by J. P. Hansen
“I’m fine—I can handle my liquor.” Hearing they way he slurred the last phrase, Brooke raised her eyebrows. She searched for the waiter, hoping to ascertain the actual martini count. Glancing both ways, she frowned.
Weston clumsily slid his chair back, then wavered as he stood. Brooke scanned the room one more time—still no waiter.
“I’ll follow you home just to be safe.”
“I’m fine, really, you’re making another scene.” Glaring, he said, “You ready?”
Weston gripped Brooke’s arm as they ambled from the restaurant to their cars. Descending the hill, Weston shuffled in slow motion. Brooke noticed her daddy struggled and she wasn’t sure how much of it was martini related. She hated to see him age, the thought of losing him made her stomach ache.
Brooke followed at a safe distance and her father seemed in control, unlike herself after a couple of vodka shots. She replayed Chase’s call in her head, igniting another sharp pang in her stomach. How could I have been so stupid?
Inside the familiar home with all its dated furnishings, Weston led Brooke to the kitchen. He opened up the almond refrigerator door and said, “Look.”
Brooke spotted the plastic bags with reddish lobster etchings on the side, then said, “Lobster lasagna? My favorite. I’ve been craving it—how’d you know?” Her mouth watered as memories of cooking beside her daddy flooded in. She recalled the recipe by heart, though he always pulled out the withered paper from his “Meals” folder and followed step-by-step.
“Want me to buy the wine?”
“Nope. Got it covered.” Weston reached behind the lobster bags and retrieved a bottle of Pouilly Fuissé.
“Wow, you even remembered my favorite white wine.”
“Of course. We should start making it in two hours…do you want to watch a movie in the meantime?”
Brooke smiled, picturing him planning all this. Always great with details, though he may not walk too well, there’s no problem with his mind. She wondered how many times he’d gone to this much trouble for her and then she would make an excuse to scurry back to Chapel Hill.
“Sure, I haven’t watched a movie with you in a while.”
He led her to the family room, then strode to the oversized rear-projection TV with the DVD player she had bought him. “Wanna watch an old Cary Grant film?”
Brooke’s eyes looked like Janet Leigh’s in the movie Psycho as she focused on the cover: An Affair to Remember. “Oh God, not that one!”
“I thought you liked Cary Grant?”
“I just feel like watching a comedy…”
“Suit yourself.” He lunged around the TV, then opened his video drawer. Leafing through the stack like library cards, he said, “How about Forrest Gump?”
Relieved he didn’t suggest a romantic comedy, she said, “Perfect.”
They both laughed at the now-famous scenes, evoking memories of growing up in the South. Brooke recalled their trip to Savannah when she was seventeen. Her father loved the tour of the set used in the movie and talked about it often over the years. Tom Hanks was brilliant as the lead and she had forgotten how good Sally Field, Robin Wright, and Gary Sinise were. The story transported her mind away from her hurricane week.
As the credits rolled, Weston waited until he saw Savannah, then said, “Ready to make dinner?”
True to form, Weston lined the ingredients on the old oak counter in order—like soldiers awaiting roll call. Brooke retrieved their matching aprons and, for the next half hour, they prepared the delicacy like two brain surgeons. Once the layers reached the top, Weston carefully slid the porcelain dish in the oven and set the timer. Brooke opened the refrigerator and grabbed the wine.
They sipped wine while swaying in two shaded rocking chairs overlooking the rolling backyard. Chickadees darted back and forth from the old trees to the gray wooden deck, landing a few feet away. A single Carolina Wren perched atop a nearby cedar post, as if vying for attention, with its tail raised, belting, “Teakettle-teakettle-teakettle.” The freshly cut grass mixed with the daisies and tulips, forming a hazy sweetness. Brooke settled in and enjoyed the surroundings like an outdoor movie.
Weston checked his wrist watch as the buzzer sounded. He jumped up, grabbed his wine glass, and said, “Let’s eat.”
The lobster lasagna was sensational, even better than Brooke remembered. Her daddy’s comments rang true—she wasn’t eating right. But tonight, her appetite resembled Tanner’s after a football game. Tanner preferred a meaty red sauce, but loved the creamy white lobster lasagna. Brooke could still picture him sitting beside her, chatting with her daddy about sports while devouring three helpings. Her daddy always made Tanner feel at home.
Brooke swallowed the last bite of her second helping, then lifted her wine glass, “To the greatest daddy in the world. You make the best lasagna.”
“Aw, thanks Brooke,” he lifted his glass and clanked with hers, “We make the best lasagna—it wouldn’t be the same without you.”
They both drained their wine, then Weston glanced at his watch. “Oh, we better get these dishes in. It’s already past my bedtime.”
“Don’t worry about it—I’ll do ‘em. You go get your beauty sleep. I don’t have to wake up early tomorrow.”
“Nonsense, let’s do ‘em together. It won’t take us long.” Weston lugged his plate over to the sink and began rinsing before Brooke moved.
“Okay, you wanna rinse, I’ll load.”
“You betcha. Are you staying here for a few days?”
Brooke wasn’t prepared for the question and the wine dimmed her usual wit. While setting a plate inside the dishwasher, she said, “I can’t. I have so much stuff to do.”
Weston frowned, then Brooke said, “I’m going to hit the job search Monday.”
“We could do it together tomorrow. I have some people in mind.”
“I need to be near my computer. I’m supposed to do my resume. Plus, I have to shop for an interview outfit.”
Brooke loaded the last dish, squirted detergent in the small square in the door, then closed it and spun the needle to start. As she turned, Weston stood in her way, and said, “Well, I hardly see you when you’re working, now I don’t see you when you’re not.”
“I had such a nice time—I loved our dinner. I’ll be back soon, I promise. Thanks for everything. I love you.”
“Love you too, goodnight. If you change your mind…”
“Goodnight, Daddy.”
Brooke scrutinized her father’s shuffle toward the stairs like a kid sent to bed by his parents. He reverted to his old man walk, and Brooke realized his demeanor was attitudinal, not physical. Still early, Brooke glanced at the TV, but decided against it. She didn’t find many worthwhile shows and she didn’t want to disturb her father’s sleep. She remembered she packed that book Shane recommended. Brooke grabbed her overnight bag and slinked up the stairs to her old bedroom.
Flipping on the light, the shocking pink walls transported her back in time like a little girl entering Disney World for the first time. Though she hated being perceived as a twelve-year-old by her father, she loved how he preserved her childhood bedroom. She gazed at her track trophies from grade school, the picture of Jessie—her horse growing up—and photos of her and daddy at amusement parks, on a tennis court, and on the beach—happy times.
Brooke opened her double-door closet and her baby dolls were still lined up. She recalled dressing each doll, cradling them in her arms, and even bathing them. She had always loved children—of all ages—but, especially the innocence of infancy. She longed to nurture her own babies. Brooke hugged her favorite doll—the American Girl replica her father bought for her ninth birthday. She could still hear him proclaiming she was even prettier than the doll.
Brooke noticed her childhood scrapbook in the closet. She carefully opened the tattered cover and laughed—Billy looked adorable in a sailor outfit holding hands with her. She flipped the yellowed pages that crackled with each turn. Memories rekindled like they were sti
ll in the present. The pictures of birthday parties and riding horses brought a warmth to Brooke. Her daddy always threw her lavish parties and spoiled her with every gift she asked for. Though he wasn’t in any of the pictures, she knew he was responsible for each one—usually snapping the shots on that oversized camera with the exploding flash. In addition to her daddy, her girlfriends were everything to her. She giggled at an early college picture of “the trio”—Amber, Brandi, and Brooke. Melissa got the prize for the silliest photo—clad in Halloween costume, dressed as Dorothy from Wizard of Oz. The old pictures brought back happy times, but the tattered cover of the scrapbook reminded her of the friendships that had faded.
When Brooke met Tanner, everything revolved around him.
Reaching inside her bag, Brooke pulled out the book from Shane, The Bliss List: The Ultimate Guide to Living the Dream at Work and Beyond! She had started it, but Dixie-dawg’s office wasn’t the ideal setting for concentration—especially an inspirational career book. Examining the cover, it looked different. Less daunting. Tonight, she wanted to read all of it. She flipped her pink shaded bedside lamp on, and settled beside her doll on the bed that seemed smaller than she remembered. It had been a while since she spent the night in her old room.
Thirty minutes into the book, Brooke was captivated. She could see why Shane loved this book so much. Half the time, she thought the author’s voice was Shane. She even double checked the back cover. Brooke remembered the saying, “When the student’s ready, a teacher appears.” The central message of finding meaning in life—where time stood still—resonated inside. She realized how far she had strayed from her core at Pharmical. Brooke had tried to convince herself she enjoyed the place—partially to keep her own sanity—only to realize now, it was an illusion. Everyone had forewarned her—Todd, her father, Shane, even Melissa—but, she had to do it her way. Not joining Pharmical after acquiring GenSense meant abandoning Tanner’s cause.
Now that Pharmical was shelving leukemia research, Brooke felt helpless. She prayed to the same God who brought her Tanner.
Brooke surveyed the room. I wonder if it’s still there…
She knelt in front of the dresser, then pulled out the bottom drawer. She reached underneath and felt it—her diary. Brooke peeled back the tape, then stared at the faded cover, realizing she hadn’t read her diary in twenty years. Holding it generated a mix of amazement and apprehension. Carefully opening it, she whisked back in time.
She giggled at how she detailed her name— vintage Catholic school penmanship. She sighed, considering the time wasted on math and penmanship—now that calculators were built into everything and keyboards replaced pencils and pens.
Brooke thought it fitting that reading a book about inner discovery and dream realization had led her to her original dream book—her diary. Studying the date of the first entry, she was nine. Not surprising, she wrote about her doll: “This is the greatest birthday ever. I got a doll that looks just like me from my daddy. She sleeps with me every night and I hold her lots. Also I got this diary and a new saddle for my horse Jessie. I can’t wait to ride Jessie tomorrow at my birthday party.”
Leafing through, each page ignited dormant memories. She had forgotten how boy crazy she was, giggling at all the pre-Tanner crushes. Every boy she sat next to made her heart go “boom boom.” She realized how her dreams had evolved—going out with different boys from eleven on, winning races, getting gifts for Christmas and her birthdays. Today, “The Bliss List” recommended writing seven dreams. She returned her diary to its hiding place, then retrieved a blank sheet of paper and began writing her Bliss List:
1. To find a man who loves me for me, lifts me up when I need it, makes me laugh, lets me do things I enjoy, and who’s sexy, but faithful.
2. To live on the ocean and be able to walk the beach holding hands with my dream man at sunrise, sunset, and under the stars.
3. To ride horses.
4. To have children of my own.
Brooke glanced at her closet and smiled at all her dolls looking back at her. She realized she hadn’t written anything about a new job, then continued:
5. To have a job that I love doing, where I make a real difference, and feel a sense of purpose and meaning.
6. To help ease the pain and suffering of the sick.
7. To use my money to truly help others.
Brooke picked the book back up and continued reading through the night—something she hadn’t done in a long time. Near the end of the book, she took a stab at doing her resume, something she normally hated. Yawning, she glanced at her alarm clock—3:18 a.m. —yikes. Bedtime, I’ll format it on my laptop tomorrow. Travis had placed her at GenSense without a resume, but she looked forward to dazzling him this time.
Clutching her doll, she fell asleep as soon as her head hit her familiar puffy pink pillow.
At dawn, Weston knocked lightly, then opened Brooke’s door and poked his head inside. He nearly melted. His sleeping daughter evoked so many memories. He recalled her sleeping sweetly with the doll like it was yesterday. One of the first people to purchase the nifty American Girl doll, he couldn’t wait to see her eyes light up beside the illuminated Christmas tree.
Brooke’s eyelids fluttered, then she uttered Tanner while still sleeping. He wanted to kiss his sweet daughter’s forehead, but decided to let his little princess dream.
***
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“Thanks Mr. Allman, I mean Chase.”
The light turned green, and Chase accelerated slower than usual, “Seriously, Oksana, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I totally forgot about Parker’s birthday.”
“I’m sure you would’ve remembered.”
Chase said, “I don’t know which way’s up anymore.”
Oksana held her hair down as the convertible gathered speed. He reached behind his seat and grabbed a hat, then said, “Here, this will help.”
Oksana inspected the underside of the baseball cap and paused. Chase spotted the blond hair—Brooke’s—and hoped Oksana wouldn’t comment. Without saying a word, she pulled it over her head.
Chase said, “Thank you for going along with me today. I was thinking about getting Parker his own mini fishing pole, but beyond that, I have no idea what to get him.”
Oksana laughed, “You think a Ukrainian girl would know?”
“Probably better than me.”
“I called Miss Stanton at Angel Academy and she gave me some good ideas.”
“That was so smart. I didn’t even think about her, but she’d sure know.”
“Thank you, Mr. Allman.”
“Chase.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m not quite as smart as you say—I can’t get used to calling you by your first name. In Ukraine, is so, how you say, formal.”
“Do you miss home?”
Oksana demurred, “Is different here. Ukraine, girls do not wear blue jeans, hoodies, or flip flops. We try look…sexy but classy—like girls.”
Chase glanced at the twenty-six year old and sexy and classy were perfect descriptives. Her boyfriend was a lucky man to have such a well-grounded girlfriend with such great family values. She mailed money back to her parents each month. Chase thanked his lucky stars to have her; plus, Parker adored her.
“Parker sure loves you and I don’t tell you often enough how much I appreciate all that you do—including today.”
“I enjoy working for you and I love Parker like he is my own son.”
“There’s something else I need to discuss with you.”
She turned and widened her eyes, “What is it? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, not like that,” Chase paused, then, “Have you gotten any more calls from Heather, Parker’s mother?”
“No sir. You told me to tell you and she only called that time I told you about.”
“That’s good. As you know, Parker’s mother has problems—for one, she’s addicted to drugs.”
“I know Mr. Allman. I found
a bunch of her pill bottles in the kitchen.”
Chase raised an eyebrow, but didn’t want to expound. He said, “She’s living in the middle part of the country—in a place called Minnesota.”
“Where is?” Oksana didn’t attempt to repeat the word.
“It’s a long way from here. Anyway, I heard she has a boyfriend—a bad person—and I don’t want to scare you, but she might try to come back here and take Parker.”
“Really? Is she coming here now?”
“I don’t think so, but I’ve hired an investigator to watch her and apparently, she eluded them. I doubt she’d come back here, especially without me finding out, but just keep an extra eye on Parker. You know what Heather looks like.”
“Yes, she is so pretty. I still have the picture you gave me.”
“Good. I don’t know what this guy looks like but he’s 6’3” and about 230 lbs.”
“How tall are you, sir?”
“I’m 6’3” also, but don’t weigh that much.”
Oksana’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. Chase said, “I don’t mean to worry you. We have a state-of-the-art security system at home and, like I said, I’ll know if she gets near North Carolina.”
They drove in silence for a few blocks, then pulled into North Hills, Raleigh’s upscale outdoor mall. Chase drove down the main drag, searching for a parking spot. North Hills had over one hundred stores and boutiques, restaurants, a multi-plex movie theatre—even a luxury hotel. The place offered something for everyone, including a four year old.
Oksana pulled out a piece of paper, and said, “We should park near Learning Express or Omega Sports if you see them.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. You made a list. You’re very organized.”
Oksana blushed as Chase turned down another road, still hunting for a parking spot.
Chase said, “I tell you what. Before we buy Parker his birthday gifts, I want to get you something for all that you do.”
