by B. E. Baker
Whenever Beth smiles for real, her eyes squint up so much that they practically close. They’re nearly slits right now, and I love it. I pull Beth in for a hug. The first piece of furniture I ever made, a clumsily joined bookcase, is filled with books in her bedroom at home.
“My original fan.”
“I’d never give that bookcase up, even if someone offered me a million dollars.”
I chuckle. “No one would ever pay a hundred dollars for that wobbly hunk of junk, but you’d be a fool not to take it if they did.”
“Then call me a fool.”
My dad and mom’s heads appear around the corner. Mom’s eyes are wide, looking at the guests more than the pieces.
“Where did all these people come from,” she whispers once she’s close enough.
I smile. “I don’t know any of them.”
“Why are they here?” my dad asks. “If you don’t even know them?”
Geo turns around from the person she was schmoozing to answer him. “We tapped into a guest list comprised of Luke’s, Paul’s, Trig’s, and my contacts. That formed our core group, but then we’ve been marketing the heck out of this, and it has grown.”
“You could’ve used our company list,” Dad says gruffly. “Then we might have known someone.”
“I didn’t want to take advantage.” I shuffle my feet. “Or alienate anyone.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been able to manage preparing all this, and all your work,” Dad says. “It’s impressive, son. Very impressive.”
Now or never. “Well, actually, about that. Christine’s been lending a hand at work so I could spend my extra time on this.”
Dad turns to look at the back of her head. “Christine, you say?”
“Yep. She told me she’s always had an interest.” I clear my throat. “Actually, she mentioned that she had even asked you about it once.”
“Pah,” Dad says. “She’s a public relations major. What does she know about selling cars?”
“I majored in nothing,” I say. “And I’ve managed alright.”
“You’ve got heaps of life experience and natural charisma.”
I’m suddenly glad Christine isn’t near enough to hear what we’re saying. She might pop good old dad on the nose. “Dad, Christine’s taking over for me. She’s picked things up quickly, and since you put the whole business in a family limited partnership years ago, we all have shares to vote. Me, Beth and Christine are all on board for sure. That’s enough.”
Dad splutters.
Mom’s smile takes me by surprise. “Correction. You, Beth, Christine, and me are all on board. I doubt her twin would vote against her, which means Jennifer’s probably a lock too.” Mom takes Dad’s arm in hers. “I believe that’s called a super majority, darling. You probably ought to make peace with it, rather than making us look like the old fools you and I both are. Let’s grab something to drink.” She leads him around the corner toward the bar, but winks at me over her shoulder as she does.
I might have underestimated my mother all these years.
“It’s unbelievable he has all these pieces,” one woman behind me is telling Beth. “How did he create so many?”
The Callanwolde is twenty-seven thousand square feet, and much of that is currently showcasing my work. Geo had the brilliant idea to dedicate thirty pieces to the charity and have this grand opening to drum up excitement for them.
The gallery director, Francis Tate, turns the corner with a woman on his arm. She’s much shorter than he is, but she’s wearing a very tall hat, and the feathers keep brushing his nose.
“Can I order the other pieces tonight?” the woman asks Tate.
His face looks pinched, as though he’s answered this question before. “The ones that aren’t up for auction, do you mean?”
She grins and nods. “Yes, exactly. Can’t I order those tonight?”
“Tonight’s auction is to benefit Mr. Graham’s new charity, as you well know. But if you’ll tell me which particular item you’re interested in, I’ll make a note and call you first thing.”
“All of them,” the woman says. “Don’t you know who I am?” She puts a hand on her ample hip. “Andrea Vanderblat.”
The name means nothing to me, but Tate’s jaw drops. “As I said, I’ll make a note of your number.”
“I don’t want you to make a note. I’ll pay five million for the entire lot, but you must agree to that right now.”
“Ma’am, it’s not up for sale yet,” Tate says.
I nearly choke. Why isn’t the moron taking the offer? Who cares what the rules are? We made the rules. Take the money!
Geo beams at me.
“Did you hear him turn her down?” I hiss. “What’s going on?”
She claps her hands and whispers. “Your pieces are skyrocketing on the bidding. Having Luke and Paul and Trig invite all their friends was brilliant. These people compete, and when you add alcohol to the mix.” She giggles. “Plus, it’s all for charity, so they can write it off.”
“Not the pieces I sell tomorrow.” I frown. “Do they know that?”
“I really need to win that nursery set,” Mary says a few feet away.
Luke pats her shoulder. “I told you, I’ve bid on it three times. I just don’t feel good about spending more than we spent on our house for a crib and nightstand.”
Mary’s eyes widen. “No, neither do I. I had no idea it had gone that high.”
Luke rolls his eyes.
I step closer to them. “Umm, you’re shopping for a crib?”
Mary beams. “We aren’t supposed to tell anyone yet. I’m only seven weeks along.”
Geo squeals! “Oh my gosh, Mary, I took a test just last night.”
Wait. A test?
The two girls are hugging and screaming. Geo’s pregnant? And Mary?
“Trig is going to kill me for saying anything,” Geo gushes, “but we might have babies at the same time!”
“I’d be happy to make you each a nursery suite,” I say. “My gift.”
A man behind me with a scarf tied around his neck, an honest to goodness scarf, says, “Wait, you’re taking custom commissions?”
Another woman, this one with five inch, magenta heels and a matching sheath dress touches my arm. “You are? Oh my goodness! I had this idea for a birch wood settee, with an ivory silk cushion. I must have you make it. Tell me you will. When could it be ready? My mother’s coming down to visit in three weeks. Is there any chance you could have it ready by then? I’ll gladly pay a rush fee.”
Suddenly people are shouting at me from all sides. Women, men, yelling things over one another.
Tate lifts his arms in the air. “Calm down, everyone. We are not taking custom orders. There’s been a misunderstanding, that’s all.”
“But I heard Andrea Vanderblat already bought the entire collection,” someone in the next room shouts.
What in the world?
“No one bought the entire collection,” Mr. Tate says, “but I’m willing to have my staff open up the rest of the pieces for auction tonight, if you’d like that.”
Loud cheers from everyone.
“Alright, I’ll take that as a yes. My staff will be listing the additional pieces one by one over the next forty-five minutes to an hour. Please be patient.”
Geo and Beth each take one of my arms and jostle me out of the room.
“This is better than you could have dreamed,” Beth whispers.
“No kidding,” I mutter.
“Your parents certainly won’t be able to argue that you’re not doing the right thing now,” Geo says. “And I am going to hold you to that pledge to make us a nursery suite, but I don’t expect you to do it for free.”
I pull Geo toward me for a hug. “Pregnant? I can’t believe it!”
“I know,” she gushes. “Me either. But Trig and I are both so happy. We haven’t told anyone though, so…”
“Don’t tell Brekka?” I ask.
Geo bobs her head.<
br />
“Don’t tell Brekka what?” Trig asks. “That tall skinny man said you two were back here.” He smiles at Beth. “Hey Beth. How’s it going?”
Beth shrugs. “Same old, same old. I’m not engaged, or pregnant, or selling truckloads of overpriced furniture, or anything, but I’m good.”
Trig pins Geo with a stare.
She moans. “It slipped out, okay? Mary’s pregnant and, I just, look, you can’t be mad. I’m too excited.”
Trig slings an arm around Geo’s shoulder. “Prepare yourself, Rob. You can’t stay mad at the woman you love for very long, no matter what she does. And I’m discovering it’s even harder when you know she’s going to have a baby.”
I grin at them. “Congratulations. I was just telling Geo I’d be happy to custom design some furniture for your nursery.”
“Well, I’m sure we’ll be delighted to sell our jet and use the proceeds to buy a crib from you.”
I laugh. “Hardly. And no matter what Geo says, it will be my gift.”
Trig shakes his head. “I could turn around and sell that jewelry box for a hundred times what I paid for it right now. And you already gave us the cabinet and the table for our wedding present. It’s too much. Especially now that I know your stuff sells for hundreds of thousands. Congratulations, Rob.”
“Thanks.”
“What did Brekka say about all this?”
I shake my head. “She didn’t bite. I asked her to come. Several times in fact, but she said she couldn’t make it.”
Trig’s tilts his head and looks at me like I’m wearing polyester.
“Uh, you sure?”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
Trig grins his sideways grin. “It means I just saw her outside, wheeling around and drooling over some kind of buffet table.”
My heart rate spikes and my hands tremble. “No, you didn’t.”
He slashes his finger in the shape of an x over his chest. “Cross my selfish little heart.”
I shoot out of the room, eyes scanning, but everyone is so dang tall. I can’t see past the crush of people. How could Brekka navigate through this stupid exhibit at all?
“Rob?”
Her voice stops my heart dead. I’m sure I’ll slump to my knees any second and then keel over. Except somehow my feet turn around, and my head turns around and my heart starts beating again, and suddenly, there she is. Her perfect smile, her fringy hair falling in her eyes, and her delicate hands folded in her lap.
I push past the woman who’s talking to me, and the man who’s pointing at something and asking me a question.
“Pardon me,” I say absently. “I need a moment.”
I kneel in front of Brekka and cup her face in my hands. The rest of the room dissolves, and the chatter falls quiet all around me. “You came.”
She bobs her head, the skin of her cheeks sliding past the palms of my hands, silky smooth against work-worn rough. “I came.”
“How did you know? I wanted to surprise you, but you said you were busy.”
She laughs, the sound like a songbird trilling with joy. “This time I’m the one surprising you for once. Was it a good surprise?”
“The best.” Then I lean down and kiss her, claiming her mouth with mine. Telling her with the urgency of my kiss that I needed her here. I needed her to see my success, because without her it doesn’t mean anything. I broke with my family and struck out on my own because she told me I could. She’s been there encouraging me, every step of the way as the voice in my head, telling me to try try try.
At first, there’s only her mouth, and my fist in her hair, and my fingers on her knee. The barest touch of her hand tracing my jaw. Her lips against mine. And then I notice other things. Like cheering and laughing that’s somehow surrounding us.
I pull back and Brekka blushes bright red. Everyone in the room is staring at us.
“The wife, I assume?” Andrea Vanderblat asks with a gargantuan grin.
“That’s Brekka Thornton,” someone else murmurs. “Victoria’s daughter.”
“Bernard’s daughter,” someone else says.
“She’s married? I thought she died.”
I roll my eyes. “Apparently a few other people are interested in your surprise, too.” I stand up.
“Brekka Thornton’s my girlfriend, not my wife. Not yet anyway.”
Everyone claps and cheers.
“I’ll be sure to let everyone know when our status changes,” I say. “Maybe a twitter blast. How’s that?”
More cheering. Oh, please.
Brekka’s grinning at me when I glance back down, so at least she’s not upset.
I head back for the side room, Brekka right behind me. Once we’re there, I drop down to one knee again. “Sorry about that. I forgot where we were momentarily.”
“The mark of a successful surprise.” She glances down at her lap and wrings her hands. “I’m still your girlfriend?” Her voice is small, too small.
I take her hands in mine, my large fingers enveloping hers entirely. “If you want to be.”
She looks back at me, her dark, full lashes framing eyes full of hope. “It’s all I want.”
“Then why have you been hiding?” I ask. “What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything.” She shakes her head. “And I’m not hiding, not exactly.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on, then?”
“I am. That’s why I came this weekend. Well, that and to buy some outrageously priced furniture, apparently.”
I beam at her. “I have no idea what’s going on. It’s like a house full of barracudas, and I’m the recipient of all their violent energy.”
“That’s an apt description of my social circle,” she says. “And I said it was outrageously priced. I didn’t say it wasn’t worth every penny.”
“Well, even if you don’t get something tonight, I saved one thing back at the shop that I thought you might like.”
Her eyes light up. “You did?”
I nod my head. “I’d love to show it to you, if you have time.”
She nods. “Absolutely.”
“Maybe we can go back there and talk.”
Someone taps on the doorframe and I turn. Mr. Tate pokes his head around the corner. “Got a second?”
What now? “Yeah?”
“We’re closing the auction on the charity items in ten minutes. We extended it half an hour as a courtesy.”
“Courtesy to whom?” I ask.
“Last minute bidders,” he says.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand. Won’t there always be last minute bidders?”
“These bids were called in.”
“What?” I ask. “From where?”
“Many of our guests tonight have been posting on social media.” Mr. Tate beams. “To say you’re trending is an understatement.”
“Okay,” I say. “Well, that’s good.”
“I thought you might like to be there for a press release,” he says. “Your face is good branding, and several of the major networks have sent camera crews. They’d like you to announce the amount you’re donating. Your friend Clive is also here, ready to accept your donation on behalf of Cultivate.”
I turn toward Brekka. She beams at me. “Go, I’ll be here when you’re done. I’m so proud of you, Rob. For all of it. Plus, it sounds like I have some last minute bids to make now that there’s time.”
She follows me out the door, but I head for the dining room we designated as the pressroom, and Brekka turns toward the main living area. I wonder what she’s bidding on, but when I reach the press area any thoughts in my brain evaporate. I’m immediately bombarded with questions.
“What gave you the idea for Cultivate?” a woman with hair like a helmet asks.
“When I was stationed in Libya, our unit was hit with an IED. I was thrown to the road, and debris landed on my chest. It broke my back.”
The room falls surprisingly quiet.
“T
hrough equal parts luck, hard work, and dedication by a group of military surgeons, my break was stabilized and then it healed. My broken spine has refused and I’m fine today. I can do anything.”
“Could you play quarterback in the NFL?” a man with a hugely wide mouth asks.
“Anything I could do before, which sadly means that I’m as bad at football as I always was.”
People in the room snicker.
“But I do have complete range of motion. It’s miraculous to me, even now. But some of my friends weren’t as lucky as me.” I put my hand on Clive’s shoulder. “Many former warriors in our nation’s military are now fighting battles of their own every day at home. The wounds they received in combat continue to plague them.”
“What about your girlfriend?” a man with long thin fingers, and a bright white smile asks.
I bob my head. “My girlfriend was in an automobile accident. She’s also a wheelchair user today. And you know, there are hosts of other people who deal with similar difficulties. I have neighbors, friends and family who use wheelchairs and have prosthetic limbs, and I’m not the exception. I’m the rule. People who use wheelchairs are all around us. Many people have suffered injuries in combat, or are dealing with medical conditions. Differently abled people face a barrage of problems most of us never even notice. Many, many places still aren’t accessible. My buddy Clive teaches,” I pause. “Or, I suppose I should say, before he accepted my offer to be the new President of Cultivate, he taught physical education. It’s not typically a job performed by a person who uses a wheelchair. Not because a wheelchair user can’t do it, but because it’s not something people typically make accommodations for, which is a shame.”
“When we completed our rehab,” Clive says, cameras snapping as he speaks for the first time, “we were told to look for jobs we could complete at home. Even for those of us able to live independently, we’re directed that it’s just simpler. I was strongly encouraged to go into customer service or computer programming. Everyone wanted me to do something I could do while sitting in a wheelchair in my family room.”
“One of my goals with Cultivate,” I say, “is to help people to see, all people, the tremendous value that disabled people can bring to the world around them, if we’re able to approach things from a new perspective. And not because they are wheelchair users, not at all. Not because they’ve risen above their great difficulty, but because of the people they were before, and now and the people they always would have been. They’re people exactly like you and me, with the exception of needing a few accommodations. Although, instead of seeing the changes we need to make as accommodations, I wish we could think of them as opportunities to improve. I know no one likes change.”
