Boss Meets Her Match. Janet Lee Nye
Sadie was changing, Lena paid for the dress so she couldn’t change her mind. Sadie needed this. She deserved this. After everything she’d been through in her life, Sadie needed to have something normal. And nothing was as normal as a nice fancy wedding.
“All done,” she said as Sadie returned from the dressing room. “It’s yours. We’ll arrange for a fitting closer to the wedding date.”
“How much was it?”
“That doesn’t matter. It’s your wedding day, Sadie. You don’t have to go full formal, princess fairy-tale wedding, but you deserve the day to be special. Be the center of attention for once. Let the people who love you celebrate your happiness with you.”
Sadie rolled her eyes. “Fine. We’ll do it all. Flower toss, garter toss. Everything. Except cake smashing in the face. I despise that.”
“Agreed. It’s a perversion of the original intent.”
“Fine then.”
Lena laughed at Sadie’s bulldog expression. “I’m going to make you love every minute of the wedding if it kills me.”
“I’ll enjoy the wedding. I refuse to enjoy the planning.”
“Deal. But remember, if you leave it to my mother, it’s going to be quinceñera and Catholic wedding meets Designing Women. You need to set limits with her. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
As they walked to Lena’s car, Sadie hooked her arm in Lena’s. “Thank you for the dress. But I can’t be mean to your mom. She’s so sweet.”
Lena made a rude noise. “That’s just a disguise to lure you into her plans.”
The BMW beeped as Lena hit the unlock button and they climbed in. Sadie leaned back and closed her eyes. “It’s just so exhausting. Having to make so many choices constantly.”
“I know. It’ll get better.”
“How? The dress is the only thing we’ve done!”
“And the wedding is in two months? Sadie! Have you picked a place? A cake? Invites? Save the dates? Anything?”
“No.”
Lena let loose a stream of Spanish.
“Hey!” Sadie said. “I understand some of that.”
Lena cranked the engine. “I’m going to send you a list. I want you to do two things on the list every week.”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
As she pulled out into traffic, Lena glanced over at Sadie. She was pretending to be grumpy but they’d been friends long enough that she knew it was better to give Sadie a single task to do rather than a giant mountain of them.
“Want to come for lunch on Sunday?” Sadie asked. “Jules wants to learn more Spanish.”
“I wish I could. But I promised I’d go to mass and have lunch with the family.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I think they’re up to something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, but it can’t be good.”
THE PLAYROOM AT the Children’s Hospital was a bright, open room with a wall of windows and several skylights. Matt made his way to the art corner, high-fiving a couple of frequent fliers.
“What are we painting today, Mr. Matt?” a little girl called out from the book nook.
“Scary stuff for Halloween,” he answered. As if these kids would be scared of Halloween fakery when they were battling real monsters like cancer and sickle-cell anemia and cystic fibrosis. But that was why he did this. Art allowed kids to express themselves in a way that didn’t involve words. They might not be able to verbalize their fear but they could draw a picture of it.
He sat down at the long table and began to lay out supplies. Heavy white paper precut into mask shapes and elastic string. “Gather ’round, little ghosts and goblins,” he called out. “We’ll be making Halloween masks today.”
Clarissa slid into the chair next to him. She smiled up at him shyly. Her dark red hair had all fallen out but she still had a spark in her amber-brown eyes. “Mr. Matt? Can I make a witch face?”
“You can make anything you’d like. Want to help me get set up?”
Ten minutes later, he was circling the table. Seven kids were all in varying stages of finishing their masks. He had a witch, a vampire, a zombie and assorted monsters. Today’s exercise wasn’t so much about revealing or relieving some inner emotion, but simply to have fun and do something normal. Once they’d finished, he attached the elastic string to hold the masks in place.
“Grandfather!” Clarissa called out.
Matt looked over as Dr. Rutledge approached the table. He stopped and put his hands on his hips. “Grandfather? My granddaughter is the most beautiful girl in the world. Not some witchy woman!”
Clarissa giggled and lifted the mask. “It’s me, Grandfather!”
Matt smiled as Dr. Rutledge gathered Clarissa up in his arms. A familiar tug pulled at his heart. He’d been so terrified of his own grandfather that he called him “Mr. Matthews.” Being with him had been like being in the principal’s office for an offense he didn’t commit. He turned away and finished cleaning up the detritus of the project.
“Matt.”
He looked up at Dr. Rutledge. “Yes, sir?”
“Eliot. How many times do I have to ask you?”
“Sorry. Prep school indoctrination.”
“I just wanted to thank you again for all you do here.”
Matt stood. “No need for that. This...” He trailed off. How to explain it? That it was like a drug? That moment when a kid who is scared or angry or feeling overwhelmed lets go of it all and smiles and laughs? Acts like a kid? He lived for, craved those moments.
“This is your passion. I can see that. Anything I can help out with?”
Matt shrugged. “Your patronage has helped a lot. I’m funneling all the funds from the sale of my art into setting up a nonprofit so I can do this full-time and reach kids outside the hospital setting. There are a lot of kids in not-so-ideal situations that art therapy can help.”
“Well, Lena Reyes can help with that.”
“I hope so. The sooner the better. Thanks again for getting me in the door with her. I know she’s very picky about what clients she takes on.”
“You’re welcome,” Eliot said, but a slight frown creased his brow. “You know...”
Matt waited. “Yes, sir?”
Eliot shook his head. “Just chasing down an idea. For an outreach outside the hospital setting. Let me talk to a couple of people and I’ll get back to you.”
“Okay. Any tips on how to smooth things over with Lena?”
Eliot’s rich laughter echoed in the cavernous playroom. “Grovel.”
Grovel. Matt smiled, remembering the look in Lena’s eyes when she realized he was the artist of the work she’d just called ugly. He hadn’t meant to trick her. There was something about her. She hadn’t hidden her anger behind a simpering smile. He’d embarrassed her and she’d been angry and let him know. He liked that. The honesty in her reaction. No games. No nonsense. He’d grovel to get her to handle his meager proceeds. He’d grovel to get her to do almost anything.
“Yo, dude!