Part 2: The Apron
Moments later, an older gentleman walked in beside the manager.
“Walter!” Beatrice exclaimed, forcing a smile. “What a lovely surprise!”
“Is it?”
I recognized him from newspaper photographs. Walter owned the supermarket chain, chaired the family charitable foundation, and was Beatrice’s father-in-law.
“Walter, this woman is making a scene!”
“Then explain why twelve discounted turkeys were worth humiliating someone over.”
“She’s exaggerating!”
“Did you tell her that her sick grandson wasn’t your problem?”
Beatrice hesitated. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”
“Actually,” I cut in, “those were your exact words.”
“She’s lying!”
I turned to the other customers. “Did anyone else hear that?”
Three shoppers raised their hands.
Walter sighed. “Beatrice, I’m disappointed.”
“Over a turkey?”
“No, Beatrice. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation.”
She stiffened. “What conversation?”
“About how you treat people. This isn’t the first time, Beatrice.”
The grandmother, Margaret, looked stunned.
“My son kept making excuses for you,” Walter went on. “And I let him.”
Margaret shook her head slightly. “Goodness…”
“Last month, I warned you that running our foundation would take more than hosting expensive parties.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So this wasn’t exactly her first warning?”
“That has nothing to do with this!”
“It has everything to do with this. You want to run a charity, yet you can’t spare one turkey for a sick child.”
“Exactly,” I added. “You had twelve. She only needed one.”
Walter turned to the manager. “Please put those turkeys back in the refrigerated section.”
“You can’t!”
“They haven’t been purchased.”
“I have every right to buy them!”
“And this store has every right to donate its inventory. We’re sending those twelve turkeys to the community food pantry.”
Applause broke out.
Walter walked over to the grandmother.
“What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Margaret.”
“Margaret, we’ll put together groceries for you and your grandson, free of charge.”
She covered her mouth. “Thank you.”
Beatrice crossed her arms. “This is ridiculous. I’m calling my husband.”
“Excellent,” Walter replied. “I’ve been meaning to discuss him.”
“Oh, this should be interesting,” I whispered.
Walter regarded Beatrice sternly.
“Since you’re so concerned about money, let’s talk about yours.”
She glanced nervously at the crowd.
“Perhaps it’s time your husband learned what living without my money actually feels like.”
“What?”
“I pay your mortgage, cars, vacations, even your restaurant’s losses. That ends today.”
“You can’t discuss our finances publicly!”
“You had no trouble discussing Margaret’s.”
I smiled. “Perhaps luxury vacations aren’t what you should spend money on.”
Someone snorted.
“But our trip next month!” Beatrice protested.
“Cancel it.”
“Our cars?”
“Pay for them.”
“And the restaurant?”
“We’ll discuss its finances separately. I’m done covering losses without accountability.”
Beatrice looked horrified.
I whispered, “Well, that’s one expensive shopping trip.”
Walter held up his phone. “Recognize this?”
“Because charity needs organization! You can’t simply hand food to everyone who asks!”
Noticing a banquet brochure in Beatrice’s cart, I suddenly had an idea.
“Actually, Walter, I have an idea.”
I leaned in and whispered my suggestion.
Walter smiled. “Now that could be interesting.”
Beatrice frowned. “What are you planning?”
“You’ll find out tonight,” I said.
Walter turned to her.
“The banquet will go ahead, but Rachel will help organize it.”
“Her? Absolutely not!”
“Then I’ll explain to the board why I withdrew my recommendation.”
“You’re blackmailing me!”
“I’m giving you a chance to prove you care about charity.”
Beatrice glared at me. “Fine. But no public humiliation.”
“Then you’d better behave.”
She hurried off to call her husband.
Looking at her banquet brochure, I noticed her smiling photograph filling the cover.
“Compassion Begins With Us,” I read aloud. “Quite a slogan.”
Walter chuckled.
“Especially after this morning.”
“Trust me, tonight’s going to give it a whole new meaning.”
He smiled. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”
Beatrice came back, visibly irritated.
“Are we done here?”
“For now,” I said.
She’d tried to prove her importance by hoarding twelve discounted turkeys. By evening, she’d regret that shopping trip.
That afternoon, Beatrice posted online:
Caption: Tonight, we celebrate generosity, compassion, and exciting new beginnings!
I showed the post to Mom.
“The turkey woman?”
“Yep.”
“What’s happening tonight?”
“She’s learning humility.”
Mom grinned. “Can I come?”
“Doctor’s orders say rest.”
“Doctors ruin everything.”
By five o’clock, I’d arrived at Beatrice’s restaurant, with Walter’s permission to coordinate the charitable activities.
Daniel, the restaurant manager, met us near the kitchen.
“Beatrice ordered champagne towers and imported desserts,” he said.
“And the charity contribution?”
“A percentage of tonight’s proceeds.”
I looked at Walter. “Seriously?”
He sighed. “Daniel, can your kitchen prepare two hundred meals with extra staff?”
“Absolutely.”
“We’ll pack grocery boxes too.”
Walter agreed to pay for the supplies and transportation.
“One more thing,” I told him. “Introduce me to your biggest donors. I want to fund something beyond tonight.”
He smiled. “I know just the people.”
I phoned Margaret myself.
“Rachel? Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine. Actually, I wanted to ask you a favor.”
“A favor? After what you did for me?”
“It’s a little unusual.”
“Well, now you’ve got me curious.”
I explained my proposal.
Margaret hesitated.
“Will that woman be there?”
“Yes. But it’s entirely your choice.”
After another pause, she agreed.
“All right, honey. I’ll do it.”
“Thank you, Margaret.”
“Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t expect me to wear anything fancy.”
I laughed. “Deal.”
Beatrice’s introduction to practical generosity was drawing near.
By seven, wealthy donors were streaming into the restaurant.
Beatrice appeared in a sparkling designer gown.
“Welcome!” she announced. “Tonight is about giving back!”
I nearly choked on my water.
She spotted me and came over. “Rachel. I hope you’ve finished whatever Walter asked you to organize.”
“Almost. Everything’s coming together.”
“Good. Just make sure nothing interferes with my speech.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“And please don’t embarrass me in front of my guests.”
I smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
Satisfied, she headed for the stage.
While she fretted over delivering her speech, I looked ahead to what would follow.
Walter tapped the microphone.
“Good evening, everyone.”
Beatrice rushed forward.
After thanking the donors and praising the foundation’s mission, Walter announced:
“Tonight, we’re introducing a more hands-on approach to generosity.”
Beatrice straightened, apparently expecting an appointment.
“Our wonderful hostess, Beatrice, will personally lead this activity.”
Guests applauded.
Her smile weakened.
Walter gestured toward me. “Rachel, please explain.”
I stepped forward. “After dinner, we’ll prepare two hundred grocery packages and hot meals for local families.”
The applause grew louder.
“Our chefs and volunteers have organized everything. And Beatrice will be leading by example.”
Beatrice stared. “Leading what?”
I held up an apron.
“Congratulations. You’re our first volunteer.”
