As Eric drove me to the airport, I asked that he keep an eye on everything here while I was gone. I worried more than I ever had in my life, both about what was going on at Pot of Gold while they were left without anyone in charge, but also about Drew. He’d begun to show a more intimate side of himself, and I worried that my abrupt departure would cause him to shut down to everyone yet again.
Monday morning, I struggled to drag myself out of bed. Mr. Borgwardt was expecting me at his office at eight thirty, which meant he’d be irritable if I wasn’t waiting outside the door by eight fifteen. In his mind, you were already late if you showed up ten minutes early. There was a time when I’d admired that about him, but now it pissed me off. The distance over the past two months had given me time to really analyze how he operated and I didn’t like what I saw. Mike Borgwardt was great at what he did, but only when he stood to profit, whether financially or through an increase in his reputation. Time was money to him, and every minute he spent dealing with Pot of Gold was a minute he wasn’t earning for himself and others.
Pot of Gold was a diversion for him. It was a way for him to honor the memory of the son he lost to the streets over a decade before. Unfortunately, it did nothing to pad his bank account. I was beginning to feel as though he poured money into the Portland center because that’s where his business capital firm was headquartered. It was a way for him to show how much he contributed to the city while doing nothing to assuage his guilt.
Milwaukee, on the other hand, had started as an afterthought. He’d once confessed to me that it was there where his son ran to when he left home and that was why Mike started a center downtown. He’d expected it to run as efficiently as Portland did without a quarter of the oversight or sponsorship and it was failing.
The door opened, and I stood. Mike assessed my appearance critically and voiced his displeasure in my more casual attire. This too was common because I’d never believed in dressing in a manner that made me seem unapproachable to those I was trying to help. “Bryce, it’s good to see you. Please, come in.”
I followed him and took a seat while he prepared a mug of tea. It said a lot about him that he couldn’t be bothered to ask if I would like anything, but again, I was used to it.
“Let’s cut the crap, Mike,” I said impatiently, calling him by his first name because I knew how much that pissed him off. He was old school and felt as though everyone should show him respect whether he’d earned it or not. Well, I didn’t work that way, and although he was a savvy businessman, I had the distinct feeling I was about to lose any respect for his ability to operate a non-profit organization. “We both know you’re uncomfortable as hell right now, which tells me I’m not going to like what you have to say.”
Mike sat down and cradled the steaming mug between his hands. His eyes shifted from me to a spreadsheet on the desk in front of him and back up. He exhaled a deep sigh.
“You know, your tenacity is something I’ve always admired,” he said, although it didn’t feel like much of a compliment. “I’ve always thought your talents were wasted at Pot of Gold, but I never could find a way to pull you away from there.”
“That’s because making sure no one is left out in the cold truly matters to me,” I bit out, perhaps a bit more defensively than I should have.
“Yes, I’m well aware.” He handed me a copy of the spreadsheet which was the annual operating statement for Milwaukee. I didn’t need to look at the numbers, they were all committed painfully to my memory. “Now, I know you’ve done everything possible to turn around our location in Wisconsin. And I have to say, what you were able to achieve is truly impressive.”
The paper crumpled slightly in my fist. If he’d simply wanted to congratulate me for doing the best anyone could have been expected to in my situation, he’d have done so over the phone.
“However, after meeting with my accounting team, they’ve advised me that there are only two options,” he continued. I swallowed hard, knowing what was coming. “First, I can write a sizable check to not only pull the center out of debt, but to also ensure it’ll never again get to where it is now.”
That wasn’t going to happen. If he’d had any interest in funneling more money, he would have done it one of the numerous times I’d broached the subject. That meant the second option was the only option he was considering.
“The alternative is that we close the center in Milwaukee and focus our efforts closer to home,” he added bluntly.
Images of Cody flashed through my mind: him taking control on the basketball court, sitting at the table in Eric’s dining room on Thanksgiving trying to catch up on his homework, and even him red-faced and breathing heavy after blowing up at another resident for talking shit about the center.
I lurched out of the chair and started pacing around the office. It was easy to make these decisions while sitting in a corner office. “You can’t do that!” I protested loudly. “Even if it wasn’t the middle of winter, you can’t lock the doors on those kids.”
“Bryce, while I appreciate your passion, you need to calm down. Your last report stated that you’ve found foster families for all of the minors who’d been staying at the facility which means everyone else is a legal adult.” He sat straighter in his chair and began filing away the spreadsheet he’d made such a show of looking at minutes ago.
“Fuck that!” Apparently, Drew and his foul mouth were rubbing off on me. “Those guys might be adults based on their birthdates, but I promise you, if you turn them away they will not make it. Part of what we do is pick up the pieces and help them land on their feet when everyone else has turned their backs.”
“I’m well aware of Pot of Gold’s mission.” My hands curled into tight fists at his condescension. He might have memorized the mission statement some publicity firm drew up for him, but he was clueless as to what we were trying to achieve. For the first time, I wished he’d never had the brilliant idea to open a transitional home for gay teens and young adults.
“No, Mike, I don’t think you are.” I was seething. Heat rose in my face as my blood pressure spiked. “I think you’re nothing more than a man who got lucky and has more money than he knows what to do with. You’ve probably gotten this far in life by throwing money at the problems you face so they’ll go away. The problem is, now you feel as if you’ve paid your penance for turning your son away when he was younger and you’re bored. You want a new project to keep you busy.”
Mike rounded the desk, grabbing my arm as I turned away from him. “How dare you bring Tim into this! I’d give every penny I have if it meant he was here today.”
“But you can’t!” I screamed. “He’s gone and you hate yourself for that. No matter how much money you spend, it’ll never be enough.”
I pulled out my cell phone and scrolled to a picture I’d taken of Cody over the weekend. He was smiling broadly as he rummaged through the bags of clothes and new shoes Drew had given him when we finished wrapping Christmas presents. He was sitting in front of the tree with all of the gifts and the tree he and Drew had picked out serving as a backdrop.
“This is what it looks like when good men try to make a difference.” I handed him the phone, noticing the way his body slumped as he stared at the image. “That’s Cody. When one of your volunteers found him, he was underweight and had dropped out of high school. Now, he’s on track to graduate on time, one of his mentors has helped him secure the full ride scholarship he thought he’d lost when it came out that he’s gay, and he’s on the honor roll. If you close the center, there’s no telling if any of that will happen for him. He’ll be back on the streets in the middle of a brutal winter. Do you want that on your conscience?”