by Tiana Laveen
“I remember.” Emily’s eyes watered. “It was a big white boat with the letters ‘E.M.I.L.Y.’ spelled across the sail in blue. You used to point to it and say, ‘Who loves ya, kid?’” She giggled and cried as the memory resurfaced like a lost jewel in the sea.
“I still love ya, honey. I’ll always love you, Emily. I came from a family that was a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ tribe, okay? The advice I’ve given you has been right on the money. How I lived my own life, well,” he said dismally, “that was a different story. I never wanted to fall from your grace. You’d put me on a pedestal and I loved it there. But hey, I’m not perfect.” He threw up his hands and shook his head. “I would do anything in this world for you, Sugarsnap.”
She hadn’t heard that nickname he’d given her in so long.
“You’re what happened when your mother and I still knew how to show love for each other. When it was us against the world. Your father isn’t who you hoped for, huh?” he said softly, his complexion flushed. “I am good with money, but not with showing love all the time. If love were dollars, everyone I care about would be rich. I’m sorry, Emily. You deserve better. Your mother deserved better. You can’t buy a strong heart, you can’t buy love, and you can’t buy integrity and honor.”
Tears streamed down his cheeks as he made his way out, closing the door behind him.
Emily stood there shaking. In disbelief. After a while, she placed her purse back down upon her desk and slumped in her seat. She brought the laptop closer and began to retrieve the documents from the trash can icon. Then she hit “delete” on her drafted email to the chairman.
It was time to write something for her father. Something from the heart.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Founding Father
Emily approached the podium after about thirty minutes into the ceremony. Cameron looked on, listening to his sweetheart with open ears.
“Good evening, everyone. I would like to thank the speakers and presenters before me, as well as Chairman Owen Yahrish. An introduction regarding my father’s background was already made, so I won’t bore you with repetition. My name is Emily Windsor, daughter of Charles and Juliet Windsor.
“Tonight, we celebrate the charitable contributions of those unsung heroes in the financial industry from the states of New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. These people give not only their funds, but their time—an invaluable resource. My father, Charles Windsor, is being presented with the ‘In Times of Love’ award.”
She paused for a moment.
Come on baby, you’re doing just fine.
“For those of you who know my father, you are aware that his love language is money. What that means is, many people show love in various ways. My father has always been affectionate, but financial generosity to those in need has always been his forte.
“A big deal was made about this event, and a lot of planning went into it. It’s a way to say ‘thank you’ to the people in our industry for giving back. My father was never vocal about what he was doing. He once told me that when someone gives from the heart, they shouldn’t have to tell everyone about it. They should just do so in private because it’s the right thing to do, and ego and desire for praise should have no part in this. Contrary to what some may think, Charles Windsor understands what it means to earn every dime. He valued hard work and the power of money from an early age.”
She smiled wide.
“Yes, my grandfather established the Windsor Financial Group, located in Rockefeller Center, and we’re accepting new clients, just so ya know…shameless plug.” This caused ripples of laughter in reaction. “But back to the reason why we’re here. My grandfather made his three sons earn their keep. He made them prove to him that they were worthy to be a part of his company that he’d built from the ground up.
“The thing is, though, we can never build without the help of others. Yet they are often invisible to us. We dismiss them. The garbage collectors, the construction workers, electricians, painters, house cleaning teams, furniture makers and designers, receptionists, hair stylists, drivers, mechanics, personal assistants, window cleaners, food delivery truck drivers and catering businesses. The list goes on and on. These people help us achieve our dreams and, without them, saying our vocational journey and even domestic lives would be difficult would be an understatement. I wonder how many times we pause, step outside of ourselves, and actually thank these people? Do we even know their names?” Her voice rattled. She took a deep breath.
Cameron felt such pride. His baby wasn’t just talking to the people in that audience. She was talking about herself, too.
“The other day, I asked that very question to my father. I went to his house as I was writing this speech, ladies and gentlemen, because I needed the answer. I sat down in front of that man after having gone through a few storms with him. We haven’t always seen eye to eye, and this posed challenges for our relationship. So that day, he told me…
“‘Emily, I know everyone. Andre McKenzie is the garbage collector who goes around in the back of the building on Thursday mornings and picks up all the big cans.’ My father admitted that he and Andre would occasionally stand back there together and complain about Starbucks coffee while stuffing donuts in their mouths, jabbering on about if they build one more damn coffee shop here, they may as well name this place ‘Starbucks City.’ The slogan? ‘Smell the rich aroma of your money burning.’” The room burst with laughter. “For those of you who are confused, my father apparently believes Starbucks is overpriced.” She shrugged. “I will continue to stop there every morning, despite his threat to place a spending tracker on my phone for Starbucks alone.”
She waited for the audience to settle after another bout of giggles.
“He told me that the company that does our interior trash collection, dusts our desks and chairs, vacuums our floors and spruces up the place is a well-vetted maid service called ‘Maid in the Shade.’ The owner’s name is Teresa Berry. He knows her husband and children’s names, too. My father then went on to tell me all the staff in the IT department. He told me who the contact name was for our security system.
“He told me who his own trusted plumber was, including personal details about the man. This conversation went on and on until it was crystal clear that my father was definitely hands-on and he understood that it took a village, not just his own determination and skill, to make his life run as smoothly as it does. He realized the importance of seeing the faces, remembering the names, the human beings behind the machine, if you will. He didn’t build Windsor, nor did his father, all by himself, you see?
“One must not just take a silver spoon. Your curiosity should be piqued to find out where the silver came from to create that utensil. Who designed it? What factories created it? What resources were used? Who decided upon the pricing and why? We can’t just be takers. We must be givers.
“Since my father often donates anonymously, he does not get the recognition many others do. However, due to his generous donation to Apple Kids Incorporated, Enigma Studies, and most notably, the Harper Housing Group, he is now the recipient of this award. The Harper Housing Group, which named him as their main benefactor, had him go and assist with cutting the ribbon for their new building in Brooklyn. The hidden donator who scarfed down donuts in secret and hissed at Starbucks as he was driven past them on every corner had been outed.”
The crowd woke up again, the merriment palpable.
“He begged me to not disclose the amount he’d given. I keep track of his donations. I’ve done my father’s accounting for several years. He also begged the director of Harper Housing Group to at least not print the amount in their publication, and they agreed to that, but the information somehow leaked anyway. I’m sure you can google it all if your curiosity gets the best of you, but that money came from my father’s own personal bank account, and let’s just say that Harper Housing Group, which specializes in helping lower-income working citizens in the city of New York find adequate liv
ing quarters, was able to place 224 families—not individuals, but entire families—in housing so they could have a roof over their heads and a place to sleep at night.”
The room erupted in applause.
“A warm bed. Safety, security, a night-light, a teddy bear. Isn’t that what children want?” She spoke softly as the room drew quiet. “As a little girl, I never needed anything. I wanted some things, like most children, but all of my needs were met, so I never experienced not knowing where my next meal was coming from, never worried if Mom or Dad was getting laid off, wasn’t concerned if Grandpa would have to skip his medicine that day because the money was short that month and he needed it to last a bit longer.” Cameron’s heart beat fast as he fell deeper in love. “Being as close as I was to my father, however, I would watch him and his passion for his work.
“A person like my dad shows you how he cares and feels about the world around him. And that’s why I wanted to follow in his footsteps.” She reached for her glass of water sitting on the podium and took a sip. “We’re all given special gifts, talents. Some of us, if we’re lucky, are given a second chance to prove ourselves to the world and our loved ones, and to our own conscience. I have a friend that I just reunited with. My father used his love language of choice to assist her and her mother because of some mistakes made in the past.
“I found out about more details concerning this because in his typical way, he hadn’t told me everything he’d done to right a wrong.” Emily appeared to be blinking away tears, her body full of emotion. “See, in math, mistakes can be found and corrected. You discover that, for instance, an invoice has an overcharge of $7.52. You can then make it right. In life, however, it’s a bit more complicated. There’s no delete button. No calculator, no big eraser to make it all go away.” She paused, as if needing a moment. “The people being honored tonight, my father included, looked outside of themselves and reached out to lend a hand, to help others, just as others have done for them to help them reach their goals.
“When we can see ourselves in others who are traveling a different journey—that’s when we evolve, when we turn that corner. A corner that leads to lovely music we’d never heard before, barking dogs we just wanted to run up to and play with, small market stands with people selling wooden jewelry and crystals. Things we never cared about before we had a soul transplant. A change of heart. Frank Sinatra said, ‘If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere,’ and he was right. New York City never sleeps. There is always work to do, fun to be had, tasks to cry about, and Starbucks coffee to purchase to make my father increasingly angry.”
The room erupted in new waves of laughter and though Mr. Windsor was hard to see from where he sat, Cameron got a brief glimpse of her father bending forward, his body shaking in mirth.
“Every day is a challenge and a gamble if you wish to rise to the top. But sometimes, we have to slow down. We have to look into the eyes of the people around us. We have to hear their voices, converse with them, allow them to tell their stories. We have to hold back judgment, because if one or two things had been different in our own lives, we too might have needed a helping hand. I was born with a birth defect that affected my heart. Most people, outside my family or closest circle, didn’t even know. I never discussed the issue. I had to receive a lifesaving heart transplant last year. It not only saved my life, but it changed my life. Made me appreciate the world around me in a whole new way.
“Being born into a family of means does not equate to understanding, appreciation, happiness, and love. Some of the wealthiest people in this country are miserable.” An almost reverent sobriety filled the room. “Some of the happiest people in this country make minimum wage, but their determination and love for their family and friends make all the difference. My father, I must say, is humble. My father is human.” Her voice quaked. She gripped the sides of the lectern. “Made of flesh and blood, a mere man. As a child, and even a young woman, I saw him as a knight on a horse. My father was a provider. A protector. My friend.
“He was the first man I ever loved.” Her father stood from his seat and drew closer to her. “He taught me how to ride a bike, how to give a proper handshake, and how to punch someone in the nose should it be warranted.” That drew a few chuckles. “Let me explain that.” She held up one finger as she laughed. “It was important to him that I stick up for myself, you know? Have high self-esteem and defend myself when needed. He taught me that love doesn’t always come out expressed the way we intend it to. Sometimes it’s a bit sloppy around the edges, but it always feels good when it’s handed to those in need.
“So, my father is a complicated soul, yet one of the best people you could ever know. I needed the lessons he taught me. This world needs his contributions and our clients need his insight. I do believe awards like this are needed,” she said. “It’s the world’s way of acknowledging a good deed, even when said deed is done without cameras, contracts, and press reports. It’s a way for us to remember that money can change the world, and it can be used for great things. Things that truly matter.
“A woman once told me, ‘What’s the point in being rich? You can’t take it with you.’ That, to me, simply means: Do the best with what you have while on Earth. Make certain that your children have something to build upon. Ensure that your affairs are in order for your spouse and take that vacation you so desperately want. Make smart decisions, but for God’s sake, value and live your life! Life is so precious, so very precious, and I’m thankful to have mine. I came into this world fighting for it, and I almost lost it. But thanks to the gift of a woman I never met, a woman who loved the world and became the giver that I never fathomed existed, I am now her new song and her heart beats inside of me.”
A tear fell from Cameron’s eye, and his heart burst with feeling.
Lowering his gaze, he composed himself and looked back at her. At his love.
“I want to thank my mother, who’s passed on, and my father, for giving me life. Money, contributions, and donations are amazing…but love? That heart beats all!”
The room erupted in applause as she bowed her head and waved, stepping away from the lectern. Her father walked swiftly up to her and took her into his arms. Placing a kiss upon her cheek, he squeezed her tight and they were smiling at one another, talking.
Cameron couldn’t make out what was being said. But what did it matter? Their hearts and souls had already agreed to make amends, and the heart often ended up having the last and final word.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Young at Heart
Emily trailed two steps behind Cameron. He led the way out of his home, his fingertips dancing against her own.
“Hold up. Someone left some trash out here.” He released her once they exited the front door of the building and roamed around picking up random junk. A paper bag here, a bottle cap there.
She surveyed her surroundings. It was such a beautiful day. Opium lopped his heavy head against her thigh and she scratched the top of it, looking down at his cute, furry face. Cameron finished cleaning up and soon they stood on the sidewalk, side by side, looking up at his building.
This is where I stood for what felt like forever that first time. Brooke led me here. She wanted to go home…
As if reading her thoughts, Cameron grabbed her hand and squeezed it. Opium sat between them, distracted by a small bird fluttering from branch to branch on a nearby tree.
“So that’s it, huh? Up for sale.”
He’d not given her a warning. He’d simply made a decision and it was final.
“Yeah.” Cameron sighed, a sad smile on his face. “It’s time to move on. I had moved on mentally. I had moved on emotionally. But I hadn’t moved on physically. She’s gone. You know that, right?” Emily nodded then leaned her head against his shoulder, stroking his arm. “I can no longer smell her around me. I can’t feel her touch. She doesn’t sing and dance in my dreams. She’s satisfied that I’m okay. She left. And now, this is the final step.”
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nbsp; “I’m going to miss it here.” He cocked his head to the side and rested his beautiful eyes upon her. “It felt more like home to me than my own place.”
“Did it?” He looked down at her. She could look up into those eyes for the rest of her life. They were so sexy, yet haunting. The deep, rich shade of brown against the snow white. Like dark coffee seeping into ivory carpet fibers as a heartbeat lost its light.
She reached up to caress his face as he sported a heartbreaking smile, the kind born of a pain that no one could describe because the English language hadn’t come up with the words for it yet.
“Yeah, this was home for me. See, it’s like the very first time you had me over. I can tell you this now, but it felt so familiar. I instinctively knew where everything was, Cameron. I knew where the yellow plates were in the kitchen, your favorite cologne. I knew where you kept your books of handwritten poems, the candles and the volume of prayers, too. Things like that kept happening, but…” She shrugged. “I didn’t see a reason to keep telling you. I believe, though, you were curious at the time, you know, when we first met. Why wouldn’t you be? But honey, you were still in so much emotional pain that it would’ve made it all worse. I would share a little with you, just enough to let you know I was for real and this wasn’t some cruel joke, but some things, well…some things I knew to keep to myself.”
Much to her surprise, he nodded in understanding then kissed the top of her head.