking they might be informal, but they were definitely protective. She stood a moment outside the closed door, its sign urging, “Knock and come in!” and tried to calm herself. The telltale signs of anxiety—feeling flushed, sweaty palms and rapid heart rate—that Dana had spent almost a lifetime attempting to control rose up.
She tapped once on the door and flung it open before she could change her mind. The man sitting at the desk looked up from the computer in front of him. Dana first noticed the flash of alarm in his dark brown eyes, then she saw his hands on the keyboard. She remembered those hands.
As he started to stand, she blurted out, “You saved my life.”
CHAPTER TWO
MATT STARED IN stunned silence at the woman on the other side of his desk.
“Twenty years ago? On the Green Line to Oak Park?” she prompted.
The memory rushed at him like the train coming into the station. He’d been seventeen. It had been around 3 p.m. on a late-winter day, and except for some other teens he didn’t know on the far end of the platform, the subway station had been pretty much deserted. He had been on his way to his gang initiation. The sound of jeering caught his attention. Two girls were fighting, surrounded by a small circle of onlookers. Matt tried to ignore them. But another loud cheer made him look back. That was when he realized it wasn’t a fight so much as a jostling, though one girl in particular was on the receiving end of the pushing and shoving. Her backpack flew across the platform and Matt tensed. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the headlights of the incoming train reflected on the tunnel walls. There was a scream, followed by a girl flying through the air, her hair streaming behind her, onto the train tracks.
But she hadn’t been this...this woman. Had she? Dry mouthed, Matt said, “Why don’t you take a seat?”
She set a briefcase on the floor and pulled up the chair adjacent to his desk. “You remember, don’t you. I can see it in your face.”
“I...I do remember that day but you... Your hair...was longer and...” Matt searched through his memory for other details.
She touched manicured fingers to the knot at the base of her neck. “A bit shorter now and I have it up at the moment...” Her voice, already only a thin whisper, trailed off.
He waited for her to catch her breath. Memories of that day had been with him for twenty years, lurking just beneath the surface. He could see himself charging down the platform but had no recollection of jumping onto the tracks. Just that he was suddenly there, grabbing onto a thick winter coat and then wrapping his arms around a girl. Lifting her, then shoving her up onto the platform. Scrambling after her as the train roared into the station and screamed to a halt. It all happened in seconds. Fractions of seconds.
Matt leaned across the desk for a closer look. That day he hadn’t noticed the color of her eyes, just the stark horror in them. He looked at her—the greenish-brown tints in eyes now blurred with memory, the scatter of pale freckles across her nose.
“How old were you then?”
“Fifteen.”
A kid. Not anymore though. She’d be thirty-five now, though as he took in the business attire and the prim hairdo, he thought they added at least a decade. But she definitely hadn’t been beautiful then, as she was now. He’d have remembered that.
“And you?”
“Me?”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “You seemed older. Later, when I was thinking of you, I pictured someone much older.”
Matt had been much older in some ways that day than he was right now. He cleared his throat. “So...uh...it looks like things worked out okay for you.”
“I’m alive.” Her smile added another dimension to his new picture of her. But the smile didn’t reach her eyes. They’d shared a terrifying moment that day and clearly each had some common recollections of it, but as for afterward? Different stories.
“I’m sure you’d have—”
“No.” Her voice pitched. She shook her head. “No one... They all were just standing there. In shock, I guess. That girl pushed me. I went backward and fell over my backpack onto the tracks. When you ran to help me, they all took off. A woman came along as the train was leaving the station. I was still sitting there, where you set me down.” She waited a second. “She helped me gather up my things. She wanted to call the police but what was the point? They were all gone. I didn’t know any of them.”
Matt was processing that when she blurted, “Why didn’t you stay?”
He winced. He’d tortured himself with that question for years. “Well, you seemed okay. And, uh...I had to get somewhere.” Like far away from my original destination, he added silently. He ought to have stayed, but as he had done so many times back then, he’d disappointed someone. That time it had been her.
“I kept thinking I might see you again. On the Green Line. To thank you.”
“I didn’t usually take that line but...uh...I was visiting someone.” The lie slipped out. Matt glanced down at the files on his desk. Now what? What was the social etiquette around meeting for the first time someone—a beautiful woman—whose life you once saved?
“My name’s Matt. Matt Rodriguez,” he said, realizing that they hadn’t officially met.
“Yes, so I read in the paper. There was a photo and caption, along with an article about a budget cut.”
“Is that how you found me? The article in yesterday’s Trib?”
She nodded. “I saw it this morning.” Then added, “I’m Dana Sothern.”
She must have come right here, Matt realized. After she’d made the connection she could have passed on the opportunity to meet face-to-face. Yet she hadn’t. He wondered about that. “Since you’ve come all this way, would you like a tour?”
She hesitated, then said, “Okay.”
She didn’t seem ready to go, as if she were content to just sit and stare a bit longer. But Matt needed to get up and away from that clear-eyed gaze, though he couldn’t explain why he found it so unsettling. The perfectly ordinary teenage girl from twenty years ago had definitely morphed into someone interesting, he thought. Well, she grew up, buddy. Like you.
He led the way from his office into the large open space of the center. “You may have noticed the information boards on your way in. We run a number of activities for the kids, to accommodate the age range and interests.”
“Which is?”
“Nine to fifteen.”
“Why that range?”
The questions—or was it the intensity of her expression?—put him off his stride. “We decided not to include younger kids because there are already community groups in the area for them. And a lot of older kids have after-school jobs. We do offer tutoring and remedial high school courses for kids fifteen to eighteen twice a week. A couple of teachers volunteer for those, but my staff has the training to focus on preteens and early teens.”
She looked around the room and gestured down the central corridor to the tech area. “I see computers. Do you offer courses?”
“As you can see, we only have six and they’re in high demand. Usually at least one is out of circulation due to some kind of tech issue. We have to limit usage because the kids would be on them all the time, but we try to organize equitable sessions for the various age groups.”
“And you don’t have the budget to buy more?”
Matt turned to look at her. “Our budget’s tight and we have to prioritize. Especially now, with the recent cutback.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Right. Anyway, most families have computers, don’t they? Maybe not state-of-the-art but...”
“Many do but not all can afford internet,” he interrupted. “The families of these kids have to prioritize, too.” Matt disliked the patronizing comment but surely she could have figured that out for herself.
If his tone bothered her, she was good at hiding it. “How long have you been running this place?” she asked, returning her gaze to him.
“It’s been in operation for six years.” He was about to go on when Kristen approached.
“Hey, Matt, Jeanette’s going to replenish the snack supplies. Do you need anything? She can pick up something for your lunch, if you like.”
“No, thanks, I’m good.” Matt caught her quick appraisal of Dana, standing beside him, and added, “Kristen, this is Dana Sothern. She’s...uh...” He hesitated, searching for an easy explanation.
“Interested in community organizations,” Dana finished. She extended her hand, which Kristen took after a second’s pause.
“From the funding end or volunteering?”
Social niceties were never Kristen’s style. Matt looked away, hiding his smile.
“Definitely funding,” Dana said, taking Matt by surprise.
“Wonderful,” Kristen said and sauntered away.
Matt was puzzled by her manner. She’d been working at the drop-in almost from its inception, so she knew more than anyone how important volunteers and sponsors were. He didn’t understand the lack of appreciation in her voice. Perhaps it stemmed from the staff’s pessimism since the drop-in’s funds from the city were cut. Either that or she took exception to Dana for some other reason.
“Where were we?” Dana asked when Kristen was out of earshot.
Matt was suddenly tongue-tied. “Well, you can see the lounge area from here.” He pointed to the carpeted space in the center of the room, with its sagging couches and beanbag chairs. “We get most of our book donations from the local library, whenever they weed their collection. A lot of the kids are more into magazines, so we include a few subscriptions in our budget.”
“Couldn’t they read them online? Be cheaper.”
Matt pursed his lips. “Then they’d have to access the computers and—”
“Oh, right. There are only six of them.”
The silence that fell between them said it all. Whatever world she came from, her clothes and demeanor signaled it was one Matt had never been a part of. He suddenly doubted whether the woman next to him could really be the frightened, vulnerable girl he’d saved that day. Only moments ago, he’d been keen to know more about her, to learn what she’d been doing the past twenty years. But now he could see the wide gap between them. Just because you saved her life doesn’t mean you two have a bond.
“Okay, there you have it. I should get back to my paperwork.” He noticed what he thought was a flicker of disappointment on her face.
As he turned away, she said, “My briefcase. I left it in your office.”
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, heading toward the front of the room. The burst of energy created by the woman’s surprise appearance had fizzled out and all the questions that had popped into Matt’s head had vanished. Anyway, it’s not as if you’re going to be friends.
He stood by the door, waiting while she picked up her briefcase. Then she abruptly sat again, placed the case on the desk and opened it up. Matt watched her skim through partitions, and when she withdrew a checkbook, his suspicion about what she was doing was confirmed. Well, hadn’t she told Kristen her interest in the center was focused on funding? Wasn’t this a good thing?
But the emotion flowing through him didn’t feel good, especially when she turned around and said, “This is the least I can do. To thank you for that day.” She held the check out as he walked past her to his own chair.
The figures blurred for a second as he looked at the check. The amount would easily cover the cost of the new sleeping cabin at Camp Hope. He glanced up, noticing the small but tight smile on her otherwise impassive face and felt his cheeks heat up. His hand trembled and he set the check down while clenching his other hand into a fist. He waited until he could speak without raising his voice and in that pause saw confusion cross her face. For some reason, that pleased him.
“First, thank you for such generosity.” He tapped his index finger on the check before sliding it across the desk back to her.
She frowned but said nothing.
“But I can’t accept that, because saving your life twenty years ago had nothing to do with reward or compensation. It was a spontaneous, impulsive act on my part. Anyone would have done the same thing.”
She shook her head. “Not true. None of those kids even tried to stop what was happening before I fell onto the tracks.”
“I’m sorry for that,” Matt said, “but from what I see, the incident hasn’t stopped you from making a success of your life.”
At that, she flushed. Biting her lower lip, she looked down into her lap. The reaction startled him. Had he hit a nerve?
Later, he would tell himself that this was the moment his bizarre idea came to mind.
When she finally spoke, his idea solidified. “Then take it as a donation to a good cause. It’s a win for both of us. You get some funding and I get a tax deduction.” She flashed a smile.
The triumph in her voice irked. As much as he appreciated donations from people or companies, Matt had always felt a prickle of resentment at the ease of dismissing society’s troubles with a check. There were thousands of selfless, hardworking volunteers in the city who gave their time without the need for recognition. And while any community agency needed both volunteers and donors, the realization that the sad, scared teenager he’d hoisted off the tracks years ago came from the group he’d never felt comfortable around was disappointing. So Matt stuck with his game plan.
“I have another idea,” he began, “one that could end up being win-win but in a different way.”
“Oh?”
Matt smiled. He would see how long that interest lasted. “Later this month we’re opening up Camp Hope for another season. It’s a project we got funding for two years ago, a camp near Maple Lake, outside Willow Springs.” Her puzzled expression told him she hadn’t a clue about either of those places. “Last year we ran it as a day camp, busing kids from here to experience a bit of nature and life outside the city. The kids loved it so much we decided to try running a sleepover camp this year. There was already one sleeping cabin on the property and we had enough money to renovate it last fall. We’re in the process of building a second cabin, which should be finished soon.” He didn’t add that her check would have paid off the loan for that cabin.
“Okay,” she said, clearly unsure where he was heading.
“The place won’t start up officially until late June but we’re hoping to iron out any kinks in the schedule and planning by opening a few weekends beforehand. The first batch of kids is due the last weekend of this month.”
“Well, good luck with all that.” She glanced pointedly at the check in front of her.
“Even with the city’s budget cuts, we can make our opening date.” Barely, he added to himself. “But we’re still short manpower.”
“You could hire people.”
Always back to money, Matt thought. No problem there. I’ll just write a check. His laugh was harsh. “Yeah, but the budget won’t cover extra manpower. It’s hard to get volunteers to come for overnights. They have families, too, and a lot of them struggle just like the families of our kids.” She had no idea, he thought, how most people in this city—in this neighborhood—lived.
He noticed from the rising color in her face that she was beginning to clue into what he was about to ask, and she started shaking her head, ever so slightly, while he continued.
“If you really want to pay me back, how about giving Camp Hope some of your time?” The redness in her face egged him on well past his original idea. “How about giving us a few weekends as a volunteer instead...day and night.” He took some pleasure in stressing that last word.
She was momentarily speechless but when she did reply, her voice was strained. “That’s absurd. I have a very demanding job that often requires work on weekends. I can’t just make a promise like that, even if I wanted to. This is the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard! I...I...”
Matt wanted to smile at her indignation. Whatever her job was, it obviously paid well. He had known she’d refuse but he hadn’t been able to resist. He also knew some small part of the old Mateo Rodriguez was surfacing. The one that took delight in making people like her uncomfortable.
Still, when she stood up, grabbing her briefcase in one hand and slinging her purse over her shoulder, he was disappointed. She wasn’t up to the challenge he’d given her. Even more, he’d lost any chance at finding out more about her.
She left without another word or a backward glance.
Matt shook his head, unsure if he’d lost or won that round, and stared at the check where she’d left it.
* * *
DANA SIGNED OUT of her online bank account and drummed her fingertips on her desk. It had been a week and he still hadn’t cashed the check. Matt Rodriguez was one stubborn man. And not very grateful either. Wouldn’t someone in his line of work be thrilled to receive a donation like that? Yet he’d seemed offended. How could anyone who depended on handouts have that kind of pride? She didn’t get it.
The meeting she’d thought about off and on for the past twenty years had been a letdown. She’d been naive to think that they’d have some special bond that would magically eliminate the years and differences between them. That day, she’d sensed the person who’d lifted her up off the tracks had been a teenager, too, though a bit older and more physically fit than any of the teen boys she knew. Her memory was likely playing tricks on her though, because she knew that everything had happened far too quickly for her to catch more about him than his strength, and a glimpse of his face and his dark, anxious eyes. Before he’d turned and walked away, those eyes had become reassuring, as if he were saying, Okay, you’re safe now.
But the man she met a week ago had been...well...a man. Her memories of bursting into his office came back like a collage of images, much like her memories of that day. His black T-shirt with KidsFirst imprinted on it, muscled arms colored with tattoos and especially, those inky black eyes filled with surprise at her unexpected entrance. She knew immediately from those eyes that he was the one.
Yet the meeting hadn’t followed the script she’d imagined all those years. She hadn’t expected him to leap up and wrap his arms around her in a welcoming hug. Nor would she have wanted that. But perhaps he might have been a bit more excited to see her? Instead he’d wanted to show her around the shabby, generic place. It had looked like any community center, not that she’d ever been in one.
And he’d been the biggest disappointment. Matt Rodriguez. Refusing to take her check, when the center clearly could have used the money, had stemmed from either pride or stubbornness. Maybe both. She’d left the office feeling she’d been dismissed like a naughty child. It was unlikely she’d ever see him again, but she couldn’t help thinking she’d love the chance to tell him exactly what she’d thought of his cold welcome.
She looked up at the knock on her office door as her father breezed in. “Hi, kiddo! Got a minute?” Without waiting for her answer, he closed the door behind him and perched on the armchair opposite her desk.
“Not really,” she muttered.