The book she was referring to, The Artificial Village, sought to outline how, as nuclear families became less traditional and people were less likely to spend their lives in the same geographic location, surrounded by their relatives and neighbors whom they’d known for their entire lives, children, especially babies and toddlers, were finding fewer and fewer possibilities for meaningful human interaction. The book offered several new ways of thinking about community building, of how to create villages in seemingly inhospitable circumstances. Grind’s primary focus was on inner-city and rural areas, where the need for childhood development was greatest, and he traveled the country to help government agencies design programs to encourage a more communal relationship among seemingly random families. He had met Oprah, who had endorsed his book and ideas, which was about as much fame as a child psychologist could hope to gain. When so many of his colleagues were focused on teenagers, trying to explain the rise in drug use and violence, Grind focused on toddlers, on those first five years of life, when a few adjustments could, he asserted and numerous studies had proven, make a huge difference. The worry was all about schools and how they could properly prepare youths for the future, when children from birth to age five were pretty much ignored. There had to be a way, he posited, to make the first years of a child’s life as easy and as protected as possible, regardless of circumstances.
It did not escape Grind’s awareness, or those who looked to write stories about him, that his work seemed to be a direct response to his own parents’ methods of child rearing. “Every parent,” he would often say, “believes they are working in the best interests of their children. And sometimes this is true. Sometimes it is not. Sometimes we need other people to help us.”
He had received several grants, a substantial amount of money, to test his theories, and he focused on a few neighborhoods, finding ways to link new parents and their children, putting aside resources for child care and development, getting those without children or who no longer had children within the age range involved in outreach with their neighbors, and, finally, providing communal spaces for interaction and growth. Initial studies had shown significant improvement in the development of these children, regardless of socioeconomic background or family history. For Grind, however, it wasn’t enough to get people to see their neighbors as potential sources of support, he wanted them to see one another as members of a singular family, but this seemed troubling to his colleagues, moving into a kind of new-age therapy, and so they continued to focus on hard data and scientific methods.
“Well,” Preston replied, his pale skin, he could feel it, turning deep red with embarrassment, “I don’t know how successful it ultimately will be. It requires long-term studies, and further testing has found new issues that we’ll have to address moving forward.”
It was a habit that he found difficult to break, the way he talked about the work as if he were still a part of it, as if he had anything to do with the studies now, having removed himself from all of it.
“I mean, rather, that someone else will have to address. I am, as you may or may not know, no longer directly involved in the Artificial Village project. My name is still listed as an advisor, but I couldn’t tell you exactly what the status of the project is at the current moment. If you want to become involved in it, I know they would appreciate your support. I could put you in touch with the proper people.”
“Dr. Grind, I am very much aware of your circumstances,” Mrs. Acklen said. “I have quite a bit of time to devote to my interests; I do my research. No, while I think it is worthwhile and deserves attention, my interest is not with the Artificial Village project. My interest is, to be frank, with you.”
Preston’s face grew even hotter, a heat wave passing through his system. Was Brenda Acklen coming on to him?
“I’m flattered, Mrs. Acklen,” he responded.
“Call me Brenda, please,” she said, smiling.
“Only if you call me Preston,” he said.
“Certainly,” she replied. “No need for formality here.”
“Well, I’m very honored to meet you, as I said earlier, and I’m very grateful to hear your kind words about my work. I’m just not sure what it is I can do for you, why I’m here.”
Mrs. Acklen took a sip from her iced tea. “Preston, could I tell you a story? Do you have time for that?”
Preston felt like time had stopped, that he had entered some kind of vortex when he stepped into Mrs. Acklen’s office. “I have time, certainly,” he said.
“I grew up in an orphanage. Did you know that?”