Speak Now

by Chautona Havig

  So much for that helpful information. Have you dug through your purse yet? Have you found anything there? If you haven’t, please do now. I’ll wait. Did you like it? Do you know how hard it was not to give that to you yesterday? I bought it Friday and waited for the perfect moment, but yesterday’s perfect moment seemed too manipulative. So, I chose to play the coward and slip it into your purse this morning. I wonder if you caught me.

  I’ll be back in Rockland in six weeks. Uncle Weston wants me to attend the Cancer Society Benefit to represent the company. I hope you’ll attend with me. Would that be enough time for your mother to make something appropriate? Is that something she’d enjoy? If not, I can get Mother’s favorite boutique names for you. She’d probably love to take you shopping. Please say you’ll go. It won’t be miserable if you’re there.

  Bryson asked me why I didn’t ask you to marry me. The question wasn’t odd, but the fact that I couldn’t answer it bothered me. How do you say, “Well, I love her, I want to marry her, I want to have her close, but I can’t ask her to marry me yet”? That’s just weird.

  I am told the car is loaded and my children, in their car seats, wait for me to drive to the station. In order to prove myself a thoughtful man and not a neglectful and irresponsible parent, I must send this email now and finish what I had to say the next time I am struck with a desire to unburden myself.

  Jonafan

  Without further consideration, she closed the email, deleted the SPAM from her folder, answered a few pressing messages, and closed her laptop. Several reports awaited her perusal, Huan Chan’s corrected presentation looked flawless, and a list of post-it notes filled the length of her desk pad. Before she could pick up the first one, Tina arrived with four more.

  “Which of these are urgent, Tina?”

  The woman flipped through the papers and then moved six to the right side. “These. The others can wait indefinitely for all I care, but these six are either important or think they are and they’ll drive me nuts until you tell them otherwise.”

  “Call in that order?”

  Tina gave the list a second look, reading upside down across Cara’s narrow desk. She pulled the fourth one down and stuck it to the middle of the desk pad. “Call that one first, even if you call no others.”

  “Delta Advertising. You’re kidding right?”

  “Why kid about that? Derek said he set up a meeting with Della Carletti from Delta and then we rescheduled. She’s calling to reschedule, and apparently she’s a busy woman, so if we don’t have time for her, she wants to know it so she can move along to greener pastures.”

  “The ad agency wants to know if we are worth their trouble? Arrogant.”

  “She’s the best in Rockland. She’ll pass it onto a junior staff member if we stand her up again, and Derek wants her.”

  “Who set this up and when?” Cara thought the timing much too coincidental.

  “Six weeks ago after Meyers & Sons botched the internet ad with that stupid spider ‘crawling the web’ looking for the best insurance deals before spinning for joy on ‘The Mayflower’. Oh, that boat was nasty, and Miles Standish… shouldn’t he have been cute at least?”

  “One would think. Okay. I’ll call.”

  Cara knew of the plan to switch to Delta or Promoters Inc., but she didn’t remember having an appointment with anyone from Delta. She picked up the phone, dialed the number, and pulled up a Word document on her laptop. At the top left she put the date, the time, the phone number called and noted that she was returning the call left the morning of the 22of May. Discordant New Age music jarred her senses while she waited the four and a half minutes on hold before Della Carletti came on the line. Note to self: Beg Jonathan to pick better hold music.

  “Ms. Laas. I’m so pleased you returned my call so promptly. Since our previous appointment was rescheduled, I opted to discuss this with you in person rather than leave it to assistants. I know how they often inadvertently double book meetings, and I wanted to spare both of us that frustration.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry you’ve had that kind of trouble. I’ll have to remember how fortunate I’ve been with such a reliable assistant as Tina.” Two can play at this kind of verbal duel. There is no chance in—well; she refused to allow this Carletti woman to blame her assistant for whatever had canceled the previous appointment. “I can’t imagine being double booked! That’d be terrible.”

  “Well, I haven’t had that problem, no, but I do know how common it is, and with previous cancellations, one assumes…”

  Cara didn’t like ‘the Carletti woman,’ as she’d mentally begun to call her. “I’m looking at my calendar now and see that Derek handed the responsibility of viewing your presentation to me two days before the appointment.” She scratched her head, trying to remember why he’d handed it to her at all. “Oh, yes, I remember. He was in Minneapolis and got snowed in for four days. I couldn’t possibly be prepared to view something as important as this presentation in less than forty-eight hours, so I had Tina reschedule.”

  “I see.” Della Carletti’s tone clearly implied that she saw nothing of the kind.

  “I’ve viewed a few other presentations in the meantime, but no one has given me what I’m looking for.” She had to toss the woman some kind of bone. “I look forward to seeing if you can wow me.”

  “I’m sure,” Ms. Carletti said almost coldly, “you’ll find that what I’ve prepared is exactly what your company needs to take Mayflower Trust into a serious position in the internet insurance market.”

  “I hope so. I can view your presentation any afternoon this week, or next week on Tuesday or Wednesday mornings.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon would be best, I think,” Carletti insisted. “This gives us room for rescheduling, and after your last ad, it is clear that you need new direction and quickly.”

  “I see that Tina has just placed a slip on my desk making me busy tomorrow afternoon. I think Thursday morning would be best for me.”

  Della sighed sharply. “I’ll see you Thursday at the Delta offices on Waterbrook at ten-thirty, perhaps?”

  Oh, she’d give anything to skip this thing all together. “That will be fine. Thank you.”

  “I am really very busy, so I’ll say goodbye.”

  Frustrated by Ms. Carletti’s air of superiority, Cara dashed off a quick email to Jonathan.

  To: Jonathan Lyman

  From: Cara Laas

  Subject: Local recommendation

  Jonathan,

  I’ll respond to your previous email separately. However, I wanted to know whom you recommend in the Delta office here in Rockland. Is there someone up and coming that you think has the necessary vision to put Mayflower’s internet division on the map? We have an appointment with a Ms. Carletti, but I’ve often found that going with the current ‘favorite’ is a safe move that often lacks the kind of innovation needed for a campaign like this.

  Thank you for any assistance you can offer,

  Cara Laas

  Assistant Chief Financial Officer- Mayflower Trust

  “Paper” trail accomplished, she sent him a text. DO NOT WANT TO DEAL WITH CARLETTI. THAT WOMAN HAS A LOT OF NERVE. SAVE ME FROM HER.

  Less than a minute later, her phone buzzed with a very short text. “TODD GRAHAM. 555-1292 CELL.”

  She smiled and dialed. A quiet, friendly voice came on the line within seconds. “Delta Advertising, Todd Graham, how may I help you?”

  “Hello, Todd. I’m Cara from Mayflower Trust. I’d love to see you upstage the company pet. How can you wow me?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Gramby! We’re home!”

  Verna Brumby waddled downstairs and into the entryway. “Oh, you’re home, you darlin’s. What do you think you’re doing shoutin’ at me like that? Get in here so I can smother you!” The beloved housekeeper-nanny hugged her little charges and pushed them toward the stairs, chattering all the way. Jonathan entered the house and imm
ediately the calm and quiet relieved his nerves after the long train ride. For the first time since he’d felt the train pull away from Rockland station, he felt at peace. For now.

  He stepped into his home office and closed the door against the delighted squeals that drifted downstairs. Verna would put a stop to it soon enough, but for now, he wanted quiet and he would get it. He pulled out his laptop and flipped through the mail while it booted. The moment he opened his email, the message from Cara caught his attention.

  Picking up his phone, Jonathan dialed Todd Graham’s number. “Todd. Jonathan Lyman.” He nodded at something Todd said and then continued. “Listen, I gave a friend your number, did she call? Good. Now listen, this requires a little discretion, but I think you’ll manage to climb up on top if you pull this off.”

  For the next five minutes, Jonathan explained his opinion of Cara’s company’s needs, what they’d disliked about their last presentation, and Cara’s immediate dislike of Della Carletti. “Look, they’ve never seriously pursued the internet aspect of their business in their advertising, but they’re ready to take that step forward. You need to come up with something that is new, innovative, and yet rock solid with the company’s reputation. Get ideas flowing now, and when you call to arrange your presentation, give her a sample of what you’re going to serve. Don’t give the full plate, just a bite. You can do this, man.”

  A knock prompted him to hang up the phone before he turned his attention to “Gramby.” “What’s up?”

  “Well, I’m goin’ to make the kids some lunch and put them down for naps. They’re plum wore out. I made you your favorite pasta salad. Do you want me to grill a steak with that or—”

  “That sounds great, but why don’t you just make a sandwich.”

  “Do you have any dinners on the calendar this week?” Gramby knew Jonathan’s proposed schedule, but she also knew how things changed. As a look crossed his face, she jerked a chair a bit nearer and sank her ample backside into it. “Tell me what’s botherin’ you, son.”

  “I met someone.”

  “And you don’t want to talk about it, I suppose,” she returned with a sigh. “Honestly, boy, you’re worse than a child sometimes.”

  “But I do want to talk about her.”

  “Then talk while you’re willin’, because I know how fast that changes.” She nodded emphatically, with a slight ‘mmm hmm’ under her breath.

  “Her name is Cara. She’ll be calling sometime, I’m sure.”

  “Women just don’t have scruples anymore.”

  “She’ll call because I ask her to, not because she’s the kind of woman you’re imagining.” The idea of Cara chasing him like a junior high, boy crazy, twit amused him.

  “So you met her…”

  “At the wedding.” He smiled. “Riley thought she was the bride, and it didn’t matter what else happened, she was smitten.”

  “You were too, I see. So did you get to see her again durin’ the week?”

  “Every day at lunch and after she got off work, most of Saturday and Sunday, and at the station on Monday. I have sent five texts, and she has sent me three.”

  This prompted one of Verna’s very rare silences. After what seemed an age, she leaned across his desk, her eyes boring into his. “Are you in love with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does she know it?”

  “Yes.”

  Standing, the woman stalked to the door. “She’s not worth it. I suggest you jest let things drift to sea.”

  “What makes you say that?” Rather than offended, her words amused him.

  “A woman who knows you are in love with her and still let you go home isn’t worth your time. She obviously don’t know a good thing when she sees it.”

  “Oh, Gramby, how I’ve missed you. Go ask Riley to tell you about Cara while you make that sandwich. You’ll see.” As she started to close the door, Jonathan called her again. “Where are those little frames that Lily had with pictures of her grandparents in them? I sent half of those pictures back to the Fillmores. Where are the frames?”

  She pointed across the room to a credenza. “Bottom shelf, right hand side, in a little wooden box.”

  Later that night, as she walked through the rooms shutting off lights, picking up scattered toys, socks, a hair bow… Verna entered Jonathan’s office to turn off his desk lamp. There, beside the plant that he frequently overwatered and replaced, stood three of the little miniature frames with pictures from a photo booth in them. In one, a picture of a young woman with strawberry hair and laughing green eyes smiled back at her. The woman’s expression unnerved her. The next photo showed of them, and it was plain, even from such a tiny snapshot, that their attraction was mutual. The last showed a side profile of Jonathan as he obviously turned to follow her from the booth.

  “Now I wonder why he put that one in there. That’s jest weird.”

  ~*~*~*~

  Jonathan awoke with a start. Riley’s big blue eyes peeked over the edge of the bed as she tapped his shoulder whispering at the top of her lungs, “Daddy! Daddy, wake up!”

  “What’s wrong, Riley?” Sleep tempted him, but he hung tenaciously to consciousness.

  “Miss Cara misses you. You need to call her.”

  “I did, sweetheart. I called her when we got home; remember? You spoke to her and told her about the Red Cap who found the quarter in your ear?”

  “But she misses you now. You have to call her. She’s crying.”

  “Oh, Ry, I think you had a bad dream or something.” Jonathan pulled her up beside him and made room for her under the covers. Her nightmares usually meant an easier time if she just slept with him that night.

  “No! It wasn’t a dream. I couldn’t sleep so I prayed for everyone I could think of ‘cause that usually makes me fall asleep—you know, like you said—but when I thought of her I started to cry. She’s crying, Daddy. Call her.”

  He tried every soothing thing he could imagine but to no avail. The clock read just after eleven. It was an hour earlier in Rockland. Would it be better to reassure Riley or to avoid setting a precedent? Lily would have known. She always knew, instinctively, exactly what to do in these kinds of situations. Verna would know, but to find out would mean waking her.

  “Please, Daddy!” Now Riley’s tears flowed freely. Frustrated, he snatched his phone and punched Cara’s name on his contact list and waited for her to answer. Riley still sobbed into his t-shirt, much to his consternation. Had it been a tantrum, she’d have stopped when she got her way. Now what should he do?

  “Cara?” Cara’s delighted voice reassured him that he hadn’t woken her. “Riley is having a little trouble sleeping. She’s very concerned for you.”

  “Put her on. I’ll talk to her.”

  Jonathan handed the phone to his daughter and nodded. Riley tried to stifle her tears in order to hear what Cara said, but it took several restarts before she understood. “I knew you were crying so I told Daddy—”

  “Now how did you know I was crying?” Surprise leapt through the line, making her amazement obvious even to Jonathan.

  “Because every time I thought of you, I cried, and you make me happy, not sad. So, I knew you were crying and talking to Daddy would make you feel better.”

  “How did you know that, sweetheart?”

  “Easy,” Riley’s adoring eyes looked up at her father. “He always makes me feel better when I’s sad.” Her concentration returned almost immediately to the topic at hand. “You miss my daddy, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you miss me too?” Her childish preoccupation with self hovered closer to endearing than obnoxious.

  “Of course I do! I miss seeing you make him smile, I miss listening to you tell about your mother—”

  “You want to hear about Mommy?”

  “Of course! I love to hear about your mommy.”

  Riley promptly handed the phone to Jonathan. “You tell both of us about Mommy. You remember her and I don’t. Tel
l us about the wedding and how you went to the wrong church.”

  “You went to the wrong church?” Cara’s laughter warmed his heart.

  The last thing Jonathan wanted to do when he was beat and had a long day’s work the next day, was tell stories about his wife and their marriage to his daughter and girlfriend! “Well, it’s kind of late for that, Riley. We need our sleep.”

  “Come on, Jonathan. It’s like a bedtime story. Tell me about the wedding.”

  One glance at his daughter showed her waiting expectantly. The silence from the other end told him he wouldn’t get away with hanging up until he told the entire story. “Okay, well,” he paused. “Cara, are you tucked into that big bed of yours? Are the lights out? Are you ready for a bedtime story?”

  “I’m downstairs working on a scrapbook of our week.” At his silence, she giggled. “All right, I’m going upstairs. This is ridiculous, you know. Absolutely ridiculous.”

  “Okay, well, once upon a time, there was a beautiful bride named Lily.”

  Jonathan swallowed a lump in his throat as he described her beautiful golden hair, her silk Grecian-styled gown, and the tiara that had been worn by every bride in the Fillmore family for over a hundred years. The way he paused over every detail of his beloved wife’s appearance should have told her how much he’d cherished the woman he’d lost. Did she notice? Did she understand?

  “Well, while she was getting all ready to dazzle me, I was trying hard to get into the church. I tried every door, even a few classroom windows, and watched my watch until I got frustrated and called a friend. I’d gone to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church instead of St. Paul’s Presbyterian Church. From my house, you had to pass the Episcopal Church to get to the Presbyterian, and I was so nervous that when I saw St. Paul’s, I just pulled in without thinking.”