Page 4 of Off the Mark
I nodded, remembering the earliest, worst months after my parents died. The sheer volume of food that arrived on our doorstep. I learned later that at least half of it had come from the rec center. From Elaine.
“Sometimes when a nonprofit has had the same leader for decades, things can start to go a little…sideways. People get seriously burned out. They get forgetful. It’s a normal part of the process, and we’ve been more aware of it over the past year or so.”
Luciana pinned me with a steady gaze. “Elaine’s exhausted. I’m sure you’ve seen the effects.” She indicated the mess surrounding us. “Long hours, late nights, the stress of keeping everyone paid. It’s a tough job, and she’s been doing it longer than most.”
I clasped my hands together, struggling to admit that possibly—okaydefinitely—we’d been picking up the slack on stuff Elaine hadn’t been doing. It hadn’t stood out as being a problem though. Helping each other had always been part of the job.
“She’s been tired,” I finally said. “Hell, we’re all tired, right? And she’s a tough lady. I’m surprised that she never mentioned feeling overwhelmed to anyone on the team. She’s the one always telling us to take time off. To rest, to not work so much.”
Luciana’s eyes trailed over to the wall covered in pictures, posters, and degrees. “Elaine takes care of others. She doesn’t always take care of herself. Granted, I don’t know much about baseball, but I’m assuming it was easier to talk to your teammates about their injuries than divulge your own.”
I gave her a lopsided grin, remembering conversations just like that. I used to grind my molars down to dust through whatever therapy my shoulder and elbow went through after each game—all so I could stand on the pitcher’s mound again, waving to a crowd as razor-sharp pain turned my stomach.
But in the locker room? It was all casual jokes and easy laughter, trying to distract whoever was in searing agony next to me. When all I wanted to do was grab my arm and howl.
“Yeah, yeah I see your point,” I conceded, still grinning. “Maybe that’s what being a leader is all about.”
“Vulnerability is always challenging, but when you’re the one standing between people and their paychecks, or people and the programs they need, that kind of responsibility can become too heavy over time.” She tilted her head. “Leaders need to hold onto that spark, that vibrancy, to inspire others to get involved. To give money and time. It’s easy to lose it.”
Something about the way she saidgive moneyhad my nerves jumping again. “And you think Elaine’s lost it, then?”
“I believe it’s much more complicated than that. Things always are. Icansay that between Elaine’s burnout and general funding changes, the center has never been more at risk financially. We’ve been having to use our emergency reserves to cover payroll.”
My brow furrowed. “Elaine didn’t tell me any of this about…what did you call it?”
“Our emergency reserves. It’s like the savings account for our savings account. We were hoping to get back on track with the huge operating grant we receive from The Arnold Foundation every year in June.”
A chill raced down my spine. “But it’s early August.”
She tipped her head. “They announced their grantees two months ago, and we did not make the cut for the first time in a decade.”
I blew out a shocked breath. “You’re telling me that this money we rely on, some funder can just…what,take itwithout warning?”
“That is, unfortunately, standard operating procedure in the nonprofit industry.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me.”
She smiled—a genuine smile—for the first time since she arrived. “Oh, it is. And the timing is horrible. With Elaine out on medical leave, and our dire money situation, the board of directors will be scrambling to keep the center afloat. But it means making some tough cuts. Cuts we’d rather not make.”
“Hold up.” I leaned forward again. “Did you bring me in here to let me go or something?”
She shook her head. “No, not even close. We do need to start the process of cutting programs, even if it’s only temporary. And the senior food program that you started two years ago would be first on the list.”
My jaw clenched. “We can’t do that, Luciana. That program does too much good for this neighborhood, and besides—”
I paused, clueless as to how she’d respond if I saidyou can’t fire Dean. Dean, who was more brother to me than friend, who I’d known since we were four years old.
“Besides, what?” she prompted.
I swallowed my fear and smiled confidently instead. “Cutting that program isn’t an option, so I’m here to help with a creative solution. How does that sound?”
She laughed, her shoulders loosening finally. “Elaine was right.”
“About what?”
“I floated the idea of having a staff member step in as director in the interim, while we’re figuring out our next steps. She suggested you without hesitation.”
My eyebrows shot to my hairline. “Are you shitting me?”
