Page 6 of Unwanted Vows
I reach across her, and shift her onto her side. As I do so, light from the window falls across the tattoo on my right forearm.
She notices it, and turns my arm so she can see the flaming crown inked there. “Does this mean something?” she asks.
“It was a gift from my grandfather on my fifteenth birthday,” I say. “It’s supposed to mean burning brightly against adversity. It’s the company logo.”
“How interesting,” she says. “Is it some sort of ritual?”
I didn’t want to go into the oaths I swore that went with that tattoo. In fact, I was feeling beyond ambivalent about that particular bit of ink and all that went along with it.
“It is super sexy,” she says into my silence. “I like tasteful tattoos.”
She kisses the flaming crown, and I think for a minute we might go for another round, but her phone rings. She sighs, and pads over to where she dropped her purse. “You can’t get anyone else?” she asks.
There is a pause, then she says, “All right. It will be about thirty minutes. I’ll have to get a taxi, I’m at a friend’s house.”
She clicks her phone off and turns to me. “I’m sorry. They’re short-handed at the hospital. I’ve got to go.”
I feel guilty. I should have had a shift tonight, but I’d already handed in my notice.
She must have felt the awkwardness, for she said, “Have breakfast with me? I should be off by seven in the morning.”
“I can’t,” I say. “I’ve got a flight to catch, and I need to make it through security. But let me put my information in your phone.”
“I thought you did that already,” she said.
“That was my old info,” I say. “This is where I will be by tomorrow.”
“And I’ll give you mine,” she says.
We quickly exchange information, and kiss.
“I can take you to the hospital,” I say.
“No need,” she says. “Don’t want to make you late for your flight.”
I call a taxi for her, and walk her down to the street. I feel melancholy as I watch the cab’s light grow small as it goes down the street.
I go back in, finish packing, and call a cab for myself. If I’m lucky, I’ll make it through security before my dad and my grandfather show up and try to keep me from leaving. This is my life, and I intend to live it my way – not theirs.
ORGANIC GROWERS YEARLY FAIR
MADDY
Eight years, eight months, and three weeks later
“I’m Julia’s helper for today,” Kate, my friend from my college undergrad days, teases me.“Between us, I’m sure we can get ahead of any mischief. Charles might look in on us later.”
My son, Paul, is immensely excited to make new friends. I am not feeling as confident about leaving him with people who are nearly strangers to me.
Julia, the clinic receptionist and daughter to the head of our security chief, Austin Moor, adds, “I’ll keep a close eye on him. He can’t be any more of a handful than Cece.”
Cece is Kate’s step-daughter, and the oldest child of Charles Emory, CEO of Spindizzy. His CFO, and chief engineer, is Kate’s brother, James Bailey.
I’m the managing nurse practitioner for the Spindizzy Family Clinic located at the edge of Freedom, California.
Last week I had received an offer I couldn’t refuse in the form of a letter from Charles Emory.
It read,