Page 4 of Where Dreams Begin

n September and not be able to connect with them.”

Joyce responded with a derisive snort. “Oh, you’ll connect, all right. You’re a gorgeous woman. The boys will be hot for you, and the girls will envy your sense of style.”

Catherine quickly discounted Joyce’s cynical opinion. “Perhaps, but it’s not the same as having a real impact on their lives. By volunteering at Lost Angel, I hope to gain some worthwhile insights, while at the same time, I might actually be doing some good.”

Joyce slumped back in her chair. “God help us, but you’re actually going ahead with this, aren’t you?”

Catherine turned that question aside with an easy shrug. “It’s time. I’ll always miss Sam, but I need to build a life on my own now.”

“What would Sam say about Lost Angel?”

My darling Sam, Catherine mused silently. At night, she lay awake sharing her day with him and still felt his loving presence. “Sam was quite liberal in his politics, and he always encouraged me to do whatever I wished. He’d not oppose me on this.”

“Won’t you at least consider other options?” Joyce pressed. “Your tennis is even better than mine, and with a little practice, we could win the ladies’ doubles title at the club this summer.”

When Catherine brushed aside that suggestion, Joyce quickly posed another. “What about volunteering in the literacy program at the public library? Or donating time at the charity thrift shop where you plan to drop off your clothes? You once mentioned how you hoped to someday have a daughter. How about becoming involved with the Girl Scouts? Don’t they run camps in the summer?”

Catherine projected the same relaxed tranquility as the tomcat in her lap. “Girl Scouts have families who love them. What about the kids who have no one? Who’s going to care about them?”

“I don’t see why it has to be you,” Joyce countered. “Don’t get me wrong, Lost Angel does a tremendous amount of good. I just don’t see why you have to become involved with it. Maybe what you really need isn’t kids to teach, but a new man to love.”

Stung by that unwanted advice, Catherine stubbornly refused to give in to tears and instead tickled Smoky’s ears. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“All right, I apologize if it was thoughtless, or a bit premature, but one of the benefits of decorating office buildings is that I meet plenty of attractive men. Professional men,” she emphasized. “You’re only thirty-two, Cathy. You can’t want to spend the rest of your life alone.”

Catherine took a long drink of tea before offering a hushed reply. “I’d expected to spend the rest of my life with Sam. There are days when just accepting the terrible fact that he’s gone is almost more than I can bear. The prospect of falling in love again is beyond imagining. Now let’s finish boxing up my clothes, and don’t let me forget to include the shoes I’ll never wear again, either.” She set Smoky aside, rose and shoved her chair into the table.

“I’m sorry if I didn’t say what you’d hoped to hear,” Joyce offered, “but I trust you to do what’s best.”

Catherine nodded, but she didn’t really trust herself to do anything right without Sam.

Monday morning, Catherine sorted through her newly reorganized wardrobe, but nothing she owned seemed appropriate for Lost Angel. She’d thought her cinnamon suit would be perfect for an initial interview but now feared she’d been overdressed.

She reached for a chambray shirtwaist with a colorful beaded belt, but it was an outfit Sam had urged her to buy, and she pulled back. He’d loved to take her shopping, and at moments like this when she couldn’t make up her mind, he’d always teased her about having more outfits than Malibu Barbie, then reached into her closet and yanked out the perfect choice. Whenever she went out, she still took the time to look her best, but oh, how she missed his pretty compliments.

An all too familiar ache touched her heart, but becoming a volunteer was an important first step away from that lingering anguish. She grabbed the chambray as Sam’s choice and scolded herself as she dressed, because the day had never been about clothes. The chance to help out at Lost Angel was what counted, and she was ashamed of herself for losing sight of her goal.

The training session was set for ten o’clock, and after the heavy morning commuter traffic had thinned, Catherine made good time. She pulled into the center’s parking lot, and after Luke’s mention of a surge in volunteers, she was surprised not to find more cars. She started toward the office, but then a couple in an RV drove into the lot, and she waited for them on the walk.

The gray-haired pair were dressed in matching khaki slacks and bright blue shirts, but only the woman’s breast pocket was embroidered with brilliantly hued tropical birds. Her hair was gathered atop her head in a gently poofed knot, while a mere hint of downy fringe ringed the man’s ears. Both wore broad smiles and greeted Catherine warmly.

“Hello, dear. I’m Rita Tubergen, and this is my husband, Joe. I was certain I understood the directions when I telephoned last week, but we got lost as soon as we left the freeway. I sure hope we’re not late for the training. Although if we are, you’ll be late too, won’t you?” she added with a girlish giggle. “Unless, of course, you’re the instructor.”

“No, I’m another new volunteer.”

Catherine thought the couple charming, but as soon as she’d introduced herself, Rita slowed their progress toward the office with an involved description of how they’d recently sold their dry cleaning business. After a leisurely trip through the southwest, they were eager to donate their time to Lost Angel.

“And what about you, dear?” Rita asked.

Catherine had always made friends easily, but the Tubergens were the first couple she’d met since being widowed, and she couldn’t bring herself to blurt out such tragic news. She wished she’d anticipated the need to supply more than her name, but for the moment, her mind was a frustrating blank. Unwilling to burden strangers with her sorrow, she simply hurried them on down the walk and was relieved when Pam Strobble met them at the office door.

The secretary’s flared black dress was splashed with bold white graphics, and her black espadrilles tied at the ankle with huge bows. As she led Catherine and the Tubergens through the office and out across the courtyard to the annex, her silver bracelets chimed in time with her bouncy steps.

“This building was constructed to house the Sunday school,” Pam explained as they entered. “So it’s divided into a lot of little rooms. We’ve kept the largest for staff meetings and treat the rest as storage lockers for donations.

“Sorting those can be more trouble than they’re worth, but I’ll let Luke tell you what needs to be done. He’ll be with you in a minute. Help yourself to the coffee. This is the only day it’ll be free,” she added in a teasing aside and then left them at the entrance of a long, narrow room.

Windows facing the courtyard let in the bright spring sunshine, but the room was as starkly furnished as Luke’s office. There was a small table near the door with a freshly brewed pot of coffee, and Rita and Joe stopped to help themselves. A large, rolling chalkboard sat at the far end of the room, and folding chairs were arranged around a conference table where a red-haired young man and three middle-aged women were already seated.

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