“Great. Then I’ll move forward with the Christmas dinner dance.” The anxious butterflies in her stomach settled down.
“I don’t want to do a Christmas celebration.” Benjamin waved a hand, dismissing June’s proposal. “Everyone’s doing that.”
“Who else is doing a Christmas fund-raiser?” June searched her mind but couldn’t think of a single organization in Trinity Falls that was doing a similar event.
“Books and Bakery.”
“Megan hosts a Christmas-themed store event similar to her Halloween party and story time. But it’s not a fund-raiser.” Megan McCloud was the owner of Books & Bakery. Her themed events were highly anticipated in the community.
“Close enough.”
June couldn’t disagree more. “Our event will be very different from Books and Bakery’s.”
Benjamin was shaking his head even before June finished speaking. “We should avoid events that are even remotely similar to long-established traditions like Books and Bakery’s Christmas celebration.”
June was almost speechless with disappointment. She tried a different approach. “One of the reasons I think a Christmas dance would be successful is that the January birthday party brought in a lot of money and increased attendance for our other events.”
“Come up with something else, June.” Benjamin’s tone was flat with finality.
June took a moment to moderate her tone. Her gaze circled his office. It was Benjamin’s ninth week on the job. Why was he making such slow progress toward moving all the way into his office? Shelf spaces and cabinet surfaces were bare. Faded patches on the walls revealed where his predecessor had hung framed photographs and plaques. When would Benjamin do the same? The only personal item in his office was a framed photograph of two young children. His son and daughter? They were beautiful.
She turned back to her new boss. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
June was glad one of them thought so. “May I at least go forward with the Kwanzaa presentation? As you said, we need to give Dr. Spates time to prepare, provided he agrees to do the presentation.”
Benjamin seemed to hesitate. “Sure, the presentation should be fine.”
June stood to leave. Her gut burned with frustration. At the threshold of his modest office, she once again faced Benjamin. “We need a year-end event, something spectacular to engage the community. I spent a lot of time developing the proposal and budget for the Christmas dinner dance.”
Benjamin leaned into his desk. “I appreciate your time and efforts. Perhaps some of your work could be applied to your new idea.”
His message was loud and clear: her dinner dance was a nonstarter. Come up with something else. But did he have even one clue of what went into coming up with and executing these events?
“I’ll see what I can do.” June walked out of Benjamin’s office.
Her heart wouldn’t be engaged in any other idea, though. She’d wanted to raise money for the center but she also wanted to celebrate Christmas. Why was The Iceman being such a Scrooge?
Benjamin’s cellular phone rang, interrupting his contemplation of the semi-empty refrigerator in his townhouse Monday evening. Welcoming the reprieve, he allowed the fridge’s door to swing shut and fished his phone from the front pocket of his gray slacks. He recognized his ex-wife’s telephone number on the identification screen. Perfect.
He counseled himself to keep calm as he accepted her call. “Hello, Aliyah.”
“Ben, how are you?” She sounded hesitant. It had been almost a year since their marriage had ended, Christmas Eve’s Eve. Still, in the seven months since their divorce had been finalized, neither of them had gotten used to the coldness of their new relationship.
“What is it, Aliyah?” He didn’t want to chat or catch up. He wanted this call to be over, the sooner the better.
“When last did you hear from the children?” Aliyah’s voice was tense.
“It’s been a while.” Benjamin had spoken with their nineteen-year-old son, Terence, and eighteen-year-old daughter, Zora, perhaps two weeks ago. He’d last seen them about ten months ago when he and Aliyah had helped them move int
o the residence halls at The Ohio State University. “Why?”
“They’ve stopped returning my calls.”
“They aren’t returning mine, either.” When Benjamin did reach them, their conversations were frustratingly brief. He didn’t know which was worse, their silence or the one-sided conversations with their monosyllabic responses. “They’re upset about our divorce. They don’t understand why we won’t get back together.”
“They know now,” Aliyah reassured him.