Bring on the Blessings by Beverly Jenkins

was a first step and it would have to do for now. Like the old gospel hymn, she’d figure out the rest by and by.

CHAPTER
8
    B ernadine was swamped with faxes, contracts, e-mails, and tons of all kinds of paperwork associated with the Henry Adams project. Now that her laptop and BlackBerry were back online again, info was coming so fast and furious she felt like Noah in the flood. It was scattered all over her small bedroom at Tamar’s, and because of the volume she was having trouble putting her hands on what she needed when she needed it.
    In truth, she would be the first one to admit that she didn’t know a thing about managing something as big as this undertaking was going to be. Sure, she’d worked in offices during her social worker days, but she’d only been in charge of her small cubicle and her file cabinet. The daily logistical operations had been handled by somebody else, and it was that faceless somebody else that she needed.
    Tamar appeared in the doorway and looked around. “Every day I come in here, you got more and more paper.”
    Guilt stung Bernadine. “I’m so sorry. You offer me a place to stay and I turn it into a landfill.”
    “That is a good description,” Tamar offered while taking in the papers covering the old wing-back chair, the dresser top, the window seat, and the floor. “Not a good organizer, huh?”
    “No, ma’am. To tell you the truth, I’ve never done anything like this before in my life. Pulling this all together is more than a notion.”
    “Simple solution. Since you have plenty of money, just hire somebody, save yourself the aggravation. We can’t have you dropping dead from stress before we get the kids here and the first building up. Speaking of which, Trent just called and said the construction crews are downtown. He needs you there to sign something.”
    Bernadine sighed. She needed to clone herself into four or five individuals in order to keep up with all the plates she was juggling. “Okay. Let me grab my keys.” Her new vehicle had arrived yesterday, a Ford F-150 pickup. A big truck for a big girl. Cobalt blue. Silver trim. Sweet.
    When she got to the site, the first thing the construction crew chief did after introducing himself as Warren Kelly was to ask her, “Where’s your architect?”
    “Miami.”
    Kelly was middle-aged, with blue eyes, his tanned face leathery from years in the sun. “When’s he or she coming?”
    Bernadine shrugged. She knew she was going to sound clueless, but she told him the truth, “I didn’t know heneeded to be here. I hired him to do the blueprints. He did them. I paid him.”
    Kelly looked annoyed.
    She got on the phone and talked with the secretary at the architectural firm and was told that the architect, Martin Baird was in Peru. “Peru?” He was working on the reconstruction of an ancient temple found recently by archaeologists. He’d be gone most of the summer. She closed the phone. “He’s in Peru.”
    “Then who’s going to oversee the project on your end? You?” he asked as if he knew that couldn’t be the answer.
    Trent surprised her by saying. “I have an engineering degree. I’ll do it until you can hire somebody.”
    Bernadine was speechless. Why didn’t she know this? It made her wonder how many other residents had hidden talents she knew nothing about.
    Kelly asked skeptically, “You done construction before?”
    “All over the world.”
    Smiling now, Kelly stuck out his hand. Trent did the same.
    Glad the problem was solved, at least temporarily, Bernadine thanked Trent, signed a slew of papers, told him to call her so they could talk later, then climbed back into the truck she’d named Baby and drove back the way she’d come.
    She’d been gone a little under an hour, and when she returned to Tamar’s, Lily Fontaine was in Bernadine’s bedroom sitting in the middle of the floor sorting paper. Caughtoff guard, Bernadine entered the room slowly. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”
    Lily