A Million Little Things. Susan Mallery
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finished exploring the room and trotted over to Bea, who scooped her up and held her close.
“How’s my best girl?” she asked in a soft voice. “I like the buttons on your sweater. It takes a very fashion-forward girl to pull that off and, of course, you do.”
Lulu gave her a kiss, then relaxed in her embrace. Pam supposed there were people who would say her dog was spoiled, and while that might be true, Lulu was a faithful companion who had been by her side every second after John’s death. The little girl had missed her dad as much as everyone else in the family.
Pam shook off the memories and reached into her tote. This time she pulled out a file. “Tell me about Filia,” she said, opening the folder.
“We helped her five years ago, to get her nail salon up and running, and now she’s thriving. I think you’re going to like working with her.”
Pam was sure her friend was right. Bea had always done a good job of matching clients with coordinators. Moving Women Forward had a simple mission statement—they were there to help female entrepreneurs. That was it. A simple, clear vision. If a woman wanted to start a business, MWF was there to offer advice on everything from what to expect start-up costs to be to how to get a business license. If a woman already had a business up and running, MWF would provide mentoring, assistance with figuring out how to do payroll, manage employees and inventory. There were even cash grants and loans available. The services themselves were provided free of charge, but the client had to be accepted first, and that wasn’t easy.
Over the past couple of years Pam had learned that a lot of people said they wanted to open a business, but not very many of them were willing to put in the hard work required to make it happen. MWF insisted that clients take the first steps on their own—to show they were serious.
“I have a few ideas,” Pam said. “Her plans are ambitious. Let’s see if she can put them into action.”
Pam worked for MWF as a volunteer mentor. She took on a handful of clients every year. She was their point person. If she couldn’t answer a question, she would find someone who could. If the client was applying for a grant through MWF, Pam helped with the paperwork, then was her advocate through the process.
Filia hoped to expand her nail salon into a day spa. According to her paperwork, the space next door to her salon would be available in a few months. The location was good and she was already at capacity with her nail salon. It seemed to be the next logical step.
“I’ll let you know how it goes,” Pam said. She stood and looked at her dog. “You want to stay with Bea?”
Lulu wagged her tail and gave a little woof of agreement.
“Then I’ll be back in about half an hour.”
“If she gets restless, I’ll take her for a walk,” Bea promised.
“Thanks.”
Pam walked down the short hallway to one of the small meeting rooms. Filia, a petite, dark-haired woman in her late thirties, was already there. She stood when Pam entered and offered a nervous smile.
Pam introduced herself and they shook hands. They both sat at a small, round table in the center of the room.
Pam left the file closed. There was no need to get into the weeds just yet. Better that she and Filia get to know each other.
“Bea tells me you want to expand your business. Tell me about that.”
Filia’s brown eyes brightened. “I started my nail business five years ago with two girls. Now I have fifteen. We’re open seven days a week. Walk-ins and regulars. A year ago, I started offering chair massages for clients, either before or after their nail appointments. Six months ago, I began selling a skin care line. It’s doing well.”
Filia leaned forward. “My younger sister moved in with my family two years ago. She went to school to be an aesthetician. She’s worked for a big spa for several months now. She would come work for me and maybe a couple of her friends. I know how I want the space next door to be. I have some of the money, but not enough. I need to get a loan.”
Pam nodded. None of this was new information. She also knew that Filia was married and that her husband worked as a gardener. They had a ten-year-old daughter. Both of them had a high school education, but they planned to send their daughter to college. It was the American dream in living color.
“The first thing the bank is going to ask for is a business plan,” Pam told her. “Do you know what that is?”
Filia nodded slowly. “I created one the first time I came here. I can put together an updated one for the new business.”
Pam opened the folder and pulled out several sheets of paper. “Wonderful. The bank will want to know that you can cover your bills, including payroll, and pay back the loan. Once you have the basics taken care of, they’ll look at whether or not they consider you a good risk.”
There was also the possibility of a low-interest loan from MWF, but Pam wasn’t going to mention that just yet. First she wanted to see if Filia was committed to do the work necessary to even apply for a bank loan. Not everyone was. But she had a feeling that the woman in front of her was going to be someone willing to do the work to get herself where she wanted to be.
Filia took the paperwork and looked it over. She smiled. “This is much more clear than the books from the library. Thank you.”
“I’m glad.” Pam handed over a business card. “This is my contact information. Why don’t you take a week or so to get the first draft of the plan together? Once you have that, we’ll meet again and I’ll go over it with you.”
She would take as much time as necessary to get it bank-ready. Once Filia showed she was willing to do what had to be done, Pam would be with her all the way.
“Thank you for your help.” Filia clutched the paperwork tightly. “I’m going to make this happen. You’ll see.”
“I’m excited to work with you.”
“I feel the same way.” Filia smiled. “When my day spa opens, you can have the first facial.”
Pam laughed. “I can’t wait.”
“Do you think he’s warm enough?” Jen asked her mother as she pushed the stroller along the boardwalk. It was sixty-eight degrees, which wasn’t cold, but they were at the beach and there was a cool breeze off the ocean. She had on a light hoodie, but her mom was only in three-quarter sleeves.
“He’s fine.”
“I don’t know.”
Jen hesitated, then decided they were close enough to the carousel that she could wait to check on Jack. It wasn’t as if he was crying or anything.
There weren’t a lot of people hanging out at the Pacific Ocean Park, otherwise known as the POP. A few mothers out with their young children. A handful of businesspeople taking a late lunch. Most everyone else was busy with their lives. Midday walks at the beach were a luxury—one she should be grateful for.
Jen had read an article that said a spirit of gratitude could help with anxiety. At this point she was ready to try nearly anything. She was exhausted from checking on Jack a dozen times a night. Not that he woke up—she was the one springing out of bed to make sure the reason there was no noise from the baby monitor wasn’t that he’d stopped breathing.
She was tired of the vague feeling of impending disaster—a sensation that frequently blossomed into a full-blown panic attack. She hated the sense of being unable to catch her breath or knowing she was spiraling out of control and that in a very short period of time, she was going to lose it completely. So if gratitude would help, she was all-in.
Lulu trotted along at Pam’s side. The little dog had on