His One and Only

by Theodora Taylor

  Back then, it had finally felt like she was achieving her dream of leaving Alabama behind, but now her lack of degree had come back to bite her in the worst way. She’d been looking for work ever since moving back to Birmingham, and hadn’t been able to find any. Even the lowliest office jobs seemed to want a college degree these days, and the twelve year gap on her resume didn’t help either. Not for the first time, she cursed herself for letting Wayne convince her not to get a job after they got married. And she wondered once again how she could have been so stupid.

  Sam let the folder drop out of her hand. “Okay, back to the internet. There’s got to be something out there.”

  But Josie stopped what she could tell was going to become one of Sam’s pep talks with a weary raised hand. “No, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to start applying for those other grants you passed up in order to get me in here.”

  “No,” Sam said.

  “Yes,” Josie insisted. “I never should have let you put all your eggs in this basket in the first place. You really do need another intake worker and new mattresses for the beds and all the other stuff we listed in our application.”

  “But you’re the best intake worker we’ve had since starting this place! There’s nobody better than you. I can’t just let them take you away from us,” Sam said.

  Josie appreciated Sam’s loyalty, but… “It’s not about me. You can get by without me, but I’ve seen the finances, Sam. You’ve only got another few months to keep this place open, three tops if we don’t get an infusion of cash. And you definitely can’t keep it going with only one official intake worker. You should just hire somebody with a degree.”

  But Sam shook her head. “We can figure this out. I know there’s a way to figure this out.”

  And they went back and forth like that, both too loyal to back down from their positions. By the time, they finally reached an agreement—to let Josie continue applying for grants until they could come up with a better solution—it was lunchtime. Josie scarfed down the sandwich she’d brought from home and spent the rest of the day calling around to other shelters to see if they could take their surplus residents, helping three of their temporary residents navigate Section 8, explaining to three different irate husbands that their wives weren’t at the center (even though they were), and barely making a dent in the never-ending stream of paperwork for the state.

  Yet at the end of her shift, she walked out of Ruth’s House feeling satisfied and complete, even if she hadn’t earned a dime that day. However, that feeling of accomplishment wasn’t enough to keep her warm when she walked into her icebox of a trailer. Or provide her with decent food. It hit her again how bad her predicament was as she ate crackers and cold, congealed soup out of a can.

  And though she put on a long-sleeved shirt, two sweaters, and a couple pairs of socks, that feeling of accomplishment wasn’t enough to stop her from shivering or keep the gnawing hunger at bay as she fell asleep...

  Only to be woken up a few hours later by the sound of a ringing phone. She came awake with a jolt and it took her a few moments to realize that the old-fashioned ringing was emanating from the trailer’s landline.

  Apparently, they hadn’t shut off the phone service yet.

  “Hello?” she said tentatively. “This is Josie Simmons—I mean Witherspoon. Josie Witherspoon.”

  The one thing Josie managed to do before leaving Atlanta was get her last name changed back to her maiden one. The prospect of continuing through life with Wayne’s last name had been even less appealing than spending a few extra days in a city that held nothing but bad memories for her.

  “Josie? Josie? Is that you, dear?” came a genteel voice down the line, one Josie recognized despite having not heard it in the year since her mama’s funeral.

  “Mrs. Prescott?” she said, more than a little surprised to hear from her mother’s old employer. “Yes, it’s me.”

  “Oh, thank goodness. I wasn’t sure anyone would be at this old number. At least not anyone who knew you. I can’t believe I managed to reach you on the first try!”

  “Well, you got me. How are you, ma’am?” Her mother was dead, but Josie still couldn’t keep the deference out of her voice when talking to Kitty Prescott. That was how thoroughly Loretta had trained her.

  “Not well, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Prescott answered. “Beau Jr.’s had a nasty accident, and he’s coming home to Alabama. But I’m on an around-the-world cruise. As a matter of fact, we’re about to dock in Madagascar. So I won’t be able to get back to the States to take care of him any time soon.”

  Josie shook her head, still confused. From what she had seen growing up, even if Kitty Prescott hadn’t been on the other side of the globe, she wouldn’t have been the one taking care of her son. That had been Loretta’s job since the day they’d moved in with the Prescott family when Beau was four years old, and Josie was two.

  One of Josie’s first memories had been her mama explaining to her how yes, Beau was with them almost 24/7, but no, he wasn’t a really, really light-skinned black person related to them by blood. “He be with us, but he be a Prescott down to the bone. You see that clear when he grow up,” her mother had said with bitterness in her voice.

  And she had been right. Everything had come easily to the Prescott’s golden boy: looks, accolades, money, and an almost preternatural athletic ability. And one day, Beau morphed from the fun boy she’d grown up with and eventually come to secretly love into a total prick.

  But Josie’s mama had trained her well. She managed to say to Kitty in her politest voice: “I’m sorry to hear Beau’s doing so poorly. Please send him my best wishes, ma’am.”

  “Oh, we need you to do more than that, dear,” Mrs. Prescott answered. “You see this accident of Beau’s has left him temporarily disabled.”

  “Temporarily disabled?” Josie repeated. “What happened?”

  “Well, you know, I can’t watch him in those terrible football games of his. It just about wrecks my nerves. But from what I understand, he was about to throw the ball when a bunch of gorillas from the opposing team attacked him. And they blinded him!”

  Now Josie felt bad about her previously unkind thoughts. Beau wasn’t the nicest person she’d ever met, and she doubted his current stint as the starting quarterback for the Los Angeles Suns had made him any nicer, but she wouldn’t wish such a life-changing accident on anyone.

  “I’m real, real sorry to hear that,” Josie said, this time with sincerity.

  “Beau says this blindness is only a temporary condition, but you can’t imagine how stressful this news has been for me,” Mrs. Prescott said.

  Josie shook her head again, a small smile appearing on her face. Same old Mrs. Prescott. A former Miss Alabama, Kitty had never stopped believing the world revolved around her. Josie’s mama, Loretta, hadn’t been able to take so much as a weekday off for a funeral without having to hear the next day about how much it had inconvenienced Kitty. And apparently her son’s going temporarily blind was more stressful for Mrs. Prescott than anyone else, including Beau.

  “I’m sure I can’t,” Josie said, once again falling back on her mama’s lessons in domestic diplomacy.

  “Carol, his L.A. assistant, arranged for a home aide to come in every morning to attend to Beau’s most personal needs, but somebody has to cook his meals, and help him get around the house. And of course, he’d have to get hurt like this when I’m on the other side of the world.”

  Josie had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something sarcastic, like, “How thoughtless of him.”

  “But that’s why I’m calling you, dear.” Beau’s mother said. “Please tell me another family hasn’t already retained your services now that you’re back in Alabama.”

  Josie’s eyes narrowed. She was about to explain that although Loretta had worked as a housekeeper and caretaker for years, that didn’t mean her daughter had grown up to do the same. But then she realized what Mrs. Prescott was really saying.


  “Are you offering me a job, ma’am?”

  “Yes, at least for a little while. I don’t know exactly when this temporary blindness situation is supposed to end, but until it does, I want you to come to our house and take care of Beau,” Mrs. Prescott answered. “I mean, I could try to call in a service, but who knows what they’d do without me there to supervise? Your mama was the only one I ever trusted to run my house properly and now that you’re all grown up, you’re the only one I could trust to take her place. Please say you can do it.”

  Then, taking Josie’s answering silence as indecision, Mrs. Prescott said, “We’re willing to pay you a whole two dollars more an hour than we paid your mama, and of course you’ll have Loretta’s old room to live in along with free board.”

  It was on the tip of Josie’s tongue to say no. Her mother had scrimped and saved and made all manner of sacrifices so Josie would never have to work for a white family like Loretta had.

  But then Josie quickly assessed her current situation: she was shivering in her grandmother’s old trailer because she didn’t have any heat, and she was fighting back heartburn from her less than satisfying dinner. Plus, Mrs. Prescott had said it would only be for a little while, just until Beau Jr. recovered. Why not take the job, especially if it came with free room and board, not to mention electricity and heat?

  “Okay,” she said, firmly pushing her pride to the wayside. “When do I start? Also, is it okay if I move in sooner than later—and by sooner, I mean like tonight?”

  CHAPTER 2

  JOSIE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT she expected when she went outside to wait for what she’d begun referring to in her head as the “Beau Prescott delivery.” But when the stretch limo pulled into the house’s circular driveway, the nervous energy that had been dogging her all morning spiked and she had to struggle to keep herself still while standing in front of the oversized Tudor’s front door.

  Calm down, Josie, she thought, reminding herself that Beau and she were adults now.

  Sure, she had flashed back to their high school years with a terrible inward cringe more times than she cared to admit, considering she was now a grown woman and not a love-struck seventeen-year old. But Beau’s life in Los Angeles was so beyond their relatively mundane shared past. He probably didn’t even remember what had happened between them back in high school.

  Plus, he’d been badly injured. She still wasn’t clear on all the details, since the Suns had yet to release a statement, other than Beau was suffering from the side effects of a game-related concussion and would be out for the rest of the season. But she guessed he’d most likely be more concerned with recovering from his concussion than reliving his high school memories. Their new servant-employer relationship would be based on the grown-up versions of themselves, she assured herself, and at the very least, civil.

  So then why did her heart start beating at what felt like one hundred miles per hour when the limo came to a stop right in front of her? And why did her breath actually catch when Beau Prescott stepped out, without waiting for the driver to come around to open his door?

  From the way Mrs. Prescott had made it sound, she’d thought Beau would be a frail and sickly version of the football god she’d last seen at her mother’s funeral, more than a year ago. But no, that wasn’t the case at all. Sure he was dressed in slouchy jeans, Topsiders, and a dark green hoodie, instead of the sharp suits he usually wore when he was off the field. But somehow his leisure outfit still looked like it cost more than her best dress. And even though his thick black hair hung down messy and uncombed almost to his chin, and he was sporting a beard that didn’t look like it had ever seen a pair of trimming scissors, it still wasn’t enough to hide the classic good looks lurking underneath all that unchecked hair.

  To Josie’s disappointment Beau still exuded almost hyper-masculinity, he still looked like a football god, and he was still completely mesmerizing. Worst of all, he still put her in mind of a superhero straight out of the comic books she used to read when she was kid, back when she was still silly enough to nurse a secret crush on him.

  If anything, he was even more ruggedly, ridiculously handsome—almost too handsome. And the only thing indicating there might be something wrong with him were the designer sunglasses covering his eyes, even though it was overcast outside.

  “Why am I still standing here?” Beau asked, his voice cut across the blustery day like a bullhorn. “I thought my mother hired somebody to make sure I wasn’t left standing in the goddamn driveway.”

  These words snapped Josie right out of her staring spell. She rushed toward him, getting there just as the driver, a slightly older man with a thick grey mustache, did.

  “That’s all right, I’ve got this,” Josie said, taking Beau’s arm before the driver could.

  The words were barely out of her mouth before Beau was turning toward her voice, and at the same time, yanking his arm away like he’d just been touched by someone with a contagious disease.

  She must have startled him, she realized, kicking herself inwardly. She’d been reading up on tending to the newly blind and more than one source had warned against not announcing yourself before touching a blind person.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Prescott,” she said. “I should have told you I was going to touch you before I did. I didn’t mean to come at you out of the blue like that.”

  But he continued to stand there, breathing hard and rough, like a bear who’d been surprised in his cave.

  Maybe, Josie thought with another mental kick, he didn’t recognize her voice. It had been years since they’d last seen each other, and they’d only exchanged a few terse words at her mother’s funeral. “It’s all right, Mr. Prescott,” she assured him. “It’s me, Josie Witherspoon.”

  “I know who you are,” he answered, like she was nothing less than an idiot for reintroducing herself. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Josie’s eyes widened. “Your mama didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” he asked, between gritted teeth.

  He looked so furious Josie actually took a step back before saying, “She hired me to take care of you.”

  “She did what?” he yelled.

  “She hired me to take care of you…?” Josie repeated slowly. She’d thought the nervous energy from before was bad, but now her heart was beating with the thunder of a million horses in her chest.

  This was not good. She hadn’t expected Beau to be this angry about her being here. And now he was yelling at her, which made her as skittish as a foal in fog.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying not to let her mind go to Wayne. “I thought she told you.”

  “No, she didn’t fucking tell me.” His jaw set and his left hand clenched and unclenched, a move she recognized from his high school days, a sign he was holding his anger in check while figuring out what to do next. “Where’s the guy who drove me here?”

  “Right here, sir.” The limo driver stepped up. “My name is Miguel, and I’m at your service,” he said as if it were a first time introduction, and even though he’d probably already told Beau his name when he picked him up at the airport. “What can I do for you?”

  “Take me in the house,” Beau bit out.

  The driver, who had probably been given instructions to hand Beau over at the front door, looked askance at Josie.

  “Okay, I can just lead the way. No problem,” Josie said, scrambling to reconcile this situation with the research she’d done to prepare for her new job as Beau’s caretaker.

  “Okay, Mr. Prescott, we’re at the steps now,” she said, as the driver guided Beau toward the front door. “There’s four of them, I’ll count them out for you.”

  Beau didn’t answer, so she counted the steps as he and Miguel took them one at a time.

  “Now we’re in the foyer,” she said when they got inside. “You want to sit down for a spell? I could bring you something to drink, or some food if you’re hungry.”

  “No,” he answered, his voice sharp
and hard. “I want to go to my room. Now.”

  “All right. That’s totally fine,” she said, throwing Miguel an apologetic look. The poor man had definitely not signed up for this. “If you could just lead him to the big staircase over there.” Then to Beau: “Mr. Prescott, we’re at the big staircase now. Lots of steps, I’ll count them as we go up.”

  “No.” His voice was colder than a decade of Northern winters. “No more telling me where I am, no more counting.”

  Josie’s face fell. “But the counting is so you can get used to moving around the house on your own,” she said. “Counting the stairs out might seem silly now, but it will help you memorize the numbers when I’m not around.”

  “Why’s my mom paying you if you’re not going to be around?” he asked. Then, before she could answer, he waved Miguel forward. “Take me upstairs.”

  She thanked Miguel profusely after they’d arrived in Beau’s old room. Another thing her mother had taught her was to be twice as kind to the other help as she was to the Prescotts. “Let me just go get a tip out of the mad money…”

  But Miguel shook his head, “No, ma’am, that’s already taken care of,” he answered.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t let you leave here without something.”

  “Really, it’s all right, ma’am. I was paid a tip in advance.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “He said it was taken care of, Josie,” Beau said. “Let him go already.”

  She pursed her lips, about ready to tell Beau what he could do with his edicts and commands, but then she remembered how much she needed this job and her room with it’s little amenities—like heat and electricity.

  “Well, then I hope you know how grateful we are for your assistance,” she said to Miguel, pasting a tight-lipped smile on her face. She then decided to wait for the driver to get all the way out the house before she attempted to reason with Beau again.