by Tamie Dearen
Bran knew the last remark was meant as an insult. “I don’t try to fit into the group, as you call them, but I keep them happy and well-fed.”
“Like pets?”
“No. More like livestock.”
“I see.”
“That’s why I need Carina. She speaks their language.”
“You don’t need another goat to take care of your goats. You need a goatherd.”
“Carina’s not like the others. She’s smarter than you think.”
“No doubt that woman is smarter than you think. Mark my words, you will not control her. She will as soon cut your throat as the steak on your plate.”
Bran finished tying his shoes before responding. “Then I better not give her anything sharper than a table knife.”
A creak of the chair indicated Fordham’s rise to his feet, and Bran wasn’t surprised when his voice moved. “Having one’s carotid sawed open with a dull blade hardly sounds more pleasant than a quick slice with a razor.”
Bran reached up and clasped the hand he knew was offered, though he didn’t need help standing. He paused, turning his face square to Fordham’s. “You think she hates me that much?”
“On the contrary, I believe she loves you a great deal… as one loves a trust fund.”
Bran strode into the hallway, snatching his cane where it leaned against the door jamb without breaking stride. “I have my reasons.”
“I don’t trust her.” Fordham kept pace with him.
“Me, neither. I thought you’d watch her for me.”
“A formidable task that will be, when she becomes the mistress of the household.”
Pausing at the door to his workout room, Bran put his hand on Fordham’s shoulder. “But you’ll do it?”
His long-suffering sigh was loud enough to carry all the way down the stairs. “I will try.”
“Thank you, Fordham.” Bran squeezed his shoulder. “If the guys are up, tell them I’ll be down for breakfast after my run.”
“Not necessary. Most reasonable people don’t awaken two hours before the sun rises.”
“I feel sorry for all the rest of you, tied to a ball of fire ninety-three million miles away.”
“Every person needs to sleep—even you. Your health will suffer if you continue to operate on four hours of rest at night.”
“Sleep is a waste of time, like this argument.”
To avoid any further discussion on the subject, Bran strode to the treadmill to start his daily run. Though he tried to concentrate only on exercise—pushing his body to the limits—thoughts of Stephanie kept inching their way inside his head.
He remembered the day, several months after she started working for him, when she’d started an awkward conversation.
“Branson? Can I make a suggestion?”
He could hear the nervous tinge in her tone. Something’s up.
“You can try. I probably won’t take your advice,” he joked, hoping to put her at ease.
“You told me once you don’t sleep very much. Is that from being blind?”
“Yes. Without light and dark stimulation, your body’s circadian rhythms don’t work right. It’s pretty common in people who are totally blind.”
“Isn’t there something you can take for that? Because some days you look so tired. I don’t think it’s good for your body to live on so little sleep.”
Some remote part of his brain registered she was concerned for his health, and he tucked that tidbit away to mull it over later.
“I don’t like taking drugs of any sort. Anyway, I get a lot done if I don’t sleep.”
“That’s not a good answer. I’d rather have you healthy, even if you get less work done. I’m gonna do some research about sleep issues with blind people.”
“Knock yourself out. I doubt I’ll listen to you any better than I listen to Fordham or my doctors.”
She went quiet for a moment and then said, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but how did you lose your eyes?”
He’d been waiting for this question. Everyone was curious.
“Cancer. Retinoblastoma.” He said the words like it was no big deal.
“Was it painful?” Her voice was tight with some emotion stronger than curiosity.
“I guess so. I don’t remember. I was a baby at the time.” This was all the information he intended to share, but something made him go on. “My mom told me it was her fault I lost both eyes instead of one. She said the doctors explained I could’ve had radiation in one eye. It was risky, but maybe I could’ve kept my sight in that eye. Mom argued it was better to lose both eyes and know for sure I’d survive. Dad said something to the effect that I might be better off dead.”
He heard her sniffing. Why did I tell that story? I made her feel bad. He hurried to make an awkward apology. “Steph, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, I’m glad you told me.” Her voice cracked. “I hope your mom waited until you were grown before she told you that.”
“Mom died when I was seven.”
He heard a muffled whimper, like she was covering her mouth with her hand.
“Oh, Bran! I’m so sorry.”
Next thing he knew, he’d spilled the whole sordid story of his childhood, from birth through his mother’s death. Though Steph never moved from her chair across the desk, he felt her soothing empathy as if she were holding his hand. Dry-eyed as always, he gave every detail, including the rumors he overheard at the funeral.
“They were whispering that it wasn’t an accident. That she jumped off the balcony on purpose. I was sitting right there, but I guess they thought I was deaf, too. Or maybe too dumb to understand.” He didn’t say what he’d always suspected— always known—that his mother was escaping the horror of having a defective child.
“That’s so terrible.”
It was then he noticed the sniffing and the distinct sound of a tissue being pulled from the box on his desk. I’ve got diarrhea of the mouth. What’s wrong with me?
“I’m sorry, Stephanie. I shouldn’t have gone on like that. You can see why I’m so screwed up.”
She responded in a shaky tone, “No child should have to deal with any of the things you’ve had to face, much less all that baggage put together. It could’ve turned you into a bitter man. But it didn’t. You channeled it all into a good thing. The work you do for disabled kids. I think you turned out amazing, after all you’ve been through.”
Her words made him swell up, wishing so badly to be the man she described. But deep inside, he knew she was wrong.
“I’m more bitter than you think.” He snatched his stress ball from a tray on his desk and squeezed with all his might, thinking of his dad.
“I wouldn’t have been able to deal with all that.” Her wobbly voice steadied a bit. “My life was easy. My grandmother raised me, and she loved me with every bone in her body. She died three years ago, but her voice is still in my head.”
“Fordham’s voice is in mine.” He put the stress ball back in its proper place.
“A good voice to have.”
His fingers itched to touch her face. To know the shape of her nose, the line of her jaw, the slope of her forehead, the contour of her eyelids, the softness of her lips. He wanted to know her form as he knew her soul, to see her the only way he could. He pushed the yearning back inside, where it belonged.
From that point on he had wanted not only Stephanie’s presence, but her approval, though he knew it was based on pity. He craved it, like an addict. And he would take it any way he could get it.
Irritated at his lack of concentration, Bran increased the speed on the treadmill until his only thought was finding the strength to land one foot in front of the other. On and on he pounded, unrelenting, sweat dripping from his body. At last, a beep sounded to indicate he’d reached his ten-mile goal, and the machine gradually slowed to walking pace.
He followed with a round of one-handed pushups, once again proving to himself he was in complete
control of his body. And his life.
Bran sat alone at the breakfast table. Hearing occasional laughter rising from within the kitchen, Bran grew more irritated. He pushed his food around on his plate and took a few bites, finding his customary steel-cut oatmeal with a side of fruit and Greek yogurt to be tasteless.
When the laughter broke out once again, he recognized one of the voices. Finn. In an instant, Bran was out of his chair and striding to the kitchen door to jerk it open.
Stunned silence greeted him. Then Finn’s guffaw echoed in the tiled room, and Bran recognized the answering chuckles of his other two friends.
“Good morning, Mr. Knight. Have you ever had these homemade cinnamon rolls?” Finn spoke in a garbled voice. “They’re unbelievable. I might steal Mindy away from you.”
As Mindy mumbled an embarrassed protest, Bran made a mental note to make certain she got a raise, though he knew Finn was teasing him.
“Didn’t your mother teach you not to talk with your mouth full?” Branson didn’t bother to state the obvious fact that he’d refrained from eating anything with processed sugar in it since the age of sixteen.
“Yes, she did. But Mum’s not here. And I’m glad, as she’d probably eat my share.”
“And mine, too,” Jarrett added, a reference to Finn’s mother’s reputation for a robust appetite. Finn described her as built like a lumberjack. It was true. When she first met Bran, her hug had crushed the air from his lungs.
“You three use me for the rooms and the food, but you can’t eat breakfast with me?”
“We avoid you like the plague until you finish your morning routine,” said Cole. “Since when do you like company for breakfast?”
“Or any other meal, as far as that goes?” Finn added, his curiosity tinged with a hint of humor. “Is this the new Branson Knight? You’re engaged, and you’re not a hermit anymore? If so, we welcome Carina with open arms.”
Bran’s face heated, knowing Mindy and her assistant were listening in. His staff knew his habits had changed when he started eating lunch with Stephanie. “Why don’t we go in the other room to talk?” Bran stomped into the dining room, his friends shuffling behind him. “The truth is, I read it’s better for your digestion if you don’t eat alone.”
“Only you would base a conversation on health benefits,” said Cole, as his chair scraped on the granite-tiled floor. “Heaven forbid you just wanted to talk to someone.”
“I talk to you guys all the time,” Bran defended, dropping into his usual chair at the dining table, directly across from Cole. “Mostly on the phone, but that’s because we all live in different states.”
“We never hear from you unless you want to discuss business,” Cole said.
“So what?” Bran shook his head, trying to follow his friend’s reasoning. “Why else would I call?”
“Because we’re supposed to be friends.” Jarrett took over the argument, but Finn and Cole muttered agreements.
“We are friends. You’re my only friends.” Branson failed to keep the frustration out of his voice. Jarrett wasn’t making any sense.
“Friends talk about more than business,” Jarrett continued. “They talk about what’s happening in their lives. We used to get together every month, but the past couple of years you’ve been gradually cutting us off. It’s like we barely know you.”
“And friends tell each other upcoming major life changes, like engagements,” Finn added.
“That’s what this is all about?” Bran asked. “You guys are mad because I didn’t tell you I was getting engaged to Carina?”
“Not mad, exactly,” said Cole. “More like shocked.”
“It was a last-minute decision.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Finn sputtered. “You don’t make last-minute decisions. You and Carina have been dating for a year.”
“This is just like the argument I had with Stephanie. First you say you’re caught by surprise. Then you complain I’ve been dating her for a year. What do you want from me? Seems like you all could’ve seen it coming.”
“Maybe we could’ve, if you’d ever called to talk about anything besides business or let us get to know this woman,” said Jarrett.
“It wouldn’t have helped,” said Cole. “Stephanie was surprised, and she’s with him almost every day.”
“Yeah… poor Stephanie.” Jarrett’s tone was dramatically sardonic. “I’m sure she deserves a raise, putting up with a boss like you for two years. But I guess you’ll have to fire her since you’re getting married.”
“I’m not letting her go.”
“When’s Carina moving in?” Finn ignored his words. “I might like to hire Stephanie. Do you think she’d mind living on the east coast?”
“I’m not firing Stephanie.” Bran slapped his hand on the table, rattling the silverware. “In fact, Stephanie’s moving into the complex.” He hoped his words were true. Fordham hadn’t reported back yet.
You could’ve heard a pin drop. Finally, Cole broke the silence. “Uhmm… Bran? Does Stephanie know that? Because she didn’t say anything about it when we talked last night.”
Bran didn’t want to consider the possibility it might not happen. His hands wadded up the napkin in his lap. “That’s another thing. You had no right to question Stephanie like that.”
“Branson…” This time Finn’s tone was soft and filled with sympathy. “You’re withdrawing from everyone. It’s not good for you, and you know it. We had to trick you. It was our only chance to talk to Stephanie. We had to find out what was going on.”
“And did you?” Bran asked, scrunching his eyebrows.
“Not really,” Finn confessed. “She didn’t even realize what you used to be like. You should’ve seen her face when we told her how you used to travel all over the world with us and do every single extreme sport.”
Finn paused, but Bran fumed silently rather than respond.
“What happened to the old Branson Knight?” Finn asked. ‘You used to shake your fist at society and prove you could do anything a sighted person could do—usually better. Now you hide away with your treasure like an old dragon in his cave, and all you think about is business.”
“Maybe I don’t have anything left to prove,” he said, sullenly. “Maybe I don’t need that anymore. I’m happy here, and I don’t need anyone else.”
“Not even us?” asked Cole, his words tinged with hurt.
Bran groaned. “That’s not what I meant. You guys are my brothers.”
From across the table, Jarrett’s voice came closer. “Then, as your brothers, we’re telling you to stop shutting everyone out. You’ve written advice to our disabled kids, and that’s one of the things you always warned them against… cutting themselves off from society.”
Is that what I’ve done? Why didn’t I recognize it?
“Next weekend, we’re going to Vegas,” Finn announced.
“Vegas?” Bran’s heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t handle the crowds. The noise. “I think I’ve got meetings—”
“Sorry, bud. Stephanie checked your schedule, and you’ve nothing important planned,” Jarrett said.
“I don’t think—” He choked, his mouth as dry as if he had a mouthful of flour.
“You can even bring Carina. Make it a trial run, of sorts.” Finn’s hand gripped his shoulder and his voice lowered. “You can do this, Bran. We’ll be right there with you. You need to let loose and have fun again. You’ve got to get back out in the world.”
Bran’s throat constricted, and he felt like a vacuum had sucked all the air out of his lungs.
“It’s going be a regular thing,” Cole added. “Phantom Enterprises is going to hold a corporate meeting at a different location every month, just like we used to, and you’re going to come. No excuses.”
Footsteps announced the entrance of a fifth person in the dining room. Bran recognized Fordham’s gait. “Mr. Knight, I have a report for you. Two items.”
Bran rubbed his aching t
emples. “I hope it’s good news, Fordham. I don’t think I could handle any bad.”
“We’ll let you be the judge.”
From his buddies’ chuckles, he could assume Fordham made a funny expression.
“First,” said Fordham, “Ms. Stephanie has reluctantly agreed to move into the complex. I believe she used the term, ‘financial rock and a hard place.’”
“I pay her well,” Bran stated, wanting to defend himself before his friends.
“Yes, but she tells me her doctor recommended a new prescription drug for CF, and her insurance doesn’t cover it.”
“Stephanie has cystic fibrosis?” Finn asked, incredulous. “I would never have guessed.”
“Not Stephanie,” Bran explained, inexplicably worried this piece of information would cause Finn to pursue her on a more personal level. “It’s her six-year-old daughter, Ellie.”
He could almost hear his friend swallowing hard before whispering back, “Stephanie’s right. There’s a new breakthrough med, and it’s costing me about three hundred grand a year. I was planning to bring it up at our next board meeting. We can’t afford to give that much money to every CF kid, but how do we decide which one gets it and which one doesn’t?”
I don’t know. But I’m making sure Ellie gets the drug she needs. Bran pressed his lips together, keeping the thought to himself. To Fordham, he said, “When is she moving in?”
“I hope I wasn’t presumptuous, but I convinced her to move this week, on Tuesday. Her lease renews this month, so it’s now or next June. She was concerned about missing a morning of work, but I assured her you’d be accommodating.”
“Excellent.” Bran rubbed his hands together briskly, imagining how his life would improve with Stephanie close by. “Hire a moving company. I don’t want her to lift a finger. Give them connecting suites in the east wing, by the rose garden. Ellie ought to like that. All girls like roses, right?”
“And Ms. Fields? Where do you want her to stay?”
“Ms. Fields?”
“Laurie Fields, their live-in nanny.”
He faltered, embarrassed to have forgotten the nanny’s name, since Stephanie talked about her almost every day. “Yes, Laurie Fields. Right. She’ll need to be next door in the same wing.”
