Then Came You: A Bradford Sisters Novella

by Wade, Becky

  I digress. Here’s what I want to say to you.

  First, thank you for reading my reports. Thank you for inviting me to meet with you. Thank you for listening to me as if I had something worthwhile to say. Thank you for looking at me as if I was an equal instead of a less-than. Which, frankly, despite women’s lib, is pretty rare at Bradford Shipping from men in business suits.

  Second, I’m miffed at you for only seeing merit in five of my eight recommendations. When you insisted in that measured way of yours that the other three recommendations were too expensive, you really didn’t give me a chance to list the one thousand ways in which my ideas, while expensive at the outset, will make Bradford Shipping money in the long run.

  I’m still trying to decide whether you’re being a knucklehead about those three reports or whether there’s any slight, slim chance that you might be right about those three reports. I’m leaning toward knucklehead.

  Third, you’re not quite what I expected. Catching a few glimpses of you from a distance didn’t prepare me for the force of you close up and in person.

  You’re taller than I’d guessed. How tall are you? 5’11”? You’re not an extraordinarily tall man but something about your bearing or your posture or the fact that you now own the majority share of Bradford Shipping makes you seem tall. Even in my heels, I felt as though I had to look quite a ways up to meet your eyes.

  You’re both more weathered and more calm than I thought you’d be. You’re only two years older than I am, but you seem ten years older. There’s a steadiness about you that surprised me, that’s very rare in men as young as you are. I suppose you were forced to develop that steadiness in order to survive the difficulties you’ve been through. The death of your wife, the death of your father, and the strain of inheriting a troubled company are heavy weights to carry. Are your shoulders strong enough to carry all that plus two little girls?

  Your eyes are beautiful. Which is definitely something I’ll never tell you in person. But they are beautiful. They’re a mesmerizing shade of translucent jade green. Your eyes shook me a little bit, to tell the truth.

  Fourth, I won’t be staying long. I want to help you save Bradford Shipping. I do. I want that because this company is the largest employer in the area, because Bradford Shipping has a long and respectable history, because there’s much about the company that’s worth saving, and because playing an integral role in the company’s turn-around would be great for me career-wise.

  However, as soon as Estée Lauder comes through with a job offer, I’m gone. I expect to be wearing cute winter coats and eating bagels in New York City soon.

  Respectfully,

  Kathleen E. Burke

  CHAPTER

  Seven

  Garner’s Journal Entry

  My father died.

  He had his faults. He set extremely high expectations for Glenna and me. He was a harsh disciplinarian. I can’t remember a time when he told me he loved me. But he had his strengths, also. He was a loyal husband to my mother. He worked hard. He wasn’t afraid of responsibility.

  All my life, my father was there, like a pillar holding up a house. And now, without warning, he’s gone. He went like Robin did. There, then not.

  My life feels strange without him in it.

  The house is beginning to cave in without one of its central pillars.

  I really don’t know if Bradford Shipping can avoid bankruptcy. For a long time now, I’ve been advocating for sweeping changes that would allow us to compete better in the marketplace. My father used to tell me the company couldn’t afford those changes, and I used to think his answer was mostly motivated by stubbornness. Now that I have access to all the financials, I understand how little capital remains. If I overextend Bradford Shipping in order to pay for changes, there’s a chance I could save the company. There’s a bigger chance that I’ll end up writing the company’s death warrant.

  The longtime employees of Bradford Shipping and the residents of this community have judged me to be too young and inexperienced to lead a business of this size. They expect me to fail. I’m sure the owners of West Coast Transporters are rubbing their hands together as they wait for the inevitable.

  I want to do right by the employees who depend on Bradford Shipping to provide for their families. I also want to honor Frederick Bradford, who founded the company, and all the other Bradfords between him and me who poured their lives and their pride into this business.

  Deep down, though, I’m overwhelmed. And weary.

  I ran down the hallways of this company when I was a kid. I grew up listening to my father talk about this company every night at the dinner table. I started working here in the summers when I was sixteen. I’ve had a full-time position here since I graduated from college.

  I’m only twenty-eight. I only inherited Bradford Shipping two weeks ago. Yet already, I’m weary.

  Most of the time, I inwardly agree with the employees and the community about the likelihood of my failure. I am the wrong man for this job. I don’t have the strength or the skill or the energy to rescue this century-old company.

  Nonetheless, I’m the boss. My father died and I inherited Bradford Shipping. So if anyone is going to rescue this company, it’s going to have to be me.

  Garner’s Journal Entry

  I have an employee named Kathleen.

  Even though she looks like a beach girl who should be selling ice cream at the shore, she’s desperate to be taken seriously. She tries hard to come across as mature and polished. Instead she comes across as sheltered, green, and idealistic.

  Kathleen is full of determination and enthusiasm.

  Kathleen makes me feel old and cynical.

  The company doesn’t need old and cynical. It needs determination and enthusiasm and people like Kathleen who can bring new ideas to the table.

  I created a task force. It includes Kathleen, who represents the Customer Service Department. Two financial analysts. One manager. One HR person. One operations specialist. I’ve asked them to study every branch of the company. They’ll evaluate strengths and weaknesses, conduct market research, and form strategies for the future.

  I moved the task force members into offices on my floor of the admin building after forcing early retirement on several vice-presidents who’d been leeching off Bradford Shipping for decades. They were all my father’s yes-men. None were open to change.

  At this point it’s change or die.

  Phone Conversation between Garner and His Mother, Elizabeth

  GARNER: One of the women who works for me mentioned that her mother had met you.

  ELIZABETH: Oh? What’s her mother’s name?

  GARNER: I’m not sure. My employee’s name is Kathleen Burke. I’m guessing her mom would have the same last name since Kathleen’s not married. I think she said she grew up around Snoqualmie.

  ELIZABETH: The Burkes that I know of in that area own Atlas Aeronautics. They’re all of Irish descent. Martin Burke started Atlas and he has to be, oh, close to eighty now. He’s a wonderful man. Generous and smart. Much of Atlas’s tremendous success is attributed to him.

  GARNER: Do you know anything about Martin’s family?

  ELIZABETH: Now that Martin’s getting up in years, I’ve heard that he’s been giving his grandson, Shane Burke, more and more control. If Kathleen is Shane’s sister, then their mother would be . . . let me think for a second. Margaret. Margaret Burke who, yes, I’ve met and spoken with. And that would mean that Kathleen’s father was Martin’s son, Dillon Burke.

  GARNER: Was?

  ELIZABETH: Dillon died a long time ago. Probably twenty years ago now.

  GARNER: How did he die?

  ELIZABETH: Flying one of the company’s planes. There was a crash. . . . It was a terrible tragedy. I know that Martin took Dillon’s family under his wing after the accident. He’s provided for Margaret very comfortably ever since.

  GARNER: Interesting.

  ELIZABETH: If the Kathleen Burke who works for y
ou is Margaret and Dillon’s daughter, I wonder why she’s not working for Atlas Aeronautics.

  GARNER: She’s about as independent as they come.

  ELIZABETH: Is she . . . ? Are you . . . interested in going out with her?

  GARNER: No. Not at all. Just curious.

  CHAPTER

  Eight

  Phone Message from Margaret to Her Daughter, Kathleen

  Hello? Kathleen? Goodness, still not answering your phone? Are you doing nothing but working these days? That’s not good for your complexion, you know. You’ll develop bags under your eyes.

  Shane just told me that you’ve moved into an office near Garner Bradford himself. Kathleen Evangeline! Isn’t it as clear as clear can be that God is punishing that man for the child he had out of wedlock? Judgment is sure to follow him wherever he goes.

  Phone Conversation between Kathleen and Her Friend Rose

  KATHLEEN: You’re not in labor yet, are you?

  ROSE: No, unfortunately. I’ve been eating spicy food and walking a lot more than a person the size of a whale should ever walk and I still can’t get this baby to budge.

  KATHLEEN: Do you have time to talk me down about my mother?

  ROSE: The usual?

  KATHLEEN: The usual.

  Phone Conversation between Kathleen and Her Friend Rose

  KATHLEEN: Does baby Jenny love the outfit I sent?

  ROSE: Yes, indeed. She keeps going on and on about it.

  KATHLEEN: I miss her already. Tell her not to grow too much between now and when I drive up for a visit next weekend.

  ROSE: You sure sound happy for someone who’s missing my baby.

  KATHLEEN: My new office makes me happy. I have windows! I have room for potted plants!

  ROSE: From taking complaints over a headset to an office on the same floor as the owner of the company in just four years. That must be some kind of record.

  KATHLEEN: Just four years? The past four years have felt to me like fourteen.

  Unsent Letter from Kathleen to Garner

  Garner,

  You, sir, are unfailingly gentlemanly.

  I spend time on my hair and makeup each morning. I wear flattering clothing and excellent shoes. I even bought a fantastic new pair of earrings. Yet, never once in the month that I’ve been working with the task force, have you looked at me with anything other than completely professional courtesy.

  When are you planning on looking at me with something other than completely professional courtesy?

  Never?

  Never is fine with me, of course. I have no plans to date my boss. I’m far too career-minded for that. Also, I should tell you that I prefer boyfriends who don’t have French ex-girlfriends, who haven’t been married previously, and who don’t have children.

  You’re not ideal.

  So it’s fine that you don’t find me attractive. Really. It’s better this way.

  Respectfully,

  Kathleen E. Burke

  p.s. By the way, it’s idiotic of you to reject my proposal for new computer software. Your “It’s too expensive, Kathleen” mantra makes me want to scream.

  p.s.s. In every other way, you’re lovely to work with. You’re thoughtful and principled and decent. So please don’t take the idiotic comment above too personally.

  CHAPTER

  Nine

  Garner’s Journal Entry

  I’ve developed a habit. Every night when I leave for home, I glance down the hallway as I’m walking to the elevators to see whether the light is on in Kathleen’s office. It always is. She stays later than I do every day.

  And why shouldn’t she? She’s not a single parent, so she has the freedom to work long hours.

  I have no idea why that light in her office both irritates me and comforts me.

  I can’t decide if I should give her a raise, or tell her to get a life, or talk her into taking self-defense classes.

  What I do know: I’m tempted every night to tell her how dangerous the world is for women who walk through parks or parking lots alone.

  What happened to Robin has made me unreasonably afraid, I know that. I worry all the time about Willow and Nora and the women in my life. I never leave my girls with anyone except Valentina or family members. Glenna and my mom have grown tired of my overprotectiveness.

  So far, I’ve managed to bite my tongue each night as I’m leaving the office. It’s not my place to lecture Kathleen. She’s a grown woman who can take care of herself. She’s a co-worker, nothing more. I’m aware that if I do break down and say something to her one of these nights, she’s more likely to think I’m crazy than to thank me for my concern.

  Garner’s Journal Entry

  I’m having a hard time concentrating at work.

  Why in the world did I give the task force members offices on my floor? It seemed like a good idea at the time . . . to evict the old guard and move in the staff that represented the company’s one hope for the future. I regret it now, though, because I can’t go an hour without seeing Kathleen Burke.

  I can’t remember when I’ve felt this frustrated, and that’s saying a lot because I have two preschoolers at home.

  I noticed Kathleen’s attractiveness the day we met. I noticed it the same way that I might notice that a woman’s hair is gray. It was just a fact. It didn’t matter to me or affect me.

  A month and a half has passed since then.

  A month and a half of me sitting in the board room during task force meetings, watching Kathleen give presentations on newfound information she feels passionately about. She always feels passionately about the information she presents.

  A month and a half of looking up from my desk and seeing her slender body pass by my office in tailored skirts and silky shirts.

  A month and a half of disagreeing with her over new computer software. When she thinks I’m being pig-headed, her nose scrunches and her brown eyes blaze. My mom told me that her family is Irish. It’s obviously true. Kathleen has the fiery will and the red glint in her hair to prove it. She can’t seem to understand that I’m not being pig-headed about new computer software. I’m just being right.

  A month and a half of running into her in the break room. She tilts her head when she refills her coffee mug, which causes her long hair to slide over her shoulder and upper arm.

  A month and a half of hearing her laughter from a distance.

  A month and a half of receiving correspondence from her signed “Respectfully, Kathleen E. Burke.” Why the E? There are no Kathleen R. or B. or K. Burkes who work at Bradford Shipping. The E is pretentious.

  A month and a half of looking back every evening when I leave and seeing her office light on.

  Kathleen’s attractiveness is more than a fact to me now. She’s annoyingly pretty, she’s persistent, and she’s impossible to ignore.

  For more than two years, I’ve been loyal to Robin’s memory. That’s how I want things to continue. That’s how I like it.

  Willow and Nora are my life. I spend every hour outside of work with them, and I’m exhausted at the end of each day. There’s no room in my schedule or in my emotions for a relationship. I’m even more certain that I’m not meant to be a boyfriend or a husband now than I was when Robin died. So the distraction of Kathleen makes me feel like I’m betraying a commitment I made to myself. Which, in turn, makes me angry.

  I’ve been asking God to take away this stupid pull I feel toward Kathleen. Or better yet, to give her a new job in another city or state.

  My goals since Robin died are simple: Focus on my girls when I’m at home. Concentrate on my responsibilities when I’m at work.

  That’s all. Two goals.

  I want peace. I want to live the life that’s before me—alone.

  CHAPTER

  Ten

  Unsent Letter from Kathleen to Garner

  Dear Garner,

  My mom keeps warning me to stay away from you. She doesn’t seem to comprehend that her warnings are making you more and more attrac
tive to me. As I mentioned in my last letter, dating you was never in my plans!

  Well, you do have those eyes. It’s not possible to be totally uninterested in a man with eyes like yours. But I was doing my best. Ninety percent of me didn’t plan to date you.

  But now my mother has stepped in numerous times to insist I can’t have you, and my rebellious heart, which has always pined for what she forbids, is beginning to find you more than a little bit tempting.

  I like the way you roll your collared shirts up at the cuffs, for example.

  I like the sporty, bracing scent of your soap.

  I like how purely focused you are on business.

  I like the finger tracks in your dark hair.

  I like the sorrow lines beside your eyes and lips.

  I like that you keep the temperature in your office at sixty-six degrees. Entering your office is like walking into the beginning of winter. Invigorating.

  I like how, when we have task force lunches, you never eat green vegetables. You’ll eat orange, red, and yellow veggies, but you have taken an amusingly firm stance against green.

  And I like your rare smiles so much that I catch my breath each time I spot one.

  If my mom keeps this up, I can’t be responsible for my actions.

  Except I will be. Responsible for my actions. I always am. Don’t worry, Garner. I’ve read what the experts say about girls who lose their fathers. How, when they grow up, they look for men to supply the love they never received from their dad. I know all about that, so you can bet I won’t be making that mistake. No, sirree. Rest easy.