Chapter 23: The First Brace

The package was a shoebox tied with kitchen string.

Hal set it on the workbench and pushed his glasses up his forehead.

"A woman from the Foundation's mail room brought it," he said.

"She said the new board found it in a drawer."

"Hal," I said, pulling my sweater down. "It's dark out."

"I noticed." He did not look at the loft. "Open it."

Doran came down behind me with his shirt buttoned wrong, and Hal handed him a mug without comment.

Inside the box lay a stack of letters on Foundation stationery.

Each said the same thing in a different order, in smooth, warm paragraphs.

We regret that your application does not meet our current funding priorities.

Under them was a handwritten note and a child's drawing.

The drawing showed a girl with yellow hair and metal legs, standing at the top of a staircase.

The note was in blue ballpoint, and it began:

Dear Ms. Hollin, I saw you on the news, and I don't know if you're the right person.

My daughter is nine.

She has cerebral palsy, and her brace doesn't fit anymore.

We applied to the Hollin Foundation twice.

They said no both times and sent a flyer for the gala.

I'm not asking for charity.

I'm asking if you build braces for a nine-year-old.

There was a phone number at the bottom, in the same blue ink.

"They turned her down twice," I said.

"Looks like it."

"The pledge for Elora's first steps was five million dollars."

"And a nine-year-old couldn't get a brace." Doran's jaw was tight.

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