Beneath Barstow's brilliant blue sun-kissed skies, crepuscular rays weave through the tall, mature redbud tree, providing a refuge from the scorching red ball of light.
In seeking solace from the summer heat, April Turner reclines on a bench beneath the redbud's shade. The cool breeze, more an excuse for sun-soaking than relief, tousles her lightweight false brunette strands, stirring her from her brief slumber.
Adjacent to the redbud stands her office, where vital decisions affecting the lives of the children under her care are made. April co-manages the old Cantia Home, once a convent at the foot of San Bernardino's hill plains, its sprawling expanse covering the land.
The weathered structure, barely standing, has sheltered countless orphans left at its front door. Among them were April Turner and Rose Anderson, who were both abandoned here as newborns. It became their sole refuge, their shared history etched into its timeworn walls.
Despite her studies in Business Administration and Management at UCLA, April returned to oversee Cantia alongside Rose Anderson, who studied at the same university. Rose, also with a Performance and Communication Arts background, dreamed of becoming a successful musician. But when opportunities eluded her, she stepped into the temporary co-manager role at Cantia.
As children, their identical features blurred the lines between them save for their personalities, but adulthood brought distinctiveness. Still, people often mistake them for sisters.
Rose's cascade of rich, short brunette waves made her a timeless beauty, and her captivating baby-blue eyes, which shine brighter than any diadem and mirror the sky or the calm ocean, remain the envy of many.
On the other hand, April's distinct, stunning shade of peach-blonde hair, which cascades down her back in soft waves, catching the sunlight in a way, makes it seem as if she has a halo. And her mesmerizing gray-blue eyes, reminiscing of the sky at dusk, full of depth and sparkling with kindness, gave her an ethereal look.
However, when she entered her teenage years, she intensely disliked her striking features, which drew undue attention to her personality, and she found that disconcerting. In response, she has spent several years concealing her natural eye and hair color with contact lenses, faux glasses, wigs, and hair dyes.
Yet, despite her efforts, those rebellious strands of hair defy her. Interrupting her brief, comforting nap, they provoke her frustration, compelling her to tuck them irritably behind her ear. ¦
°°°°°°°°°°
April's Pov
Jolted awake by my hair strands brushing across my face, I sat up and stretched my body, dissipating the last ounce of sleep from my eyes.
Summer was here again, and relentless in its fervor, has transformed my office into a human-sized barbecue grill. But this spot, with its cool breeze, offered an escape from the heated confines of my workspace.
It wasn't my first time dozing off here, but nearly thirty-two hours had passed since my last proper rest. I had drifted off to sleep on the outdoor bench where I often retreat to think.
Cantia Home, once sustained by generous benefactors, was now on the brink of closure as debts from band loans and mortgages loomed, and financial support had dwindled. So, as co-manager and caretaker, I tirelessly sought new charitable donations worldwide to keep our haven alive.
Yet outsiders only a rusty relic, a potential waste of investment. They failed to grasp that this timeworn structure had cradled countless souls—the abandoned, the lost. And still, it remained home to dozens of children who had nowhere else to turn.
The breeze stirred again, leaves rustling as crepuscular rays danced upon my skin and dress. Shielding my eyes from the sun's brilliance, I gazed upward at the swaying branches, their gentle music a soothing backdrop to my tireless efforts. The scene above evoked the musings that had occupied my mind before I drifted off.
Am I a part of some grand design akin to this sturdy trunk of the redbud? Or am I just a leaf swaying with the wind, clinging to a branch?
My heart holds gratitude for the finest matrons within these walls who nurtured me—the very ones who shaped my upbringing and Cantia for bearing witness to my journey. I do not take lightly the privilege of caring for and managing this home that once embraced me.
But in my time of solitude and moments of introspection, I delve into thoughts of the intersection of my personal and professional life.
Is there a broader purpose awaiting me beyond these walls? How would I have turned out if my life had unfolded alongside my biological family for the past twenty-five years?
I wish to be the unwavering pillar that single-handedly keeps Cantia afloat and effortlessly provides for the children who call it home. I have managed this place for three years and given it my all, yet a few doubts linger—like, have I done enough? Is there more I could have accomplished?
"Who lives like this!?" Rose Anderson screeched from the office, sounding irritable as usual. "It's a mess in here, and why can't I find anything in this shithole? April!? April!"
Rose Anderson—twenty-five, is a radiant blend of elegance and vivacity. She embodies the vibrant spirit and rich culture of creativity around here.
She's my best friend and co-manager of Cantia. I love her like a sister, partly because we were both left at the front doors on the same day twenty-five years ago and have been close ever since. And even though she doesn't always show it, I think she feels the same way.
Her radiant beauty is impossible to ignore, and her musical talent consistently steals the spotlight. They say we're like two peas in a pod, but I doubt it as ambition fuels her, our interests diverge, our goals take separate paths, and even our physical features tell distinct stories.
She dreams of soaring beyond these walls someday and exploring the world as an artist, while my aspirations remain grounded—to sustain this home and ensure its survival against the odds.
"Coming," I answered halfheartedly.
Unfortunately, co-managing Cantia felt more like a punishment for her. In her own words, she'd prefer touring around the world instead of wasting her time in a rundown place like here.
I wonder why she bothers checking in sometimes since I handle all the work here anyway while she goes off on one adventure after another.
I sighed exasperatedly and exited the bench to meet her inside my office. When 'Her Royal Highness' calls, I better answer.
"April, why the fuck does this place look like a dumpster? It's such a bother searching for anything here."
I looked around for the mess she was referring to and found nothing. The only thing out of place was a small pile of scattered files on my desk from where she had just recently ransacked. She may be my best friend, but she sometimes gets on my nerves like now.
"Well, what exactly are you looking for?"
"The bank statement... and property company's mail for this month. Where are they?"
"Top drawer of the file cabinet, Rose. What do you need it for, anyway?" I asked as I cleaned up after her, but I didn't get a reply.
She continued in her search, which infuriated me. I had to sit behind my desk and try to control my emotions so I wouldn't lash out at any moment.
"And the mail that arrived this morning, where's it?"
"At least tell me what you need them for. You're turning my office upside down and messing up the whole place."
"Your office? Oh, please. It's as much my office as it's yours to lazy about all day, so stop fucking telling me what I can or can't do in here."
"You might not see my work here due to your absence but don't waltz in here at will and accuse me of being lazy when you have zero idea what's happening inside. I won't take it from you, not today."
My outburst baffled her, so she stood silently for a few seconds before responding.
"Hey... chill, okay? Damn, why are you coming at me so hard for? You can have the office for all I care; it doesn't matter. I'll be out of here in no time anyway."
I didn't mean to yell at her. Maybe I lack the patience to overlook her usual antics because I've been under so much stress lately with little or no sleep, and it feels like I'm on the verge of breaking down. Nobody wants to lend a hand in my quest to rescue this place from going under.
"Look, I'm sorry," I expressed, exasperated.
"What curled up your ass today?"
"Things haven't been easy with the loans choking up this place. We'll be flat-out broke once this month's loan settlement gets paid. I just... we need a miracle."
As I explained, I laid my head on my desk, but a cold silence followed. Why wasn't she saying something? I lifted my head to look at her, but her nose was buried deep in a sheet of paper more important than my explanation.
Disappointed by her lack of interest in Cantia's management, I got up to organize the files she had scattered on the floor in front of my desk.
"Oh, my goodness... it's finally here!" she exclaimed excitedly, "talk about a miracle, and it's finally happening, April!"
She hurried over to show me the content of the paper. Pressed into my side, she urged me to read a particular paragraph.
It's a letter from the Real Estate company informing us that a private investor from Madrid has purchased Cantia and its surrounding areas.
I didn't get it until it finally hit me seconds later. Purchasing the land means buying the property on the land, which also means paying off all bank loans. Or at least, that's what a property like Cantia entails. A new owner may mean shared financial responsibility for the home.
"Oh my God! Oh my God! Rose, we have a new owner! We... we have a new owner!" I gushed, hugging her with excitement.
"I... can't breathe," she eventually said, returning me to my senses.
I quickly released her from my embrace as she dramatically gasped for air, and I smiled, embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, I got too excited. Are you okay?"
Fortunately, she nodded, and we both burst into cheerful laughter. After our excitement had reduced, I quickly checked the rest of the mail that had come in.
Another letter from our new landlord stated he would be visiting his newly acquired property in a few weeks, and Rose held a conniving smirk, which indicated she had plans of her own.
While I thought this was an excellent opportunity to host him so well that he would have no choice but to help us save our home, Rose had other ideas, which may or may not, in most cases, be related to saving Cantia.
Whether this is fate or an unexpected coincidence, we'll have to try our best to save Cantia for the sake of the children who've put their faith in us. How often does a miracle pop up from nowhere when we eagerly need it? I'm glad it came when we greatly needed it because now there's hope for Cantia.