Page 156 of Ten Day Affair
"I pulled the old files. The mobile outreach program was one of our most beloved initiatives before it went dormant. We served East Point, Bankhead, and parts of downtown every Friday for almost three years."
"Did you say the head of the program left Grady?"
"Dr. Patricia Reeves, our previous program director, took a position at St. Jude. Without someone to lead it, the program fell through the cracks. Grady didn't have the internal funding to keep it going, and frankly, we didn't have anyone with the bandwidth to take it on."
My chest tightens with anticipation. "I think we can make it happen. I'm willing to take the lead."
Monique doesn't sugarcoat anything. "As I mentioned, the van needs a complete retrofit and new equipment. We're talking diagnostic tools, medications, and basic surgical supplies. Then there's insurance, licensing, gas, and maintenance. All up front."
"I have the funding to take care of that. You said we can get some earmarked funds from Grady, and then tap into fundraising, too, for the monthly cost to run it, right?"
"I told you it's over two hundred thousand to relaunch properly, didn't I? That's significant capital. You have an investor who has committed to that?"
The number is big, but underneath the shock, something else kicks up. Something sharper than fear.
Purpose.
"I plan to fund it myself. I'm selling my house here in Palm Beach. I should know more about timing after I meet with my Realtor tomorrow."
Silence stretches across the line.
"Wow. That's very generous, Dr. Taylor. You must be serious about this."
"Dead serious."
"Not that I want to talk you out of it, but keep in mind you'll be handling logistics, community relationships, ongoing fundraising, and volunteer scheduling. It's a massive undertaking for a full-time doctor, let alone a resident."
"I'm a third-year. My body doesn't remember what rest feels like anyway. I looked everything over, and I feel good about making it work."
Monique gives a short laugh. "Fair point. You really want this, huh?"
"I do."
God, I do.The conviction in my voice surprises me. It's the first time in weeks I've said anything with that much certainty, let alone with excitement. I need something meaningful to work toward, to build.
"Alright then. I can pull a list of past volunteers and reach out to nurses and residents who expressed interest before but didn't want to lead the program. Volunteers were never the problem. People have always rallied around this kind of work."
My eyes burn, but these are different tears. These are hopeful ones.
"You get the money and a sustainable funding plan, and we could have you up and running by fall."
"Really?"
"Really. The community needs this, Sam. I'm excited and humbled to have such a dedicated doctorwilling to make it happen. This is a blessing for this city."
The salt air fills my lungs as I close my eyes, possibility stinging my throat. "I'll call you as soon as I know more about the house sale."
"Looking forward to it."
The call ends, leaving me alone with the sound of waves and the weight of what I just committed to.
Palm Beach isn’t home anymore. Grady is. Atlanta is. And I’m about to build something there without my mom, without my dad, without the Taylor name meaning anything in the event I need help.
Kip isn't down the hall anymore, nor is Arden a quick car ride away.
No one will be there to soften the fall if I screw this up. I don’t know if I have what it takes.
But I’m about to find out.
