“She might be out for five hours, perhaps eight. When she wakes up, you can give her the Oxycontin I gave you. By Sunday, give her regular ibuprofen or Tylenol if there’s still pain. Call me if you need me,” she told Dan on her way out. Thankfully, her googly eyes didn’t work on him.
Wench!
“Thank you.”
He signed some papers and gave the copies to Pete before he lifted me and placed me gently in an old blue wheelchair—hospital discharge protocol and all that. He wheeled me out, but came to a sudden stop in the middle of the hallway. A tall good-looking doctor—where have you been, my McDreamy?—came across us.
“I appreciate everything you did for us.” Dan shook his hand. “As I explained earlier, the director of my non-profit is indisposed,” he played with my hair, “but I’ll expedite the check we agreed on giving you earlier. Regarding my proposition, call the number I gave you and make the necessary arrangements for the trip. I look forward to seeing you. I think we can work together.”
Finally, when we arrived at the car my mouth and brain reconnected—a little. “Did you have to?” My voice came out all wrong. He adjusted my seatbelt and made sure my leg stayed up, as the doctor had instructed. “I counted at least five other people in the waiting room ahead of me when I arrived. How much did you promise to cut the line? And don’t lie, because I’ll sign the check. What kind of side gig did you offer him?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He looked around the car. I hated his we-don’t-discuss-those-matters-in-public look. Not that it mattered much. My brain had fogged, and I was having a hard time focusing. “You sound groggy. The medicine must’ve kicked in. Okay, so, before you conk out, here’s the deal. We aren’t driving to Telluride. We’re going to fly from Aspen. Ash and Ty have packed our stuff, and Bryan will fly commercial and take it to Boston. Nate and Betsy are prepping the house as we speak. By the time we arrive home, everything should be in place. The next eight weeks you’ll concentrate on your recovery. Betsy scheduled an appointment with whomever Raj suggested. We won’t use the guy Dr. Charles recommended for your recovery.”
“Whoa! Too much information. Please, have some pity. My brain got taken over by zombies.” My eyelids began to close, and my head tilted to the side. Dan moved it toward his chest, but I could hardly feel him touching me. I drifted in and out of consciousness. “Brain. Not. Connecting. Filters. Shutting. Down. Before I’m out… thanks for taking such good care of me. Next year could we try something less daring, please?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Go to sleep, baby, and don’t thank me. If I’d taken care of you, your leg wouldn’t be broken.”
In my semi-conscious state I was able to process some of Dan’s rants. Nick was on probation. Dan gave him the third degree, poor guy. Nate had one coming his way, since he’d given the assignments. I wanted to defend poor Nick, but couldn’t activate my mouth. The dense fog didn’t allow it. Being at the receiving end of Dan’s fury had never been fair. How many times did I have to remind him that accidents happened? Wrong place, right time and all that crap played a big part.
“Ty, I adore your wife, but she ruined our vacation, man.”
But she’s nice, Dan. What did Ash do?
“No, I’m not telling Becca.”
“I’ll carry her.” A possessive growl startled me. “Let’s see, Sanders. What do you really want?”
“Ash sent me over.” The long pause frustrated me. “The old man came asking for help. The woman needs a marrow transplant. They can’t find a match. Maybe she can be it, since they’re mother and daughter.”
“Your wife and her parents need to mind their own business.” Dan hugged me tighter, kissed my hair, and spoke softer. “Be quiet, I don’t want to wake her up. Let me ask you, has anyone talked about the risks for the donor? That woman hasn’t given a shit about her daughter—ever. If it’s up to me, the answer is hell no. I’ll call Raj. He’s the best oncologist and should be able to help, but that’s as far as we’ll be involved.”
“Dude, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m in the middle of the storm. My wife thinks we’re being unreasonable, since it’s a life and death situation. Ashley’s parents can’t believe Becca won’t see her mother. Yes, they don’t have the facts, which is my fault. We didn’t want them to think my family’s full of psychos. Hear me out. Dad is a mental case. For some strange reason, he loves that woman.”
“Hey there, princess,” Dan said when I won the battle and my eyes finally opened.
“Hmm.” I mumbled, the translation would’ve been, what are you two talking about?
“We need to leave, Ty.” He walked toward the plane. “I’ll call you tomorrow, but my mind’s set.”
“I respect your opinion, but it’s not your decision to make. She might get pissed at you when she finds out.”
I raised my eyebrows and tried to catch Dan’s eyes, but they eluded me.
“As long as you don’t tell her, you and I’ll be fine. I’ll deal. Say goodbye to Ash and the kids. If you want, I can send the plane, so they can visit Becca while she’s recovering.”
“What’s going on, Daniel not so Bright?” His arms tensed when I was finally able to speak. “I don’t feel good. My eyes don’t want to stay open. And you look funny.”
“You’re loaded with meds, Becca baby.” He fixed my seatbelt, arranged my leg, and kissed my nose.
“And you’re handsome when you get all bossy.” I tried to cover my mouth, but I ended up slapping my shoulder by accident.
Dan winked at me and thankfully ignored my comment. “After takeoff, I’ll take you to bed. You’ll be more comfortable there, and we can take a nap. I’ll have you home in no time.”
“I love when you call me baby, like Grams used to do. I miss her. She loved me more than anything in the world. Grams said I was sweeter than chocolate. No one loved me like her. Not even Mom. Maybe Ian, since he killed Lisa before she did me. Or not. Maybe he only tried to redeem himself after what he did.” There was a long stony silence that my addled brain tried to interpret. Eventually, I thought I’d hit on something. “Oops, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”
Chapter 7
“Best way to spend New Year’s,” Dan commented. He carried me to the sunbathing chair he’d dressed with blankets and cushions. The fireworks display started at midnight and it was five ‘til. “Someone from the great beyond tried to send us a message, I guess.”
“There are better ways to send messages. Texts, for example. Emails, ads, telegrams. Don’t forget sing-a-grams. Smoke signals, even. Who sends a drunken man, or a broken leg?” I wiggled next to him, trying to get comfortable in his arms. “About next week: how are we going to handle it?”
“Enjoy the night. We’ll worry about your leg, work, and the outside world another day. Tonight is ours.”
He cuddled me and rested his chin on top of my head. We went silent when the fireworks began, letting Snow Patrol and Imagine Dragons take center stage—my special New Year’s mix.
Our traditional rooftop New Year’s welcome gathering had become a twosome affair. When we’d hit town and tried to reschedule the old plans, everyone had declined the invitation. A lucky strike, since we didn’t have the manpower to cook or clean for such an occasion. Even when Dan insisted he was capable of hosting the event by himself, Mary’s vacation wasn’t schedule to end until next week. During those Mary-less days, Dan cleaned, cooked, and did every other Becca related task.
The below zero weather forced us to move the festivities inside the house after the wonderful fireworks show, though festivities might’ve been overstating things—when Dan hauled me back, my eyes didn’t want to open.
“You’re doing better. I’ll move to the guest room.” Dan tucked me in.
Ever since we arrived from Aspen, the overbearing man had insisted that I move into his apartment. And his room which had a bigger bed. Though initially Nate had placed a couch inside the bedroom for him, I opposed, convincing him to stay with me in bed. “Tha
t’s silly, Dan. The bed’s big enough for both of us.”
He agreed, as long as I was comfortable, and we’d shared the bed while I was weak and groggy. Surprisingly, from that night on, I had a good night sleep; the nightmares stayed away as long as Dan was next to me.
“If you’re sure,” I shrugged, and my voice went down several decibels. I closed my eyes tight, afraid they would betray me. Sadness invaded my mind.
“I want you to be comfortable.” He moved around the closet. “But say the word and I’ll stay with you.”
I whispered a please. The lights went off, the bed sank on his side, and I drifted away.
* * * * *
“We ran out of chocolate chips.” Dan put a full plate of pancakes on the table. “Do you think you’ll survive a few days without your fix?”
“I’ve more across the hallway, and you can fetch them later.” I drenched the pancakes with maple syrup, took a bite, and moaned. “Amazingly good! I’m impressed. You dominate the kitchen like it’s your boardroom. Who taught you how to cook?”
Dan poured orange juice for us both, as well as a cup of coffee for him, and a glass of milk for me. He sat next to me, covered his own pancakes cautiously—not Becca style—cut a piece of pancake, and ate it. “Hmm. They are good, but they don’t seem to affect me the way they do you.” He chuckled.
I awaited his answer curiously.
“My last foster family.” He’d gone through two foster homes. “My foster mother taught her surrogate children to fend for themselves. Our chores included cleaning, cooking, and washing dishes and clothes. No, she didn’t want cheap labor. She did it to teach us how a normal house hold functioned, and to care for ourselves.”
“She sounds smart. I’m guessing you helped her—or them—after you became the all-powerful Daniel Brightmore?” I asked, while sneaking my fork onto his plate to steal a piece of his pancake. Mine had disappeared way too fast. He playfully fake-slapped my hand away, and I pouted at him. “Selfish. That’s why no one likes you.”
“You not only like me, you love me, little one.” He fed me a fork full of pancake and gave me a satisfied smile. “After my first company became fully successful, I set up a trust fund for the Swansons. It made sense to help them after everything they did, and didn’t, do for me.” I knitted my eyebrows in confusion. “They didn’t hit me, or abuse me. Very few children get to spend their years in the system with people who truly care. Richard Swanson taught me how to hold a hammer, use power tools, and fix cars.” His voice became more animated as he continued with the story, and those gray eyes smiled at the fondness of the moments he told. “Thanks to him and those skills, I held a few jobs during college. And was able to begin my first company. Last year I moved them to Austin, Texas. They’re getting old, and the weather is nice year-round.”
“Are you going to raise your children the same way?” He gave me a strange look. “To be self-reliant, even though they’re the children of a billionaire.” I gestured dramatically towards the luxuries penthouse. “The beautiful wife you were talking about in Telluride, who went to catholic-private schools and spent her summers in Europe, might not want her beautiful children to be exposed to hammers, power tools, and pans. You have the means to give them whatever their hearts desire, and staff to service them. All the comforts she’s accustomed to.” His face screamed, What’s this girl talking about. “Oh my, that never occurred to you. What would you like in a wife? Ooh, I’ve got a great idea. We should make a chart. Don’t you think?”
He tipped his head to the side, looking at me curiously, though he had a wide smile. He shook his head. “A chart, you say. And what will be the purpose of this exercise?”
“Ingenious. This is the best idea ever.” I clapped my hands, excited. “Bring me a paper and pen… no, a pencil. We have to do this, so when you’re ready to start the search, you have a clear idea who she is. Go, go…. This is going to be fun.”
He handed me a legal yellow pad, a pencil and eraser, a bottle of crisp water, and blueberries to munch. I made a border with hearts and flowers. In the center I wrote the title: Dan’s wife.
“First, you need to ask her where she went to school. If she answers private-catholic, then you ditch her. If she passes, then you want to know…. Hold on. Does it matter if she’s catholic?”
“Are you having fun, princess?” My chart seemed to amuse him. “I’m not sure what to answer. For obvious reasons, I don’t have a religion, but believe there’s a God.”
We shared the sentiment. Mom hadn’t continued my catholic upbringing after Grams died. I did my first communion a couple of months before her death, but that was all the religious education I had. I nodded, understanding his situation. People considered me catholic since my family was, but I wasn’t much of one.
“I guess it doesn’t matter. What else you got?”
“Summers in Europe…. Let’s get specific. Like, does it matter if her parents are filthy rich? Because she’ll be used to getting help for everything, including brushing her teeth and making decisions for her.”
My comment was ridiculous, but it was fun to imagine a rich girl with her personal groomer. He went for no rich parents. After several questions, we found the perfect woman for him: a nice, smart, beautiful girl, who’d love and see Dan for who he was and not for his wealth. Other qualities included being a good cook, easy to talk to, understanding, trustworthy, and pleasant. She should love dogs—not cats.
“Do we want to add children?”
“You’re borderline insane. You want to make a chart for the children too?” His expression went from playful to appalled.
“No, dummy, I meant if she wants children or not…. For most couples, it’s a deal breaker. What if you don’t want them and she does, or vice-versa?”
“That question makes more sense.” His smile came back. “We’ll compromise. At least one—”
I opened my mouth and slammed my hand in the table to object, but he didn’t let me.
“Can I finish, princess?” He paused until I closed my mouth and nodded. “What I was saying, before I was about to be rudely interrupted, is that if I had to compromise, then we’ll have one. Ideally, I want three or four. More will be too much to handle with two dogs.”
“Three or four? You’re going to hire a nanny, right?” I worried about the poor woman. “More than two sounds as complicated as one of Einstein’s theories, don’t you think? And you travel so much, which means she won’t get help from you.” This might not be my life, but the woman needed someone on her side before Dan ran her life. “No, you’ll need to start delegating and stop traveling. We’ll start when said wife gets picked. Let me write it at the bottom of the page, as a requisite for you.” I made a note. “Dan shall refrain from traveling so much when future wife appears. Train dogs before the children arrive. And don’t hire a slutty dog trainer. She’s not going to help, and will only lead you into trouble. You’ll accept her quirks, because your perfect woman will, of course, have cute defects. Okay, last requirement… a Becca requirement: the perfect woman will have to accept your best friend, be nice to her, and not mind her mooching from you during the holidays.” I folded the paper and handed it to him. “Here, keep it. When you’re ready to look for her, you can use this chart and find her faster.”
Dan stood after grabbing the list from me, and slid it inside the back pocket of his jeans. I second guessed myself, because it occurred to me that we didn’t talk about physical attributes for the future Mrs. Brightmore. As far as I knew he didn’t have a type, he slept with anyone who threw herself at his feet. Would that be the case when he was ready to settle down?
“Should I have Tyler prepare a press release based on your chart? We can add accepting applications, or better yet, coming soon.” He cleaned up the table and headed to wash the dishes.
“Whatever you want, Doctor Sarcasm.”
I stood up and hopped to the living room to grab my iPad. I needed a picture of the pink tulips he’d brought home along
with the groceries.
“Have I ever told you I love tulips? They’re the perfect flower. They feel like home, cozy and comfortable. I know you bought them for the house, to make it look nice. But I enjoy them, so thank you.” After snapping several pictures of the bouquet, I rearranged them and began to caress their delicate petals. Tulips made me happy, especially pink ones like the ones he brought. Getting to see them on a daily basis was like the first day of summer, full of sunshine, warmth, and hope.
“Hey, I thought of some new obligations. Add wash dishes, help tidy the house, and buy her pretty flowers often. Just because you love her.”
“I did, and it will be done.” His cryptic comment lingered around the house.
At ten in the morning, a crew came to the house and moved furniture around. They dismantled one of the back rooms, and the guest room, and brought office equipment for one of them and gym stuff for the other. The guest room became a gym, though the closet still held my shoes—too many to fit in Dan’s—while the other bedroom had been converted into a second office for the house. I meant to ask about the changes, but the tricky man entertained me with movies and ice cream for the rest of the day.
On Monday, a nice, well-mannered college-aged guy named Steve came to the house. He had graduated in December, and had a master’s degree in business. Coincidentally, Dan informed me, we had an opening for an enthusiastic young assistant at the Brightmore foundation. I lifted my eyebrow and twisted my mouth to the side.
No, Dan, I need to get rid of my current assistant. What opening are you talking about? I need to fire Chrystal, which might have to wait until I go to the office.
Surprised to hear we’d hired him as Betsy’s assistant, starting after New Year’s, I stared at Dan. He shrugged and continued his pleasant conversation. We both understood he’d be a loan to my non-profit, for only a few weeks, until I healed. It turned out Steve was related to Betsy—she was his aunt. It answered the ten million dollar question of how they’d found him so fast. Before anyone was hired, Dan screened them from head to toe and the process took weeks.
Where Life Takes You Page 6
