by B. E. Baker
“Believe me,” Clive says. “I don’t like it either. But I didn’t have a choice.”
“In a moment,” I say, “I’ll have the honor to announce the amount of donations we were able to raise through the sale of some furniture I made in my shop at home. Each piece is different, unique, and one of a kind. And all the people Cultivate strives to care for, to benefit, and to enrich, are different and unique too. They aren’t like everyone you see in your normal routine, but they’re just as beautiful as each piece of furniture.” I turn to face Tate. “Isn’t this where you wanted to play that reel of the images of what we put up for auction?”
Tate nods. “And I thought I’d surprise everyone with a little announcement of my own. Thanks in large part to the tremendous response from donors tonight, the gallery is planning to donate its entire commission as well. Therefore, one hundred percent of the income from the sale of these beautiful items will go to fund Cultivate, a charity the Callanwolde stands behind one hundred percent.”
I’m floored. He’s donating their twenty percent cut? I don’t know how to react.
Tate starts the video, and flashes of furniture I made over the past years in the quiet of my own shop appear, one by one. A coffee table with glass blown in between the joined parts of a split tree. A nightstand with the word Sleep burned into the top, then covered in iridescent glaze. A dining table formed from a single cross cut slab. A breakfast table with stump slab seats. A bookcase with carved scrollwork running up the sides, featuring butterflies and flowers I treated with a chemical stain, making them iridescent. A delicate china hutch. A set of end tables. A lamp stand. A rocking chair. On and on, the images flash. More coffee tables. An entry table, and my favorite piece of the night. A breakfast table made of the same inosculated ash I used for Trig and Geo’s wedding gift, and delicate, individual chairs made of ash as well. The finish is rubbed, and the legs took me days and days to carve, those of the table matching the chairs.
“While the slide was playing,” Tate announces, “the network informed me that we’ve had viewers, hundreds of viewers in fact, who have called asking to donate as well. We wanted to let you know, the website recently set up for Cultivate is available at the web address flashing in the strip at the bottom of the screen. If you’d like to donate, they welcome that. Every donation helps. And now, I’ve got an envelope here for Rob. We wanted him to read the amount he was able to raise, as well as the single largest donation out loud for all of you today. Live, so we can experience his success right here with him.”
I take the envelope with steady hands. I’m surprised about how utterly calm I feel. I’m conscious that this is all happening in front of thousands of people, but I can’t see anyone other than the representatives from the press and a handful of cameramen, so it feels pretty surreal. “Well,” I say. “When I had this idea, I wasn’t sure if anyone would turn out other than my mom, so I’m pleased, no matter what this number is.”
“Tell them your pie-in-the-sky goal,” Clive says.
“Good idea,” Tate says.
“Well,” I say, “Clive and I went over his expenses. He’s going to work for the same salary he was being paid as a teacher, forty-thousand dollars a year, and since he’s got VA coverage, we don’t even have to pay for his health insurance.” I wink. “Which is really why I gave him the job. He’s cheaper than anyone else would be.”
Clive rolls his eyes.
“By my calculations, if I could manage to raise a hundred and fifty-thousand, we’d have enough to run for a year and a half, especially if people like me are willing to donate their time to help effectuate the modifications to the individual applicant’s homes.”
“I’m not sure whether anyone mentioned this yet,” Clive says, “though I know it was on the invitations. I thought maybe we should explain on air that Rob here spent weeks and weeks of weekends at my house, and donated all the supplies to redo my cabinets at a level I could easily reach. He’s done it for several other friends from our injured veteran trauma support group as well.”
I swallow. “But the material point is that, in addition to people donating any money they are willing to donate, we will be looking for people willing to volunteer time or skills. The more donations of any type we receive, the further these donations of cash will go.”
“Exactly,” Clive says.
I pull the paper out of the envelope and start to read. “It says that we raised one hundred and four—” I cut off. There must be a typo. I turn toward Tate and drop my voice. “This can’t be right. Is there a typo?”
Tate shakes his head and jerks his head toward the cameras.
“Uh, okay, well, it says we raised one hundred and four million, three hundred and forty-three thousand and fifty dollars.”
Clive’s mouth opens and his eyes widen like teacups.
I whisper at Clive again. “Are you sure it’s not one hundred and four thousand? It’s less than my pie in the sky dream, but it’s still tremendous. More than I had any reason to hope.”
Tate points at the paper. “Keep reading, hot shot.”
I look back down at the paper, my hands shaking so badly I can hardly read the figures. “It says the single largest donation was for the breakfast table and chairs made of inosculated Ash. The donation was made by Brekka Thornton, who paid one hundred million dollars on behalf of the Aldertree Thornton Family Trust.”
I drop the paper.
Brekka.
“Even without your girlfriend’s tremendous support,” the woman with the helmet hair says, “you still raised four million and three hundred and forty-three thousand. How does that feel?”
“Three hundred and forty-three thousand and fifty,” Clive says. “Every dollar counts.”
I have no idea what to say.
One of Tate’s employees hands Clive a laptop.
Clive makes a strangled sound. “I was logged in to the system so that they could provide the information for donations on the air,” he says. “And look!”
He spins the laptop around toward me.
Our fund shows that we’ve already had almost half a million in funds donated from individuals through the website.
“I’m utterly speechless,” I say into the camera. “It’s one thing for the very wealthy to support a cause and take a write off. But to know that all of you viewers believe as strongly in this cause as I do? To see you all supporting us tonight, well, it’s overwhelming to say the least.”
A whimpering sound to my side draws my attention and I notice that my friend who’s a former football player, who normally sports a classically good looking profile, has turned to look at the ground. Because his face has scrunched up in an ugly way.
Clive is crying. On national television.
“Well, it’s time for us to conclude this interview,” Tate says. “Because I have word that Mr. Graham has a special phone call. From the oval office. Apparently the President is planning to redecorate, and she would love to commission her new desk and filing cabinet from a veteran. Her favorite cousin is also a wheelchair user, you know.”
I can’t hold back my tears either. I have no idea how long Clive and I are crying on a live feed before they finally cut off, but the donations roll in even faster after that.
28
Brekka
Mary and Luke jump up and down and cheer at 10:31 p.m.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“We won the nursery suite,” Mary gushes. “It was way, way more than we should have spent, but I pointed out to Luke…”
“It’s for charity,” he says. “Which means the whole amount is deductible and goes to fund a good cause.”
“We are going to pay almost nothing in taxes this year,” Mary says. “And our baby is going to have the cutest crib in the world.”
Luke spins Mary in a circle. “So what if we need to eat Ramen for a few months?”
She hits his arm. “Knock it off.”
They’re having a baby? “When are you due?”
/>
Mary’s grin widens more than I thought possible. “March twelfth.”
“Very exciting.” I can’t quite inject true energy into my tone, and I hope they don’t notice. I am happy for them, but something contracts inside me, a longing. I want to have a child. I want a baby in my arms, and they already have two. A third before I’m even married seems… greedy.
“Have you seen Geo tonight?” Mary asks.
I shake my head, but her words spark something inside of me. Why would she ask me about Geo, my recently married sister-in-law, after a conversation about babies? I look around the room without luck.
“Pardon me,” I say. “I ought to look for her.”
Mary winks at me, and I redouble my efforts to squeeze past the people all around me and find my brother. If there’s news, I better not be finding out after Mary and Luke. I finally see them, their eyes on a monitor in the corner of the room, the back of Geo’s head leaning against Trig’s chest, his arms wrapped around her, both of them watching something earnestly.
I move toward them, but once I’m close, I realize what they’re watching. It’s the ten o’clock news. And my beautiful, handsome, All American boyfriend is talking to everyone who’s tuning in.
“—Clive and I went over his expenses. He’s going to work for the same salary he was being paid as a teacher, forty-thousand dollars a year, and since he’s got VA coverage, we don’t even have to pay for his health insurance.” When he winks, I imagine girls all over the world sighing and giggling.
“Which is really why I gave him the job,” Rob says. “He’s cheaper than anyone else would be.”
Clive rolls his eyes.
Rob looks so earnest. He’s about to announce whether they met their goals on national television. And I realize that my donation, my bid, isn’t anonymous.
My stomach ties in knots and I wheel toward Geo frantically.
“Geo!” I shout. “Geo!”
She races across the room to meet me. “What? Brekka, are you alright?”
I shake my head. “No, no, I’m not. Why are they announcing this on television?”
Trig shrugs. “All press is good press, right, but especially this. The more people inspired by Rob’s donations and his work, the more support Cultivate will generate. It was Christine’s idea, but Geo set it up.”
I can’t stop shaking my head, even if it’s starting to give me a headache. “No, but I bid astronomically high on something.”
“That’s good, right?” Trig asks. “You’re a supportive girlfriend.”
Geo cocks her head. “Umm. Exactly how high is astronomically high?”
She gets it. I’m going to steal Rob’s thunder, utterly and completely.
“A million?” Trig asks.
“Two?” Geo asks.
I shake my head, my stomach sinking like an Acme anvil.
“Oh no,” Trig says. “What did you do?”
I close my eyes. “It’s a long story I’ll update you on later, but I might have seized control of the reins of the trust and told Mom I was donating my share to charity.”
Trig’s jaw drops. “You didn’t donate three billion dollars though, right? Tell me you didn’t.”
I exhale. “No, it’s not that bad. But a hundred million.”
Geo frowns. “That’s way too much.”
Or maybe no one will find out, I think.
“—It was made by Brekka Thornton, who paid one hundred million dollars from the Aldertree Thornton Family Trust.”
Trig whistles. “Mom will like the good PR, at least.”
I drop my face into my hands. “I’ve completely ruined this, haven’t I?”
“Maybe not,” Geo says. “I mean, obviously Cultivate is poised to be a huge success, and it shows the world you support your boyfriend.”
Trig snorts. “And it completely cuts the legs out from under Rob and what he was trying to do. If his girlfriend can come in and drop, what did they say? Like twenty-five times what he earned, just by writing a check?”
“Oh no, oh no, oh no.” I realize I’m muttering under my breath and click my teeth shut.
“It’s going to be fine,” Geo says. “Rob loves you. If he’s upset, he’ll get over it.”
Trig bites his lip. “It’s kind of thousands of years of social conditioning that propels guys to want to provide for their family. That’s a lot to shrug off.”
“Shut up,” Geo says. “You aren’t helping.”
“And you guys don’t know everything yet. I doubt Rob’s told you any details about our interactions in the six weeks since your wedding?”
Geo and Trig exchange a glance.
“What would he tell us?” Geo asks.
“I might have been kind of weird at the wedding. Like, we both said I love you, and then I kind of ran away and I’ve been blowing him off a little. Coming for this and donating to show my support was supposed to be my grand gesture.”
“It’s grand,” Trig says. “That’s for sure.”
I groan.
“Look, no need to get all melodramatic yet.” Geo strokes my head soothingly. “Wait to freak out until you talk to Rob and find out how he feels. He’s pretty evolved, for a guy.” She glares at Trig.
He shrugs. “I’m not very evolved, but at least I admit that. Maybe our kids will get your genes in that regard. We can hope, anyway.”
“Speaking of your kids.” I lift my eyebrows.
“Oh, come on. Who said something?” Geo asks.
Trig and I both glare at her.
“We took one test last night, right before bed,” Trig whispers. “Geo promised me she wouldn’t tell anyone, and now she’s practically taken out an ad in the national news.”
“At least I didn’t give anyone a hundred million dollars,” Geo mutters.
I laugh. We’re all a bunch of idiots. “Well, congratulations, you two.” My eyes fill with tears. My brother’s having a baby! And I’ll be an aunt. Even if I never have children of my own, I can squeeze his little cherub as much as I want.
Now I want to move to Atlanta even more. Not that I’ve been asked. Not that I’ll ever be asked, more than likely. I’ll be lucky if Rob doesn’t throw me out the second I show up at his door.
“Where did you leave things before the press announcement?” Trig asks. “I’m assuming he didn’t know you were coming tonight?”
I shake my head. “I surprised him.” The tears in my eyes change from joy to despair. “And now he’s not going to want me to come over anymore.”
“You’re supposed to see him later?” Geo asks. “That’s good. You can explain. You didn’t mean to make it public. You had no idea they were going to read anything on national news. It’s not your fault he looked stupid.”
“He didn’t look stupid,” I wail. “He looked gorgeous and perfect and amazing. He looked better than anyone I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“I did?” Rob asks.
My heart surges in my chest and I worry it might pop out of my body and flop around on the floor, spurting blood and making a huge mess. I remind myself this isn’t a Quentin Tarantino film, and my heart is safely beating inside of my rib cage.
I nod dumbly at Rob from across the room. “You did. You do. You always do.” Everyone milling around falls silent. Again. What’s wrong with me tonight? People shift out of the way as Rob strides toward me. He takes my hand in his and bends over to kiss the back of it.
“Tate says I can head home. You still want to come?”
“You still want me to?” I hate the wobble in my voice.
Rob cocks his head sideways and lifts one eyebrow. “Of course.”
I squeeze his hand before he lets go so I can wheel my way toward the door.
I glance back at Trig and Geo, and Trig mouths, “Good luck!” and grins stupidly. Geo actually throws me an honest to goodness thumbs up, like she’s running for Mayor or something.
When we reach the parking lot, I follow him a dozen yards before I realize we’re headed for L
ittle Debbie.
“You came here in your old Chevy?”
He shrugs. “What else would I drive? I only use the Ram when I’m hauling stuff, and the gallery worked out transportation of everything last week.”
This unassuming, classic-car loving artist in front of me floors me every day. He’s so humble. He’s so kind. He’s thoughtful and caring. What was wrong with me? How could I ever think he could turn into my father? He would never resent me for asking him to move, would he? I search his face for signs of anger, frustration, disappointment or inadequacy.
I can’t read him, not at all.
He doesn’t speak as he helps me into Little Debbie and loads Gladys into the back. I think about how far we’ve come since we met in May. He needs no direction, but manages her like a pro. I don’t object to his help. In fact, it’s nice to surrender for a second and to let someone else do something for me. It might even be nice to have a partner in the daily struggle.
A tear rolls down my cheek and I brush it away before Rob can notice. It’s a good thing I opted for the waterproof mascara today.
“I’m happy you came tonight,” Rob says.
“You are?” I hope he doesn’t notice when I draw a ragged breath to steady myself. “I mean, I’m so glad that you are.”
Rob has just put the truck in gear, but he turns toward me sharply. He rams it back into neutral and turns in his seat. “I love you, Brekka. I think I’ve loved you since May. That’s more than three months now. I love your heart, your fire, and your stubbornness. I love it all. I’m always happy to see you. No matter what.”
I break down into tears, and he shuts Little Debbie off. He slides across the bench seat and gathers me in his arms. “What’s going on?”
