Family Pieces

by Misa Rush

  “Certainly,” he replied, hoping to God as he made his escape that she ordered the same drink consistently and that Marjorie would know the details.

  The page button beeped through the rings on Addison’s phone.

  “It’s Emily Blaker. Line two,” announced Marjorie.

  “Urgh…Tell her I’m on the other line. Better yet, tell her I’m in a meeting and won’t be available for the rest of today…and I’m flying to London until next week.”

  “With all due respect, she’s called every hour on the hour all afternoon. Can you just talk to her?”

  “No.”

  “Just know this is affecting my productivity.” Marjorie’s voice bordered between serious and utterly sarcastic. She had been Addison’s father’s assistant for thirty-five years prior to Addison taking charge, an unheard of feat in today’s world of takeovers and layoffs. Now she worked more to occupy herself versus needing an income, which gave her the confidence to push the boss’s buttons without fear of getting canned.

  “I’ll take it if she calls again. Now go, Marjorie. Line one is ringing.”

  “Fine. She’s only the closest friend you’ve got.” Click.

  Addison leaned back in her sleek, black Herman Miller chair. Marjorie certainly had no right to comment on her personal friendship, but she knew she was right. She stared at her office. Unquestionably a change from the traditional style her father had maintained. She’d revamped the entire area after his retirement. A magazine diva must not have a plain Jane office, she’d commented to Marjorie who questioned the turquoise accent wall. The office had a retro flare that Addison had successfully pulled off to look modern. A swirled silver rod positioned five hand-blown glass spotlights overtop of her extra-large desk. The glass swirled shades of blues and greens coordinating with the wall. She’d imported the two modular chairs sitting in front of her desk from Italy and accented them with sequined throw pillows to add a little extra sparkle.

  She thought it a wonder the magazine was successful under her dad’s less than creative ways. Even so, she had learned her business acumen from watching him. He was disciplined. On the rare occasion she attended work with him as a child, she’d mimic his every move. There were days when she would pretend it was her magazine. She would gesture as he did, repeat orders she’d heard him command. Sometimes even now she felt like it was all pretend.

  The phone beeped again. “Yes?” Addison said, agitated.

  “It’s your father. Are you taking his calls today?”

  “Funny, Marjorie.” Addison picked up the line. “Hi, Daddy,” her voice sweetened. She’d maintained ‘Daddy’ throughout years when most would have transitioned to ‘Dad.’ There was something about it that made her feel more connected to him – a connection she longed for that, too, seemed all pretend.

  She was thankful for everything her adoptive parents had provided during her childhood. She knew they loved her as much as she did them, but parenthood had not come easily to them. Most envied her – the family’s money, the status, the success. But no one knew the truth, or at least no one had until she blurted it out in the middle of the bistro. She half expected to see her name and her highly public disclosure on the cover of every tabloid magazine in the morning.

  “Hello, Addison. I just wanted to call and make sure you were planning on visiting your mother at the hospital,” her father said. “She’ll be admitted Sunday.”

  Hearing his voice so soon after her lunch fiasco, made her feel like she wanted to shut out the world again. “I’ll try.” Addison realized their roles had flipped in recent years. She was now the career-obsessed, no-time-for-anyone executive, and her parents wanted her time. She couldn’t help but remember all the times she needed them and they weren’t there for her. Not the way she needed them to be. Especially the day she found out that she had been adopted. There was no personal touch, no intimate conversation. Her parents, in the process of enrolling her in boarding school, were filling out emergency medical forms. Her blood type was O, matching neither her mother’s nor father’s type. Without any emotion, like a business transaction, she’d been told very matter-of-factly that she was not their biological daughter. She was only twelve. Not nearly mature enough to handle the immensity of such a discovery with no support. Her eyes welled up at the memory.

  “Addison? Helloooo?” Her father’s voice brought her back to the present.

  “Sorry. I’m a bit distracted today…deadlines. You remember, right, Daddy? Next month’s issue is going to press in three days and I haven’t seen the proof, let alone approved it.”

  “Your mother,” he avoided her excuse and returned to the topic at hand. “You do remember she is having surgery Monday?”

  A double mastectomy, Addison cringed at the thought. “Yes, I didn’t forget. I’ll stop by to visit. I promise, okay?” Addison did a quick calculation in her head. Her schedule was tight. She’d have to take the proof home to review, which meant another working weekend.

  “I expect that you will.”

  “I said I promise.”

  “Very well then.”

  Addison placed the receiver down and closed her eyes. She was no stranger to busy schedules or stressful situations, but lately even she thought enough was enough.

  7

  The long flight to the Phoenix airport left Karsen lethargic. She couldn’t get the missing link out of her mind. She knew there had to be an explanation, but the perfectly obvious person to ask was unavailable, at least without the help of a medium. Her mother and she had been close. Why would she have told her all the pieces fit if they didn’t?

  She felt shabby as she waited for her bags. Her make-up had long worn off and her hair was flat. The gray velour sweat suit she wore provided comfort but did little on the attractiveness scale.

  “Let me help you with that.”

  A strong arm reached over her shoulder, lifting the suitcase from her hands. Startled, she looked behind her.

  “James!” she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck, causing him to stumble from the weight of the suitcase.

  “Hey, K.” His deep voice was a long-awaited comfort.

  “You must have gotten my text. I wasn’t sure if you’d be here. I missed you.” She went to kiss his lips. His head turned and she grazed his cheek instead.

  “Me, too,” he said turning to Brad. “Hey.” He tipped his head in a masculine acknowledgment.

  “Wasn’t expecting to see you here, your busy schedule and all,” Brad commented, his voice dripping with sarcasm. James may have welcomed her home, but his lack of attentiveness over the last six days scored no points in Brad’s eyes. As far as he was aware, Karsen had spoken to him only twice during their trip.

  “Give it a rest, Brad,” Karsen said. She did not have the energy or the patience to moderate their petty squabbling in the middle of baggage claim.

  Karsen grabbed her purse and magazine. She’d bought the new issue of Urbane during their layover in Chicago, although she’d fallen asleep on the flight before she’d even read the first page.

  Brad hoisted his bag over his shoulder and pulled Karsen’s suitcase behind him. James offered no assistance.

  “I can drive you home.” James pressed against Karsen from behind. Brad bit his lip and drew in a deep breath attempting to mitigate his contempt.

  “I’ll see you later, okay bro?” Karsen said.

  “Fine with me. I’ll call you tomorrow.” There was no doubt in Brad’s mind that Karsen deserved better. He had tried several times to talk sense into her to no avail. Women always think they can change a man.

  No sooner had they entered Karsen’s apartment, than James’s hands began groping at her. “I missed you,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Of course.” He kissed her neck from behind and wasted no time beginning to undress her.

  “But, you didn’t even call Saturday. I wanted to hear your voice.” She’d still felt hurt that he had not made the trip back to Indiana. Yet his at
tention now was on her and she needed him. Or, more appropriately, she wanted him.

  “Karsen,” He sounded frustrated. “I told you, honey, I had to work.”

  “On Saturday?”

  “Yes. Clients don’t care whether it’s the weekend or not.” He kissed her neck again. “Now, do you want to talk or can we just make up for lost time?”

  Forgetting the past week, she abandoned her disappointment with him. They recklessly tore at each other’s clothes. He kissed her aggressively. She could feel him hard against her. He was here now and that was the only thing that mattered. She needed to feel protected, like everything would be okay.

  The bed bounced as they fell onto it in unison. The weight of his body made her feel safe. She needed him to want her, to love her. Her mind cleared and his rhythmic motion soothed her until she felt his body collapse beside her. Afterwards she lay still, his arm draped across her chest, and felt the rise and fall of his chest as he panted.

  James rolled to the side of the bed and reached for his boxers. “I should get going,” he said, beginning to dress.

  “You’re leaving?” Karsen sprang up in disbelief. He had always stayed before.

  “I’ve got an early meeting with another potential client tomorrow.” He sat at the side of the bed to put on his shoes.

  “Honey, can’t you just stay with me tonight? I don’t want to be alone.” She put her arms around his waist and linked her fingers. She felt like a child trying to keep her mommy close for just one last goodnight kiss.

  “I’m sorry, K.” He separated her hands and stood up, walking toward the kitchen counter to grab his keys.

  “PLEEASE!” She gave him her best puppy-dog look. The look that once made him bend over backwards for her.

  “It’s work. You’ll understand someday.” He kissed her forehead as he finished tucking in his shirt. His voice patronized her as if a college student couldn’t possibly understand the pressures of an actual real job.

  “We barely talked while I was gone. I miss you. Are you sure you can’t stay? I do have an alarm clock, you know?”

  “I’m sorry, Karsen. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He turned and shut the door behind him. Karsen’s heart sank as she blankly processed what had just occurred. The dimly lit room around her was dead silent and she suddenly felt an overwhelming awareness that she was completely alone. She lifted her body heavily out of bed and secured the deadbolt on the front door. The floor creaked as she crept back into bed. She lifted the covers over her head and curled up into a tight ball. As she fought back tears, she tried to put her lonely thoughts out of her mind.

  Monday morning started early. At five o’clock, Addison’s alarm blared. She felt in the dark for the snooze button. Her eyes squinted into small slits trying to see the numbers. Five more minutes, she moaned as she dropped her head heavily back onto her satin-cased down pillow. Even her, a self-proclaimed type A-driven career woman had a hard time getting up in the morning.

  Beep. Beep. Beep. The annoying sound blared again. This time, Addison took a deep cleansing breath. She pushed herself up in a single sweeping motion, stretched her arms overhead then dropped them toward the clock, turning it off.

  Her mother’s surgery was the first of the day. Addison promised her dad she would come by beforehand, even though she had managed to squeeze in a visit the night before. She figured it was also an excuse to get to the office early, not that she ever needed one. She typically arrived before everyone else, setting the precedent that long hours drove success.

  Addison arrived at the hospital and quietly entered her mother’s suite. Her mother’s eyes were closed as she rested. The room had a sterile, smell of bleach and, although better than your typical hospital room, still seemed bleak. Believing in the power of the self-healing mind, Addison often wondered how anyone recovered in such a depressing environment.

  She placed one hand over her mother’s and the other gently on her forehead. “Mom,” she said in a soft voice, “You awake?” Her mom’s eyes struggled to open. For the first time Addison could recall, she looked vulnerable.

  “Hi, honey. Glad you came by. Doctor says I’ll be out of here in two to three days.”

  “You’ll be fine, Mom. This cancer doesn’t know whom it’s up against.”

  “I’m not worried about the surgery as much as I am the chemo afterwards.” She closed her eyes again.

  “Just rest. One day at a time, Mom. Let’s get through today. Tomorrow we’ll deal with later.” She kissed her forehead where her hand had just been.

  “How’s she holding up?” A deep male voice startled Addison.

  “Hi, Daddy,” Addison said, turning toward the door as her father came in.

  “I’m doing fine, dear,” her mother mumbled.

  Bryce Reynolds looked over-dressed for the hospital in black dress pants and a stiffly pressed collared-golf shirt. His hair had turned gray years ago, but he still looked younger than his age.

  “Good morning, Addy. I brought you some coffee. Thought it would jump-start your day.” He handed Addison a Styrofoam cup with a plastic lid from the hospital’s cafeteria. Undoubtedly not her first choice, but she couldn’t turn down the caffeine. “How’s that company of mine holding up, anyway?”

  “You mean my company, right?” Addison smiled, giving her father a wink. She knew the one thing he was most proud of her for was taking over the magazine. One would think he handed her the throne of England. Or maybe that was just her perception. He’d spent all his time and energy building the company for so many years, leaving only remnants of time for her. She sometimes wondered if he would be as proud of her if she’d chosen a different career path.

  Addison waited with her dad until a nurse rolled her mother into the hallway to ready her for pre-op. “I love you, Mom. You’re going to be fine.” Addison reassured her as she kissed her on the cheek goodbye.

  “I’ll call you when she’s out,” her dad promised as he stood alongside the gurney, holding her mother’s hand.

  “Thanks,” she said. She knew her stomach would be in her throat until he did.

  Upon her arrival at the office, Addison busied herself to keep her mind occupied. She started by tackling the flashing red light notifying her there were messages. Most of the messages were the usual business associates; Emily had called three more times.

  Addison learned early to only touch each message once. Effective, productive individuals always act. You return the call, delegate to a subordinate, or toss it into the circular file. She’d been tossing Emily’s messages for days. Avoidance was another technique she had perfected as a way to handle her personal affairs. Addison wondered at what point she’d lose Emily. There certainly would be a limit to how much abuse she would take. They’d been friends for nineteen years and she’d never told her she was adopted. How she slipped now escaped her.

  Addison clicked the speakerphone button and reviewed the voice mails one by one:

  Emily Blaker – DELETE

  Emily Blaker - DELETE

  Josh Crawford – wants to schedule meeting to talk about charity fundraiser (Forward to Marjorie to schedule lunch appointment.)

  Linda Clayton – following up on query for article submission – DELETE (Learn to follow procedure. Don’t send query letters to the owner. Writer Lesson #1, she thought.) Emily Blaker - DELETE

  Russell Masters – enjoyed talking to you at the fundraiser last week. Would like to pick up from where we left off? – DELE…

  Hhmmm…Russell might be fun for a while. Addison caught herself and stopped one button press shy of losing his number. Russell was the CEO of one of New York City’s largest real estate development companies. A self-made multimillionaire, Addison had always been impressed by his generosity at her mother’s charitable functions and he seemed to keep his relationships out of the public eye. Success aside, he was handsome, sexy even. Although they had met briefly a few scattered times in the past, it wasn’t until their most recent meeting at her mother’s latest
charity ball that she felt he was attending to her a bit more blatantly. They’d talked most of the evening. She knew he was one of the most intriguing businessmen she’d ever met and still she couldn’t help but wonder like a schoolgirl how it would feel to have his strong arms wrapped around her. She pended a reminder to call him in two days. Whether she called him or not, a successful career woman can’t look too desperate.

  “Good morning, Marjorie,” Addison called out, seeing her arrive.

  “Good morning. The usual today?” Marjorie poked her head through Addison’s doorway.

  “No, thank you, I’ve already sent Jacob.” Jacob had been arriving early and staying late, working hours that challenged even Addison’s.

  “Just thought you might need a double shot today,” Marjorie joked knowing that sending Jacob had been the norm the last couple days.

  Marjorie returned to her desk and Addison returned to her e-mail. They both anxiously awaited her father’s call.

  “How’d the surgery go?” Marjorie beeped in to Addison as soon as she hung up with her Dad.

  “Well. He said the doctors are still determining what treatment plan will follow, but it looks like they were able to get everything before it spread.”

  “Good news.”

  “Great news!” Addison said for both confirmation and her own reassurance. Relieved, Marjorie grinned and returned to her desk.

  A few minutes later, Marjorie’s head poked through the solid oak door again. “Addison? It’s Emily.”

  “Yes. I got her message. I’ll call her today. I promise.”

  “No, she’s here. What should I tell her now? That you’re off riding elephants in Asia?”

  “What the hell?” Addison’s hands clenched and her eyes widened. “Tell her I’m not here,” she hissed, visibly flustered.