Page 116 of Even After This
“Meredith?”
No, that’s not the right category. I move a Post-it note over a few feet on the wall and step back.
“Meredith?”
Wrong again. I unstick the paper and place it back in its original position. There must be fifty Post-its on the wall. It has to fit somewhere.
Three loud knocks sound on the door, but I can’t pull my attention away from the plans in front of me.
“Meredith? Are you in there?”
Harlan’s stressed voice breaks through my deliberations. “Oh. Yes. Come on in.” Chewing on the end of a pencil, I continue staring at my creation.
“I thought you’d call when you got up.” The door creaks when he enters the room. “I didn’t realize you were awake—Whoa.” He approaches the wall.
“Don’t touch anything.” I grab the back of his long-sleeve T-shirt and pull.
Turning to me, he smirks. “You have no idea how much I want to move just one piece of paper.”
I jab him in the gut with my elbow. “Don’t you dare. But if you make yourself useful, you can stay.”
“I won’t dare,” he says on a grunt. He chuckles as he walks behind me, places his hands on my shoulders, and works his thumbs into my knotted muscles.
“I think I’ll keep you,” I say while his hands work magic.
“Did Office Depot throw up in here?” He squeezes both shoulders and gives them a gentle shake.
I giggle. “Just for that, you’re not getting any cookies.”
He leans over my shoulder and nods to the more-than-half-empty package of Oreos on the desk. “Looks like I came just in time to eat one.”
Oh my word. Did I eat that many cookies? I write on the notepad in my hands, “Go work out,” and smack the message against my chest. Harlan’s chuckles rumble in my ear.
“Okay.” He squints at the scene in front of him. “Are you redecorating, or what?”
A rainbow of blue Post-it notes frames the window. Words about buildings, design, finances, staff, and networking cover the little pieces. Very little of the peaceful gray paint of the bedroom walls peeks through my project.
He steps around me, grabs a cookie, and shoves the whole thing in his mouth.
I gape and put a hand on my hip. “Have you no respect? That cookie is a work of art that should be savored in bites.”
“I’m more of a dive-in-and-experience-the-whole-thing-at-once kind of guy.” He swallows. “What is all this? It looks like you’re planning to build a city.”
“A small city,” I whisper as I return my attention to the rudimentary ideas. To the untrained eye, the papers probably look like the future contents of a trash can. To me, this could be my purpose.
“I blame this on you. And Sally.” Skimming my hand over the pieces, I speak to the wall. “Sally and her kids showed me I might be able to do this kind of thing. Then you told me to dream big.” I turn to face him and gather courage through a deep breath.
His eyes grow big, then shift to an intense gaze.
“I want to open a home for troubled young women who have nowhere to go.” My opening statement is loud and rushed, and my face flushes.
Harlan’s expression is unreadable.
“I couldn’t find any other colors of Post-it notes, but let me explain the method to my madness.” I swallow, step to one group of the notes, and plaster my hand flat against a clean spot. “Maybe they’re pregnant. Maybe they’ve been kicked out of their homes. Maybe they’re too old for foster care but need help getting their feet on the ground. They’ve given up on their education. Their lives. Maybe they have no one. I want to love on them, believe in them, build into them, help them find their gifts.”
Taking a step around the desk, I point to my scribbles above the window. A new grouping of notes. “Place teachers and counselorson staff to guide them. Tie the house into community programs that can be safe places for them to find belonging and grace. Maybe they learn to help out on the ranch. Or maybe we create a work program with local businesses.”
I glance back at Harlan, his eyes locked on my written work.
