Cavanaugh

by Jody Kaye

  It never ceased to amaze Rose that Ross was happiest fixing up a rinky-dink apartment. One that only just got electricity. She’d seen Cavanaugh’s bottom line. He could afford better and Ross wasn’t a slacker in other areas. When they went out, his new clothes were laundered and pressed.

  It took a week to finagle, but she convinced him to eat out at the Grille with her and that led to other area restaurants. He’d insisted on picking up the tab to the point that it had come to blows. They’d finally compromised with Ross allowing Rose every third bill. Unless Ross was being chivalrous, it didn’t make a heck of a lot of sense to her. When it was Rose’s turn, she always picked someplace a little more expensive to make up for the previous two times he’d treated her. Ross worked hard. A good man deserved to eat a good meal.

  “Shady things that another businessman does aren’t the point, though. I’m putting myself out there. I don’t want my name associated with a company that’s gone belly up because I got in over my head. I can afford the monthly land payments without an underwriter as long as they stay below a certain threshold. Slow and steady growth is still respectable growth. I built one house and had the proceeds to start three more. From there it was six, a dozen and so on. Plus, Cavanaugh is getting the word of mouth that garners renovations like at Kingsbrier.”

  Rose blanched. Her father had been scarce until recently. Had Eric followed through with the reference or was his promise as hollow as his heart? She fisted the potholders in her grip.

  Ross kept talking. “People see my construction company as quality. They’re starting to seek out the hoses we build. Putting up this community gives them what they want. I still have to maintain my own personal standards, though. For myself and the guys who work for me. Listen, you’ve got a great head on your shoulders.” Ross snagged a screwdriver from his toolbox. “Every bit of advice you’re giving makes sense. It’s just not how I want to do things. Focus that energy on your own company.”

  “My father won’t let me,” she remarked, becoming angrier that Eric would pull another fast one on Ross than that Ross dismissed her ideas the same way that her father did.

  Rose took off the pot holder and pitched them onto an island Ross created from salvaged cabinets. It still had no countertop and was a far cry from Kingsbrier’s new terra cotta kitchen. She loved that Ross made things with his own two hands. He found inspiration in things that someone else discarded. While he bolted the cabinets together, sanded, and painted them he’d talked about their potential. Ross always had a plan.

  Rose was winging it, wondering how long she’d play whimsy before Ross dumped her on her ass and found a new playmate. Occasionally, she saw herself frittering away over a ledger. That was as big a fantasy as Ross taking her on Grandy’s brass bed with the mismatched sheets and coverlet.

  The first time Rose changed numbers on a departmental report was after listening to Eric while he took a business call. Her ideas were brilliant, but her father refused to listen to what she had to say. So she re-penned the budget line item and it went through without leading to their financial demise. No one was the wiser. It spurred Rose on. Part of it was enthusiasm over the results—no different than the way that Rose zealously substituted the terra cotta kitchen plans and encouraged Ross to overlook Eric’s absence and accept that her own happiness with the progress was a sufficient substitute for her father’s approval. The other part? She wanted to see how long she’d get away with monkeying with the outcomes.

  It wasn’t that way with Ross at all.

  Weeks ago, he’d asked Rose to move some open mail so that she didn’t slop batter on it. Rose expected that, given her busy-bodying and forgery, he’d hide the business’s financial statements from her. However, she’d seen his bottom line and it made Rose so frantic and wild with happiness that Cavanaugh was successful. She struck up a conversation on how solvent the company was and how on earth he’d managed to get it there. Soon, Ross began asking her advice since she had a degree and experience, underhanded as it may be, to back up her opinions. There was an affability in having something of substance to contribute to the mix.

  “What do you mean? From the way you talk about business ventures, profit margins, and capital, you had to have grown up at the man’s knee with Eric encouraging you into the fold.” What did this girl do all day? Shop? Get her nails done? Rose tended to gloss over what she was up to when Ross wasn’t around.

  “More like he ignored the fact that I overheard his conversations and hasn’t realized that I gleaned anything from them. My father doesn’t want me in charge of his company. He’s not interested in grooming a protégé. The person at the helm will be whomever he finds to marry me off to… And, without a doubt, that’s what he’s been trying to do for months… The day I present Eric Kingsbrier a grandson is the only day that man will welcome me at his office. It’s all about his legacy,” she said with disdain.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Her statement seemed more sour grapes than serious the day she argued with her father over the kitchen changes.

  “Not in the least,” she said, wanting to redirect the subject to Ross’s future. Or anything besides her lack thereof.

  She’d gotten back up and began flipping the bright yellow pages of a square word of the day desk calendar that sat on the countertop and inhaling blueberry muffin. The fresh fruit smell was as intoxicating as the day Savannah Andrew put her first piece of peach pie down on a plate in front of Rose. Rose knew the feeling of hot blueberries scalding her tongue so, as much as she’d love to gobble the whole tray, she decided it was better not to touch them until they cooled.

  “Not to sound stupid, but the day and dates don’t match up on this thing. You should get your money back.”

  “You’re not stupid. Grandy gave me that. Like I told you I wasn’t ever home, so I forgot to tear off the next day’s sheet.” He picked up a separate stack still held together by a thick line of glue. “I want to see what each word means.” He thumbed through the outdated pages no longer attached to the remaining few months on the base. As long as I remember going forward that the day of the week is off then the number is correct.”

  Rose took the stack of older dates from Ross. “Have you read any of these yet?”

  “Only the ones I pulled off over the past few days and those are in the trash already.”

  “Sophrosyne.” Rose read off of the top. “A healthy state of mind, characterized by self-control, moderation, and a deep awareness of one’s true self, resulting in true happiness.”

  “That one is Greek. It’s all about balance. Temperance.”

  Rose stared blank-faced at Ross.

  “Okay, I read that one. It was on top,” he admitted.

  “And you like it because it’s your philosophy on life.” Rose tossed the stack on the counter next to the calendar.

  “Sue me. What does today’s say anyhow?”

  “Does the logophile mean on this day last year?” She taunted, poking him in the ribs, before reading the square still attached to the calendar. “Let’s see. Sweven; a vision seen in sleep. A dream.”

  “Hmm… Think they mean like the things that scatter through your mind? Like hypnagogia. I looked that up a couple weeks ago.”

  “You look up words in a dictionary?” Her lip twitched. Ross must’ve been one of those students that followed the teacher’s advice by using the dictionary to find the correct way to spell a word. Silliest notion ever. If you knew how to spell it you wouldn’t be asking for help in the first place. Flipping back and forth through the alphabet to figure out what letters came next was wasted effort. Once Rose knew how to spell a word it wasn’t like she forgot. It came easy to her, the letters aligned in her brain the same way as five plus five always equals ten.

  “I used a thesaurus. Don’t you look up words that you don’t know?”

  “I’ve never had need to.”

  Ross’s expression showed a distinct lack of comprehension. It wasn’t any different than the look he ga
ve her earlier when Rose confided that Eric expected her to marry, but not love the groom. The former was easier to explain than the latter so it was best to start there.

  “I remember things,” Rose stated with simplicity and detachment.

  “I’m listening.” Ross beckoned her to follow him to the other apartment where he fumbled with some wires jutting from the wall. Rose held a flashlight so for him to see while she prattled on.

  “It’s like eidetic memory, but not so much. Words and numbers happen right away. They get seared into my brain like branding livestock. Other stuff, like recipes—where you’d mix numbers and words—those I memorize by repetition. Two three times and it’s down pat.”

  “You did make those muffins by tossing a little of this and a little of that in, didn’t you?” Rose impressed Ross with her baking skills. If they tasted as good as they smelled he was going to fight her sweet tooth for every last bite.

  “Not a little of anything. I know how much of each ingredient to add and in what order. Like on a financial statement, if I double the batch, the numbers realign in my head.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  “Nope. Sometimes I pretend it’s a slot machine wheel rolling to the next set of bars. Oh!” she said, over-excited that someone was willing to listen to the ramblings that went on inside her head. “Or even those antique cash registers when the change pops up and down when the cashier collects the payment. There are mental games I play to make it less boring.”

  She led an inherently uninteresting life. Rose hesitated telling Ross he was the three cherries at the end of a day as she pulled the handle down on the slot machine ruling her mundane existence. He was also consistent like the plinking of two silver nickels rolling down, curling into the change dispenser.

  Ross snorted, “Nothing about you is boring. I’m exhausted at night trying to keep up with everything you have for us to do.” The glint in those green eyes made Rose wonder what else Ross was willing to do with her.

  She watched his nimble fingers disappear into the wall as he tried to reach the wires.

  “Ouch!” he shouted, pulling out his hand and several colored wires tinged with blood. Ross grimaced, letting out choice expletives.

  With the electricity cut, he hadn’t gotten shocked. There was a large red scratch on his index finger and a chunk of wood angling into his fingernail that resembled a whole tree branch rather than a sliver.

  “Ohmgosh,” Rose’s stomach lurched, but adrenaline overrode the need to throw up. “This ridiculous wall panel should have come down. I told you, Ross. I can pay for the extra materials. What if there’s an electrical fire?”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Besides, it’s a splinter.”

  “It’s like the iceberg that took out the Titanic. You’re going to need medical attention.”

  “Don’t be melodramatic.” Ross picked out the offending protrusion. “I’ve had worse injuries than this.”

  Blood flowed from the injury and Rose jumped forward, using her white cotton tee to staunch the flow.

  “That shirt’s ruined.”

  “I don’t care. I have three more like it. Here.” Without considering what she was doing, Rose held tight to Ross’s finger with one hand, crossing the other arm to snag the hem of her tee. She shimmied out of it and wrapped the fabric around his entire hand.

  “We should get you a new shirt from my apartment,” Ross said, watching the way Rose’s breasts filled the cups of her bra as she breathed in.

  “Oh, I… Uh, yeah.” She adjusted a strap that was about to fall. “I’ll take one from your bins, alright?” Rose turned tail, running out the apartment door and across the porch. The inkling of modesty and slight self-consciousness wasn’t at all what Ross had come to expect of Rose. He chuckled inwardly. The girl pranced about in a bikini, but him seeing her bra was somehow embarrassing. Unless it was the way he’d looked at her. They were so close. A whole lot closer than they’d been when she was sunbathing, that was for damn sure.

  Ross held his injured hand up and grabbed his crotch with the other to adjust the way the denim was bunching. Then he did a mental calculation of his own adding the number of days he’d need to find an excuse to work late that put enough distance between himself and Rose so that he didn’t want to touch those near perfect breasts.

  “Good going, Rose. So incredibly stupid.” He heard her mutter as she slid a gray Cavanaugh Construction shirt on and fluffed her hair out from under the collar. “Way to blow a good thing.”

  Ross stopped, watching through the open door as Rose paced like a caged animal between the bed and the counter.

  She stopped, aware that he’d entered and looked at him with an adorable flushed face. “I was about to get the first aid kit, but I can’t recall where it is.” Rose shook her hands in the air as if she’d been the one cut and was trying to find a way to squelch the sting.

  “It’s over here.” Ross opened a cabinet and pulled out a red case. As he began to unclasp it, she took over, opening the container.

  “I’ll do it. It’ll be tough one-handed.”

  Rose removed antiseptic, bacitracin and a bandage that didn’t seem large enough to keep the germs away from the wound. She uncapped, unscrewed, and unwrapped each with practiced ease. Tweezers steady, she plucked bits of straggling wood from the splinter site. The largest piece had to have been sharp to piece his calloused fingertip.

  “You should’ve considered a career in nursing.”

  “Oh, yes. The socialite slumming it on bedpan duty. It was difficult enough to convince Eric I should go to college. He’d have locked me in my room if I’d elected a science major. It’s not ladylike.”

  “Business is ladylike, in your father’s opinion?”

  “For him, there’s no guts and all the glory,” she remarked, opening another bottle. Two white pills rolled into her palm and in her best I’m-not-a-doctor-but-I-play-on-on-TV voice she said, “Take these and call me in the morning.”

  Ross popped them back and after a swig of water, snagged a tool from the counter, ready to return to work. “Well, you have a decent bedside manner, once you get over the initial shock. Whomever you wind up with is going to be a very lucky man.” He tapped her nose lightly with the handle of a screwdriver.

  “Glad you think so,” Not really.

  “Well, I do.”

  “Soletsgetmarried.” The words came out in a jumbled rush.

  Ross raised an eyebrow, not tracking.

  “I mean not married, married.” She made a wild motion, whipping her hands around in the air as if it would magically produce an appropriate explanation.

  “There’s another kind of married?”

  “Married in name only. Like we’re just us and no one has to know.”

  That part was key for Rose. No one did have to know, at least not right away. Marrying Ross was back-pocket information that she’d use against her daddy when the time was right. Tying the knot left her with the upper hand when Eric threw his next potential son-in-law at her. Things on that front had been too quiet for far too long. Rose felt the winds of change on the horizon when Eric returned from his last business trip with a spring in his step.

  Of course, it wasn’t all about Rose. She did want Ross to have the money he needed to feel secure should the auction amount on the land run high. And, although she’d deny it even if her life depended on it, the idea planted a seed of hope that Ross didn’t want out of their contract. If she was his and he was hers and they were still on friendly terms anything could happen, right?

  Rose bit her lip. They’d already spent enough time together that all the things friends aren’t supposed to do with one another joined the loop in her thoughts. She’d swallowed innuendo and crossed her legs, squeezing them together, more often than she could count.

  “I’m confused. If the sole benefit to you of us getting married is that your father can’t force you to marry someone else—which by the way because I didn’t grow up in the financial
situation you did makes about zero sense—then why don’t you want Eric to know?”

  “I more meant for you. As in you don’t have to tell your family that you got hitched. I wouldn’t want it to embarrass you. Have them ask all sorts of questions, or have us be playing along when it’s not for, like… ever.”

  Rose blew out a breath. Had her explanation sufficed without making it seem like she was the one embarrassed by him?

  She wasn’t. If the men her father tried to set her up with had half the self-confidence, business acumen, and frankly, good looks as Ross had then one of those qualities would’ve been enough to attract Rose’s attention downwind to the pile of no-good, wandering-eyed, money-grubbing gentleman imposters.

  “Let me get this straight. You’re proposing that I marry you for your money and what you get out of the deal is not having to marry someone else for the same reason.”

  “Putting it like that it sounds awful. Why can’t it be two friends helping each other out of a bind? You need the bargaining power to take the construction company to the next level. I’m your backer should the deal require extra financing. Eventually, we get the whole thing dissolved.”

  “Eventually?” If they weren’t getting married forever, then how long was Ross supposed to carry on the charade?

  “Yes. I’ll need to stay married long enough that it’s difficult to annul. Then, when we do divorce, create enough of a ruckus that it’s unlikely Eric will bring more potential suitors by. He’ll be too busy doing damage control and will need a long while for the whole thing to blow over. Plus there’ll be all these legalities over what you’re entitled to that the lawyers will fight over.”

  “What am I entitled to?” Ross asked, not actually wanting to know.

  It was the things she left unsaid, waiting for an opportune moment to reveal, that made him feel as if Rose liked to dunk his head under cold water. On a regular basis, rest of his body needed a good dousing too.

  “Half.” She responded matter of fact.

  “Half of what?”