“It’s exactly what you’re doing, and I’m not letting you get away with this. The past is dead. I’m not a child. If I want to buy my own company, I’ll do just that,” she said, drilling the message into Madeline’s soul. “I will never be controlled or overpowered by anyone again, including you.”
Madeline could have fired back but didn’t.
“So go ahead and put in your overpriced offer, and I’ll put in mine.”
“You’re seriously going to do this?” Madeline replied, running out of ways to reach Tamara.
“Oh no, not me. You did this. May the best Mitchell win.”
Madeline was crushed. “Do you think we’ll ever be able to fix our relationship?”
“Never know, Mother. I’m willing, but you have to show me some respect. It’s the only way I can let you back into my life.”
“I guess there’s hope.”
“Of course, but it will be up to you. Bidding on the West Coast division isn’t the ideal step toward fixing our relationship, but you are who you are.”
Madeline grinned. “That I am.”
“I’m going now,” Tamara said.
Madeline reluctantly said good-bye.
Right before Tamara disconnected, she said one more thing. “Mother, you’re a trip, but I love you. I have to go.” She hung up the phone without letting Madeline reply.
The line went dead. “I love you too,” Madeline uttered, with no one on the other end of the call to hear her.
Melancholy poured into her soul. Madeline lay across her bed and allowed herself to recall only positive memories of her only daughter. Tamara’s comment about the past being dead lingered in her mind, and perhaps it was true. Madeline didn’t care. With her future in flux, clinging to the past was her greatest treasure, and she’d cling to it with all her might.
Chapter 39
Cats were said to have nine lives. If Tamara counted the run-in with her ex-boyfriend, her brother, and the multiple rounds with her mother, she was down to maybe two or three. Running into Madeline today was bound to burn through a couple more lives. She couldn’t really take the risk of having to argue her way past her mother. Yet Tamara had no choice but to seek help. Madeline was out of control. Don was the only one who had the slightest chance of talking some sense into the woman they called Mother.
Tamara hustled out of the cab and flew by the security guards at DMI and tackled the stairs in a whirlwind. So far she was in the clear. The fact that she’d seen no sign of Madeline brought her relief, but as long as Tamara was in the building, danger lurked. She’d get into Don’s office, plead her case, get support, and get the heck out of DMI before the she lion was roused from her slumber.
After reaching the sixth floor, Tamara straightened her shirt and regained her composure. No one on executive row was going to see her as the tattered Mitchell girl. She had learned that much from her mother, to never let outsiders see her vulnerability. She hadn’t mastered the art as well as the Mitchells had, but progress was being made.
Tamara slowed to a saunter. There was a bubbling in the pit of her stomach, and she knew why. Tamara had been so obsessed with getting into the building undetected by Madeline that she’d forgotten her primary objective. She had to convince Don that their mother needed to back off the West Coast division. She didn’t know if he’d be receptive, since Don was a loyal Madeline advocate. Tamara walked idly around the administrative station for a few minutes and then approached Don’s door, knocking out her fear. She boldly stepped into the office after waving off the assistant’s offer to get Don. Tamara didn’t need or want assistance in reaching her brother. She was a Mitchell, and that gave her extensive rights and privileges within DMI’s walls. She relished the taste of significance.
“Tamara, I didn’t know you were coming by the office this morning. How’s it going?” Don asked, peering up from the document on his desk and the folder lying next to it.
“Not well,” she replied, aiming to make her request for his support, and get over his possible rejection, as quickly as possible.
“What’s the problem?” he asked, tucking the papers into the folder and giving her his undivided attention.
Tamara was on center stage, with the beam of light shining on her. Fear had her catatonic. She couldn’t believe how difficult this was. Don was her brother, and a loving one. She didn’t have to be afraid of him. Yet, Tamara felt severely uncomfortable about proceeding. Then she focused on her plans, boosting her confidence. She decided in that instance not to leave without an answer, preferably a yes.
“Mother called me last night and told me DMI is going after the West Coast division hard,” she said, causing Don to lean forward in his chair. “Regardless of what you guys are doing, I’m not taking my offer off the table for the West Coast division.”
Don tossed his pen in the air but didn’t speak. She wanted him to yell or challenge her. She knew how to handle those reactions. Silence was a secret weapon Tamara wasn’t prepared to handle. She felt compelled to keep talking. She took a seat. Don cradled his head between his thumb and index finger. His glance seemed to slice her into pieces. She ignored his piercing stare and returned to pleading her case. It was the only way to reach her brother.
“You know what I’ve been through, and by some miracle, I’m still here,” she said, tapping the arms of the chair. “I’ve gotten past the rough times, and now I’m ready to stand on my own. I’m sure you can appreciate where I’m coming from.”
Don remained silent. His refusal to speak was becoming annoying. She wasn’t invisible. “Can’t you say something?”
“Like what?” he asked, twirling the pen that was lying on the desk. “You seem to have the answers. Between you and Mother, there’s not much for me to say.”
The lack of concern in his tone was troubling. Don was her greatest ally. He’d always tried to help her, even when she didn’t want it. She could tell Don was hurt, and Tamara felt awful. She didn’t want to lose his support or his love. His reaction tugged at her heart, causing Tamara to be torn between proceeding with her pursuit of independence or ending the discussion and keeping her relationship intact with her brother. Each had merit. Who could say which was right and which was wrong? Should she fight to maintain her sanity or put her brother first? She was reeling with emotions. One fact was true: she loved Don and didn’t want him to be mad. She had much to contemplate. For now, she’d treat him with the respect he deserved. His years of unconditional love had earned him as much.
“I might not be going about this the right way, but who’s to say Mother is, either? To be honest, she has this whole company,” Tamara said, opening her arms wide and tracing the room with a finger in the air. “I’m asking for a tiny division, the smallest one. Why can’t she let me have it?”
“We know how Mother can be, but at the core of it all, she loves us.” Don’s interpretation of their mother’s love translated into being controlling for Tamara. “You know she’s not trying to hurt you, Tamara,” Don said, sounding slightly less agitated, but not at all cheery. She’d continue treading lightly.
“No, I don’t know that.”
“Oh, please,” Don said, shifting his head to lean on the other hand.
“No, seriously,” Tamara replied. “When a person willfully commits an act against someone, calling it an accident or a poor decision doesn’t make the hurt any less real.” Madeline had made her decisions very carefully and was old enough to know when to back off. Tamara wasn’t buying Don’s sympathy for their mother. “Mother knows what she’s doing, and even when it’s uncomfortable for us, she does it, anyway.” She tapped both heels on the floor. “So, no, I don’t agree.”
“Too bad. One day, when you’re able to see this situation more objectively, you might have a different perspective.”
Maybe, but Tamara wasn’t worried about one day. Her concern was today.
Don stared at Tamara. “Sis, I really don’t get you,” he said, shaking his head.
“W
hat do you mean?”
He scratched the tiny hairs on his chin and looked away, only to let his gaze return to her with a piercing force. “We grew up in the same house. Mother wasn’t perfect. I get that, but what did she do that was so bad that you’re bent on making her pay forever?”
Tamara could tell Don was mad, and she felt awful, but she wasn’t taking sole responsibility for the issues between her and their mother. “I’m not just mad at her. I’m mad at Dad and Sherry too.” Don had asked the question, so she was going to tell him the truth, sparing no one. Her parents hadn’t bothered to spare her feelings. “They were all so selfish and so focused on their drama that they forgot about us kids.”
“Come on, Tamara. We were kids then. We’re adults now, and our father is dead. When are you going to let it go?”
“Why should I?” Why couldn’t anyone understand her feelings about the family? Even Don wasn’t listening. Just like their mother, he wanted her to shove the past under a rug and walk away like nothing had happened. It was fine with her if they wanted to live in a fairy tale, but she would not. “They created this situation, Mother, Sherry, and Dad.”
“So why is your anger directed mostly at Mother?”
Tamara couldn’t tell him the real reason, which was simply that she needed someone to blame. Since Dad and Andre were gone, and she didn’t care enough about Sherry to make her a viable candidate to hate, only Madeline was left. Tamara wasn’t going to tell that to Don. She had a more pleasing answer for him. “We lived with her, not Dad. If she’d spent more time with us while we were growing up, instead of spending all those hours at DMI and chasing behind Dad, then maybe things would have been different for us, different for me,” she said, feeling melancholy.
“One day you’ll have to acknowledge that your old hurt is constantly stirring up new pain. You need to find a way to let the past go.”
“Easy for you to say,” she said, hoping to relieve the pressure building up inside her.
“No easier for me than it is for you.” She didn’t agree. Don continued. “I know what you’re thinking, and I would never minimize your trauma. But you have to acknowledge that others suffered in our family too. Like me; I had to learn how to live with my father’s rejection. Can you imagine how it felt to have him choose his other son over me?”
“It’s not the same thing, not by a longshot,” she said, becoming tired of the topic.
“You’re right, but look at it this way, Tamara. Andre raped you, but your anger and unwillingness to forgive is preventing you from having a peace of mind.” He slid to the edge of the seat, peering at her, and said, “So, I ask you again, when are you going to let the past go and give Mother a break?”
“You’re always defending her.”
“Funny, because she says I’m always defending you. Maybe I need to stop running interference between the two of you and let you battle it out until one or both of you become exhausted or gain some sense. At this point, I’m okay with both outcomes,” he said, playfully tossing the pen into the air.
“Yes, I fight with Mother, but I don’t want to with you. I just wish you could see how my getting the West Coast division is best for the family.”
“How?”
“Because I can get a fresh start. Remember, I’ve been home only for a few months. This is still new to me . . . being in the same city with you and Mother. It can be smothering for someone like me.” She could feel her emotions rising up, but she refused to cry. “I’ve been on my own for so long. I’m actually glad to be in the States, but I have much more healing to do on my terms—not Mother’s,” she said, talking louder to combat the lump of emotions settling in her throat. “I love Madeline, but I need distance from her.”
Don’s harsh stare softened, and she could see the compassion in his gaze. “I get that, but it doesn’t justify you and Mother being at odds.”
“Then you need to talk to her, because she’s the one who created this tension over the West Coast division.”
“She can’t fight unless you participate,” Don told her.
“Well, I’m not backing down. Mother can throw her money around, but Zarah and I are close friends. I have an excellent shot at this too, and I’m taking it.”
Don’s hand slid slowly down his face as his hope for a cordial resolution drained from him. “You need to be careful with Zarah. She’s pregnant with Joel’s child. You can believe he’s not going to be far away.”
Joel wasn’t a problem. He didn’t want to be with Zarah, and Tamara was hoping Zarah didn’t want him anymore. “They’re separated. He’s not a factor.”
“Believe that if you want to.” Don chuckled, reacting more strongly than he had in the past twenty minutes.
“He’s staying at the hotel and doesn’t want much to do with Zarah,” Tamara announced.
“So what? They are still married. Trust me. You don’t want to get caught in the middle of their relationship. It could backfire,” he said.
“I’m not worried,” she fired at him.
“Okay,” he said, twirling the pen on his desk again. “Well, good luck, because if you think Mother is a challenge, how about rumbling with her and Joel simultaneously?”
Tamara hadn’t given any thought previously to that scenario. Rumbling with both of them wasn’t ideal, but that would be up to them. She was moving ahead with her offer on the West Coast division.
“Thanks for listening. I’m going to head out. I love you,” she said. Nothing had been resolved with her visit, but the heart-to-heart had been well worth the trip. At least Don knew she loved him and Madeline too. That was important in case the bidding war became very heated and relationships had to be temporarily pushed to the sidelines.
She felt strangely invigorated. Tamara would call Zarah right away and schedule a meeting. She didn’t want to play around. If she was going to get the division, she had to make a move before Madeline submitted her gigantic offer. Tamara hustled outside, plucking her cell phone from her pocket en route. Her victory might be closer than expected, and she couldn’t wait.
Chapter 40
Zarah had stuck with tea for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Solid food just wasn’t settling well. She’d lain on her bed most of the day, not feeling too good. There was a knock on the master bedroom door. Zarah suspected it was the housekeeper since she’s sent the cook home hours ago and Ann was busy with a personal appointment. Unable to get up, Zarah called out, “Come in.”
The door opened, and the housekeeper entered. “Mrs. Mitchell, I’m about to leave, unless there’s something else you’d like for me to do.”
“No, there’s nothing,” Zarah told her without budging from her spot on the bed.
“Are you sure?” the housekeeper asked, sounding a bit worried.
“I’m sure.”
“Would you like for me to call Mr. Mitchell for you?”
“No,” Zarah replied curtly. “I’m fine.” She mustered the strength to sit up so she’d appear to be okay. “Go on home and don’t worry about me. I only need a bit of rest, and I’ll be up and about tomorrow.”
The housekeeper was about to reply, then paused, acquiescing. She left the room, maintaining her worried look.
After the door closed, Zarah’s head was heavy and so was her heart. She wandered from the bed to the chair, seeking comfort without success. She climbed back on the bed and buried her face in the pillow, wanting relief from the stress and the discomfort in her belly. Many thoughts tried to grip her, and they were mostly negative. She didn’t dare think about the baby being in trouble. Her baby was blessed. It had to be.
Negativity was winning out. She finally dozed off to sleep, only to be awakened by a rush of anxiety. She practically popped up in the bed like a jack-in-the-box. Being in the house alone became overwhelming. The house staff was gone. Ann was on business. She wanted to reach out to someone. Her initial instinct was to call Joel. Gloom swarmed her as she feared his reaction. What if she called and he didn’t answer? Worse,
what if he answered but wouldn’t come? She eased her head down on the pillow. Her only option was to call Tamara and have her come by. Her sister-in-law had been supportive, but there were times when she caused Zarah to feel badly about her commitment to Joel. Zarah wasn’t up for debating with Tamara. She contemplated what to do.
Zarah decided to dial whatever name popped into her mind first. When she picked up the cordless phone lying on the nightstand near her bed, she heard broken beeps, which indicated she had messages. She eased herself against the headboard and retrieved the messages, looking for one from Joel.
“First message,” the voice rang out. “Zarah, this is Madeline Mitchell. I’d like to continue our conversation about the West Coast division as soon as possible. DMI has put together a deal that guarantees you ownership of Harmonious Energy. Give me a call as soon as you get this message. We’re eager to get this deal done. I look forward to hearing from you today. Thanks.” Zarah gripped the phone tighter as her anxiety nudged upward. She listened to the next message in search of Joel’s voice.
“Next message,” the voice announced. “Zarah, this is Tamara. I need to see you today. I have to work out a deal with you for the West Coast division. My mother might have called you already and offered you a ton of money, but please don’t sell her the division without giving me a chance. This is a matter of life and death for me. Please wait until I see you.” Zarah moaned.
Initially she’d been intrigued about taking on a leadership role in the company. With Tamara’s encouragement, she came to see the job as a way to honor her father’s legacy and, more importantly, to gain her husband’s heart. Faced with so much hard work, constant fights between Joel and Tamara, and pressure from Don and Madeline, Zarah didn’t have the same excitement anymore. Her joy had been further squelched with each phone message.
She should have hung up the phone but let the messages continue playing. “Next message,” the voice said. Zarah was expecting it to be Don, asking about the division too. “Zarah, I’m calling to check on you.” Her eyes widened when she heard Joel’s voice, and she drew her knees to her chest. Some of her stress melted away. “We also have to talk about the West Coast division. We didn’t get to talk through my proposal before, but it’s critical that we do so.”
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