Page 83 of Axe Backwards
“How are things at work?”
I deflated. “Still hustling to bring in more donations,” I admitted. “And frustrated that I can’t do more.”
They both nodded thoughtfully. They knew how far we had to stretch to get folks what they needed. Both Alice and Becca volunteered frequently and even brought their kids along.
It was personal to Alice. Her children had been clients of the food pantry back when they were in foster care. Kids like Tucker and Goldie were the reason I knew I had to do better. But I didn’t know what else I could do. Most days it truly felt as if I’d tapped every possible resource.
“I could always sell photos of my feet,” I mused.
Becca spit out a mouthful of rosé. “Sorry?”
“I have nice feet.” I slipped off my sandals and wiggled my toes at her, teasingly defensive. My nail polish was chipped, but otherwise they were fine.
Alice laughed, but Becca inspected my feet carefully.
“They seem … nice.” She trailed off.
“Not fetish-worthy?” Straightening, I crossed my arms.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not familiar with what constitutes fetish-worthy feet.”
“Can we circle back for a moment?” Alice asked. “Are you okay financially? What’s going on? Why have we jumped right to foot fetish photos?”
I shrugged. “Graham kept our condo and bought me out, and I do get a bit of alimony, so I’m getting by. I can’t imagine ever stepping away from the food pantry, but I need to supplement my income and come up with a long-term financial strategy.”
“You could pay yourself a salary. People who work for nonprofits don’t work for free. You know that, right?”
I winced. Every time I considered it, I’d take a look at our financials and be reminded of why I couldn’t. “I’d be taking money away from operations, and we need every penny right now.” I couldn’t imagine standing face to face with someone in need and not have food for them. How could I speak to a mom with a baby on her hip and tell her we were out of diapers or formula? I couldn’t. That was why I was purchasing some of those necessities. To supplement our donations.
“You can’t work yourself to the bone and then not even pay yourself a wage.”
“I know. I know. It won’t be forever. I’m still trying to get things running smoothly and stabilize the finances. I’d love to take on other work and earn an income, but there’s not a lot of need for corporate PR up here.”
“Nonsense. First of all, we’re living in a global world. You can do remote work.”
Becca held her glass up. “And you have tons of useful skills.”
I gave her a dubious look.
“You write one hell of a grant proposal.” Alice was a former English teacher turned school principal, so naturally, I had her proofread all my grant applications.
I tipped my invisible cap. “Thank you.”
“And you’re great at organizing fundraisers and events,” Becca said. “Like the lumberjack competition. You threw it together on a whim last summer, and now it’s a major town event.”
“Ooh. The wood chopping?” Alice kissed her fingertips. “Perfection.”
Becca cackled. “You’re only saying that because your husband was one of the hunks up there swinging an axe.”
“Girl, he chops wood for me all the time. The competition was strictly a bonus.” She smirked. “You’ve got talent and inspiring ideas, and you’re incredible at motivating people. Don’t sell yourself short. Get through the lumberjack competition, and then we’ll brainstorm. I promise there are opportunities out there.”
Henri and the kids stepped out, along with their two dogs, Rochester and Heathcliff, ready for an evening walk. Goldie hugged Becca, then me, while Tucker gave us a wave.
They were gone as quickly as they came, Henri hoisting Goldie onto his broad lumberjack shoulders and Tucker beside him, his too-big feet and too-long legs making him lope.
“Is there anything hotter than a good dad?” Alice tipped her sunglasses down to check out her husband.
A laugh escaped me. “Silly question. There is nothing hotter than a great dad.”
