Foolish Notions Page 9

  Chapter Nine

  James and Raymond decided against the company car and they each took separate taxis to Sharp Plaza Bar & Grill, downtown in the heart of the business and financial districts. James had chosen the restaurant not for its location but because the casual bar provided private rooms where business could be conducted. Raymond arrived five minutes after him. They sat and made idle conversation as they waited for Al.

  “How’s your mom?” Raymond asked.

  “She starts her treatment today.”

  Raymond only nodded, with a grim expression. “Samantha’s taking care of her right?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’s that working out?”

  “So far, so good.”

  Raymond stared down at the table. “I feel helpless in a situation like this, but if there’s anything I can do you’ll let me know?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Cynthia sends her best.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.” James then asked about Raymond and Cynthia’s kids. They had two daughters. One had just graduated from college and the other had just started. They talked for a while before they moved on to the stock report. It was another ten minutes before Al was quietly showed into the room.

  “Thanks for meeting us here,” James said as he stood and extended his hand.

  Al nodded and then reached for Raymond’s hand after shaking James’s. “Thank you for being discreet. You know how vital I believe it is.”

  “Yes,” James said, gesturing to a chair. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  After they sat, a waitress immediately appeared. Once their orders were given and they were alone, Al spoke. “Is it the same thing as last time?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure,” James said as he shook his head.

  “In less than three months we are going to release a new electronic program that will essentially transform programming as we know it.”

  Al nodded. “Serious stuff.”

  “Very,” James acknowledged. He continued, “I’ve gone to great lengths to keep this confidential. I learned my lesson last time. Or at least I thought I had.”

  Flipping open a small, rectangular notepad, Al wrote and spoke at the same time. “If you have anything that gives you an edge over competitors, rest assured that your competitors will make all attempts to find out about it. You might have learned a lesson last time, but in this business, methods of gathering information are always evolving. That means we must keep up.”

  James grimaced. “That’s why I’ve hired you, to keep up with them.” He looked over to Raymond, then back to Al, who was still writing. “However, we’re not so sure if it’s the competition this time or if it’s internal.”

  Al looked up. “It won’t take me too long to figure that out.”

  With a serious expression, Raymond stared at Al. “We implemented all your suggestions from last time and still there was a leak. It’s beyond me how this happened.”

  Al nodded. “It happens. What’s been going on with the company? With the exception of this new technology that you’re going to be releasing, tell me about any other major happenings.”

  Between them, James and Raymond filled Al in on all the particulars. Their food came and as they ate they conversed; they made certain to touch on everything, no matter how minor. They knew they couldn’t leave anything out. If they did, it could jeopardize Al’s investigation.

  “Internal or not, I think your guilty party may be thinking the commotion from the Europe merger will divert your attention,” Al pointed out.

  James nodded in agreement. “We figured that much.”

  “I’d like to have a list of the names of the associates who are involved in this merger. Both here and in Europe.”

  Raymond plucked a pen from his breast pocket. “I’ll take care of that.”

  “You just let me know what you want to do. I want this done and over with as soon as possible,” James said firmly.

  “I understand, Mr. Taylor. I think I’m going to look at the managers first while you’re getting me the information on the merger.” Al stopped and thought for a moment. “You have cameras in the parking garage, don’t you?”

  “Yes, for security reasons,” James said.

  “I’ll need the footage from the last two months sent to my office. I’ll get the license plate numbers from all the managers’ vehicles and then we’ll see who’s coming and going and at what times.”

  Raymond kept writing. “I’ll have it sent to your office.”

  Al nodded and closed the small notepad.

  “Is that all?” James asked. He wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, then dropped it on his empty plate.

  Al slid a two-page contract across the table to James. “Confidentiality clause.”

  James stared at the papers for a long moment, fingering them until one corner was tattered. Irritation and frustration crept through him. Contemplation wasn’t necessary—he knew what his responsibility was—but he didn’t like the position it put him in. He felt Raymond shift uncomfortably next to him.

  “Mr. Taylor,” Al began, “I can’t begin the investigation until—”

  James looked up briefly, his expression silencing Al.

  “You know I make all my clients—”

  James quickly signed the papers. “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” he said firmly.

  Al stood up and nodded curtly. “I’ll be in touch.”

  * * * * *

  James gripped the long-stemmed roses in his hand as he ascended the stairs. He had agonized over whether he should call the hospital to see how his mom was doing, but then he decided against it. This morning she had given specific instructions that he was not to worry about her or go to the hospital. He respected her wishes although it was extremely hard to do so. Besides, that was what Samantha was there for. She could handle anything that came up. Turning on his heel he stopped and knocked softly on the bedroom door. He didn’t want to wake her if she was sleeping. It was seven-thirty, nearly five hours since her first treatment.

  “Hi. You’re home early,” Samantha said as she opened the door just wide enough to poke her head out.

  “It’s seven-thirty.” James pointed out.

  “Is it that late already?” She glanced at the gold-linked watch around her wrist. “I didn’t realize what time it was. When did you get home?”

  “Just now. I had a meeting that ran late. How is my mom doing?” He stepped forward. “May I see her?”

  Samantha hesitated. “This isn’t a good time right now.”

  “Is everything all right?” James felt a lump form in his throat, and he began rapidly firing questions. “Is something wrong? Why didn’t you call me? If something’s wrong you should have phoned.” His hand moved from his beeper at his hip to the small cell phone in the breast pocket of his suit. “Shelly didn’t say—”

  “Shelly didn’t give you a message because I didn’t call you.” Raising her hand in a calming manner, she rested it against his chest. “Everything’s all right. The treatment went fine. She’s just a little queasy right now.”

  At that moment, James heard his mom retch in her bathroom. The repulsive sound instinctively propelled him forward. He clutched the soft, feminine hand that pressed against his chest, trying in vain to stop him. The bouquet of roses in his free hand fell to the floor, unnoticed, as he reached for the door. “Queasy? You call that queasy? What in the hell do you call sick?” He bit back a few foul words. “Goddamn it, Samantha, you should have called me.”

  “James—”

  “Shouldn’t someone be in there with her?” His eyes searched hers as another gagging sound reached them. “Why are you just standing here?”

  Samantha took hold of the fingers that wrapped through hers and leaned her weight into the door with her shoulder. “This is a normal side effect from the chemotherapy. I’ve been with her the entire time.” She shifted her weight. “Stop pushing on the door.”

  “I want in.”
>
  “No.”

  “How long has she been like this? How long is it going to last?” he asked as he tried to look around her into the room. He knew he wouldn’t be able to see anything. A wall at the far end of the room conveniently blocked the bathroom. He had reservations about going in anyway. The sounds of his mom retching were ghastly.

  “Not long.” Samantha’s tone remained calming.

  His head dropped and worry saturated his voice, making it sound strange and distant. “Oh, God, I didn’t know it was going to be like this. I didn’t know she’d be going through this.”

  “No one knows how they are going to react to a drug until it’s given to them.”

  He nodded.

  “Why don’t you go downstairs,” she suggested.

  “Downstairs?” The words flew from his mouth in an all-but crazed voice. “Are you asking me to leave? It sounds like my mom is dying in there and you want me to leave? There’s no way in hell I’m leaving.”

  “What are you going to do for her that I can’t?” she said reasonably. “Think about it, James. If you go in there right now, how are you going to be able to help her?”

  He knew she was right but he still didn’t want to leave. He covered his face with his hand while he tried to think logically.

  Logic was worlds away from him right now. His gaze lifted and found Samantha’s eyes. “I can’t leave. Please don’t ask me to leave.”

  “I’ve made her as comfortable as possible. There’s really nothing you can do for her right now.”

  He nodded methodically. “What kind of son would I be if I just left?”

  “You’d be the kind of son who’s taking care of himself so he’ll be able to take care of his mom when she does need him.”

  She paused. “Besides, you’re only going downstairs. Staying here in the hall isn’t going to help her.”

  There was the logic he was searching for. There was the reasoning that he so desperately needed right now. Possibilities and crazy feelings swirled through his head erratically, making him feel helpless. Samantha steadied all the turmoil in him.

  “Go, have some dinner,” she suggested.

  “I can’t eat.”

  She nodded in understanding. “Then try your best to relax. I’ll let you know if we need you.”

  “You’ll call me.”

  Samantha nodded. “You know I will.” She looked over her shoulder. “I need to be with her.” She softly closed the door.

  As James leaned against the door he listened to the muffled sounds on the other side. A feeling of nausea overcame him. He moved his hand to his stomach and unconsciously began to rub it. Samantha didn’t need two sick people to take care of. Shit, this had to be the worst day of his life.

  He moved the few feet down the hall into his room. Several buttons flew from his suit and shirt as he tore them off and tossed them to the floor. The dresser drawer abruptly slid off its tracks when he yanked it open to get a pair of sweat pants. He struggled with the drawer for only a moment before he became too irritated to realign it. He left it hanging awkwardly and moved to the closet to retrieve his jogging shoes.

  Ten minutes later he was running full speed down the beach. His feet dug into the sand with fierce rage, and his arms pumped with all their might at his sides. He ran hard and fast, so his thoughts wouldn’t have time to form. His head was filled with the pounding of blood, and the crashing of waves, and nothing else. Just how he wanted it.

  The miles ticked by and he still didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He was running from something he could never escape—yet he still tried. It wasn’t until his muscles ached with fatigue and his lungs burned like an inferno that he slowed the cruel pace. It was a few more miles until he completely stopped.

  He leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees, and he gasped for air as he tried to catch his breath. Finally, he raised his head and took notice of his surroundings. The moon struggled to be seen through the thin layer of clouds that had blown in. He looked at the houses neatly aligned and all-aglow. He realized he didn’t recognize any of them.

  It was then he dropped down to his knees in the sand and allowed himself to think of his mom and what she was going through. As his labored breathing returned to normal, he contemplated her condition. He grasped how sick she really was. He’d understood the seriousness of it, but he had never permitted himself to let the reality of it sink in. The reality of what the end result could be. A voice shot through his head like a colossal, unexpected wave: She could die. He shook his head abruptly to ward off the voice. Beads of sweat scattered like raindrops, causing the sand to form little clumps all around him. He had vowed he would never speak those words, yet they had popped into his head anyway. He picked up a handful of sand in anger and tossed it as far as he could. The curse words he yelled were pure anguish—the crashing of the waves drowned them out and the wind flung them back in his face.

  The tirade wasn’t like him but it felt good. So good in fact, that he roared into the wind again and didn’t stop until his voice was hoarse and he was exhausted. The painful swell of sorrow that raged deep within him fed the sadness, which relentlessly flowed from him. Closing his eyes he wallowed even more as it consumed him.

  Slowly, he began to realize that amongst the torment and fear something began to rise. Empty holes were filling, and as he surrendered to the feeling, awareness took over—he was healing. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he felt himself begin to calm.

  He struggled to his feet and squared his shoulders. He pulled himself together by taking a few calming breaths. He would get through this. They would get through this. Between the three of them they would be there for each other and they would support each other. There was a time when all he needed was his mom and Samantha. They were all he needed now.

  Slowly, he started back home. He felt better. Maybe all he needed was a good breakdown. If his coworkers could see him, they wouldn’t believe their eyes. He had been dubbed “the man of steel” in the industry, not only because he was very successful at what he did but also because he rarely allowed his emotions to run loose. When things didn’t go his way he wasn’t one to yell until he got what he wanted. He knew it wasn’t effective. He waited patiently, quietly, for things to change his way, because he knew they almost always did.

  That’s precisely how he needed to handle his mom’s cancer and her treatment. Getting excited about it wasn’t going to make a bit of difference. He would do what he did best—hold his ground and wait. Besides, there was nothing else he could do.

  “James?”

  James looked up and unexpectedly saw Samantha sitting on the top step of the stairs to the deck. He hadn’t realized he was so close to the house. “How is she?” He reached for a beach towel draped over the railing and wiped the perspiration off his body.

  “She’s better.” Samantha watched him closely. “Are you okay?”

  “Is she—”

  “She’s resting in bed. The bout of nausea has passed.” Her voice was low and soft as her eyes found his. “I asked about you.” She looked at his body and clothes soaked with sweat.

  “You okay?”

  He took the towel and ran it over his damp hair. “Don’t worry about me.”

  She touched his hand to stop him. “It’s hard not to.” She moved down two steps, so she was eye level with him. Leaning forward, she cupped his face into her palms, as he remained silent. Finally, she ran her fingers the length of his jaw to the tip of his chin. “Talk to me.”

  It was a moment before he spoke. “I’ve never heard anything like that before. And I went to some pretty rowdy parties in college.” He closed his eyes momentarily. “It almost killed me to listen to that.”

  Samantha nodded.

  James opened his eyes and stared at her as relief inundated him. “I’m glad you’re here.” He pulled her against him hard. “She was right. My mom was right, you’re the only one—”

  Samantha stroked his back and ran her hand through his hair. “It’s o
kay.”

  “Knowing you’re here—that it was you in there with her. If it had just been me I wouldn’t have known what to do. If it had been some stranger it wouldn’t have felt right.”

  “Shh . . .”

  He buried his face in her hair and exhaled a long sigh. “Thank you for coming.”

  “You’ve already thanked me,” she said as she released him.

  “Did I?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “She’s okay?”

  “Yes,” Samantha patiently confirmed.

  “You’re okay?” he asked seriously.

  “Yes. Remember I do this for a living. I can handle it.” She put her hand over his. “Relax.”

  “I’m trying.”

  Smiling, she said, “Good. You can see her now if you want to.”

  “Does she want to see me?”

  She nodded. “Go see her. I’ll fill you in on the treatment later. I have to run into town anyway. It will give you two sometime alone.” She touched his bicep as he walked by. “She’s fine, really. It sounded worse than it really was,” she reassured him. “And she does want to see you.”

  His voice was hoarse and low when he spoke. “What do I say to her?”

  Samantha stood very still. “She’s your mom; you’ll know what to say.”

  He just nodded and headed into the house.

  * * * * *

  James presented his mom with a bouquet of a dozen yellow roses as he opened the door. Samantha must have brought them downstairs, because he had found them on the kitchen counter when he had come in. “How’s my favorite mom?”

  She brought the flowers to her nose. “Are you going to bring me flowers every day?”

  He winked as he kissed her cheek. “If you want. A different color every day.” He studied her. He didn’t know what he expected her to look like. She looked the same as she did when she left this morning, just a little more tired. However, the cotton ball taped to her left arm didn’t escape his notice.

  Marie set the roses across her lap. “Why are you looking at me like that? My hair isn’t going to fall out in just one treatment.”