Free Saturday Morning by Lauraine Snelling Page A

there. You aren’t the only ones seeking help.”
    Hope sighed. “No, I suppose not.” She took a long cooling sip of her drink. “I keep reminding myself that our heavenly Dad owns all the cattle on a thousand hills. I need to ask Him for more help—a big corporate donation for J House and the wisdom for me to not panic.”
    “Wisdom is something I should have asked for a long time ago,” he said, indicating the empty ashtray sitting on the table.
    Hope sucked in a deep breath. “Believe it or not, money isn’t the reason I’m here to … day.” A belch snuck up on her and came out with the word, lowering her voice an octave. “Oh, excuse me. I have a little heartburn.”
    He smiled at her over the rim of his cup. “You’re excused.”
    She pulled three letters from her briefcase and handed them to Peter. “They’re all from the same company. The last one came a couple of days ago, and there’s something about it … Read them in the order they were sent and tell me what you think.”
    He unfolded all three, then arranged them by date. “Blakely Associates,” he said, reading the letterhead. “Never heard of them.” He read the rest of the first letter in silence. “It’s an offer on J House.” He looked up at her. “That’s nothing new. There aren’t many lots the size of yours left on Telegraph Hill. You have a prime building location, especially for condos.”
    “Roger looked them up,” Hope said. “They’re a consortium out of Los Angeles.”
    “Hmm. They’re offering a decent package. You could easily buy another place that didn’t need major repairs.”
    “We’ve had this discussion before, Peter. Yes, we could sell out and move to the Tenderloin, but by being where we are, my girls get away from the street life, and they get a taste of the possibilities of a new life. A move would be disastrous. We’d lose Mai’s restaurant, and you know how many of my girls she hires. And what about the Saturday Market? You’ve seen how that works. It brings the whole neighborhood together. We make a difference where we are, Peter. We make a difference in the lives of the women and girls we take in, and in the lives of our neighbors. A move is out of the question.”
    “You’d think after everything, I wouldn’t forget all of that,” Peter said, looking suitably ashamed of himself. Ever since Hope and her crew had helped his little sister get clean and sober, Peter Kent, attorney at law, had been a strong supporter of Casa de Jesús.
    “Read the other two and tell me if you don’t start to see a difference in tone.”
    Hope watched Peter’s expression change as he read them.
    “I see what you mean. The wording gets stronger in the second letter and almost sounds like a threat in the third.” Holding the third letter, he read several lines aloud, “ ‘We dislike reminding you yet again that the time for negotiating a deal that will give you the means to move and relocate is running out. Be assured that we are aware that on January 1, if you have not begun the necessary repairs, the city of San Francisco will condemn the property and you will be forced to vacate. Rather than wait until that happens, we hope that you will accept this very generous offer.’” He rubbed his chin. “They certainly have all the information correct. This last part, about what they’ll offer once J House is condemned, is sort of unsettling.”
    Hope felt like rubbing her midsection again but refrained. Instead of feeling better, she was feeling worse. “They remind me of vultures waiting for the kill.” Please Lord, I can’t lose J House. Please. You know that’s my dream and reason for being.
    “That’s the way some companies do business.” Peter pulled his PDA from his coat pocket and clicked out the stylus. “I think it’s time for a board of directors’ meeting. How about four o’clock Wednesday?”
    Hope checked her pocket calendar. “Fine with me. Here or at J House?”
    “Here. I’ll