by A. Gorman
Ten minutes later, I hear a door open and I hear Emily’s voice.
“I’ll let you know for sure, Mrs. Smith. I’ll be in touch soon,” she says kindly. Then I see the woman she was talking to, she has to be in her late sixties or older.
“Thank you, dear. Have a good one,” she says as she hobbles out the door.
I look at Emily, and she looks radiant. She’s wearing a charcoal gray shirt with a matching jacket and a white blouse under the it. Her three inch heels put a dent in our height difference.
“Mr. Matheson, you’re early.” She looks surprised to see me here already.
“Traffic wasn’t that bad.” I give her a small smile.
“That’s good. Would you like anything to drink: coffee, water or soda?”
“Sure. Coke or Pepsi?”
“Coke products.”
“A Coke is fine.”
She smiles. “I’ll be right back.”
She walks down a hallway opposite from the direction she came and is gone a few moments before reappearing with two Cokes.
“This way, please.” She stands a few feet from me, waiting for me to stand up and follow her. She turns and I follow her nice ass all the way into her office. “Please have a seat,” she says as she sets the Cokes on her desk and shuts the door behind me.
“Thank you for the drink.”
“No problem. Thank you for coming over today.”
“I’m hoping you have time to help me out too.”
“Of course.”
“Outstanding. So I’m sure you have the plans for what you would use the grant for?”
“Yes, Mr. Matheson—”
“Ms. Janes, I think we are beyond the formalities. Please, call me Patrick.” She blushes.
“Okay, Patrick. Yes, I have all of the details worked out and they have the preapproval of the board too, pending we get a grant.”
“Without going into line by line by line of the document, where is the money going?”
“Feeding the community. We get an average of fifty families a month that have to use our food pantry in order to have at least one nutritious meal a day. Honestly, that is still too low for me. I try to give families two to three meals a day…” She continues with her plan on feeding the people in the Project Hope community.
Her passion radiates from her body as she talks about giving to those less fortunate. This vibrant woman entrances me. She could be at home grieving for her loss, but instead, she’s working through her own problems to make sure people have something to eat. Perhaps I was completely wrong about her. She wears her pain differently than I do, and she hasn’t let it make her cold.
I’ll run this grant by Kane, I don’t think it will be a problem, but in case there’s an issue, I’ll set up funding from me as well. I notice she’s staring at me, not talking.
“I think it sounds like you know exactly what you want to do with the money. I don’t think there will be an issue getting you the money. I have to write it up and submit it to the board for their approval. If something happens and they deny it, I have a backup plan. Don’t worry, okay?”
“Thank you,” she says with excitement.
“My assistant might need to call you for specific details; can I get your number?” She opens her desk drawer and digs through the stuff. She finds what she is looking for and pulls out a business card.
“Both my office and cell phone numbers are on here.” She hands me the card and our fingers touch. So soft, so warm. She shivers in her chair as if it’s cold in here. Do I affect her? Hmm.
“Thank you. If you don’t mind, I only have a few questions about the grant I’m working on.”
“Okay, what do you need?”
“What should I focus on? An organization that provides a number of services or should I do individual organizations that provide one service?” I’m sure I have the answer, but I want her thoughts since she’s experienced.
“I volunteer with an organization that all of the services they provide are done in-house. They provide housing, employment and training for positions in the community, food services, and family support services… everything that a soldier and their family need to get acclimated to civilian life again.”
“They help the family too?” That is an interesting concept.
“Yes, because they need to learn how to help their veteran return to family life verse military life. PTSD is very common and their family members need to know the signs so if they see them, they can help the veteran get the help that they need quickly.”
“That’s impressive. Do you still volunteer there?”
“I…I haven’t since Nate died. They did call to check on Mom and me, though. It’s a very tight-knit community.”
“Sounds like a good place to start with. I’ll get their information from you before I leave… How are you doing?”
She looks confused that I’d asked a personal question, and she looks like she’s at a loss for words.
How am I doing? He did ask and I might as well be honest.
“I’m trying not to cry right now. But I think I’m doing okay. I miss Nate so much. He was my twin brother, and he’s never been more than a phone call or email away until now. I miss everything about him.” A tear runs down my face and he hands me his handkerchief from his breast pocket. “Thank you.” I smile and wipe my face.
“I know I need to move pass his death and live life. If I don’t, I’ll go crazy missing him. I still have a few voicemails and listen to them when grief overcomes me. He loved me and that’s what keeps me moving forward,” I say as more tears run down my cheeks.
“Sounds like you had an amazing brother.” He gives me a sympathetic smile.
“He was more than a brother. He was the only male in the house so he was my protector, brother, best friend all wrapped up into one.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He places his hand on mine, offering me comfort, and the warmth of his hand wraps around my body, cocooning me.
“Oh, you’re fine. I never met my father. My mom said he moved on to his next life before we were born.”
“It was only you, your mom and brother?”
“Yes, and now it’s just Mom and me.”
“Are you close?”
“Yes, very much so, especially after Nate left for basic training. I’d moved away from home to go to college, but I came home every weekend to spend time with her. We were able to talk to Nate too.”
“I’m glad you have each other,” he says sincerely, but he looks a little uncomfortable.
“How’s your family? I have to be honest; I read your interview in Reno Business Monthly.”
He freezes and stares at me. Did I say something wrong? I mean he did ask me about my family. Was it not right for me to ask about his? I need to apologize.
“I am…sorry”
“My father is dying,” he rushes out.
“Oh, Patrick. I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I feel like an ass now,” I say, embarrassed.
“Please don’t, because I don’t even know how to feel about it.” He looks conflicted.
I don’t know what to say, so I chew on my lip, hoping he will continue talking.
He takes a deep breath and licks his lips, and hesitates for a moment. “Not many people know this, but I grew up in the hands of an abusive father. It was nothing for me to go to school with black eyes, bruised jowls, or bruises elsewhere on my body. I took his beatings so my mom and sister wouldn’t have to. To him, I was worthless and weak since I just stood there and took what he dished out. I was only a burden to him.”
He pauses for a moment, and continues, “I worked throughout high school at a small grocery store. The Carlino’s took me in under their wings. They helped me get into college and paid for it since my father refused to help me with anything. That’s when I decided I had to prove to myself that I could be something if I put my mind to it, had the support to do it.” I sit here in shock. I had no idea this man, this beautiful, charismat
ic man, was so broken.
“Please don’t feel sorry for me,” he says, looking at me.
“I don’t. I…uh…” He nods at me and stares at me for a few moments as if he’s debating if he should say more.
“If you read the article, you know that my mom died when I was seventeen. Her death really took a toll on me, and I was reckless after her death. Drinking, staying out late, missing work, and not even going home. Mr. Carlino found me one night sleeping in the breakroom at the grocery store, took me to his home, and told me that I needed to get my head on straight. I had a sister that I needed to look after. That scared me straight. I didn’t want her to have to live through the pain I did, and she didn’t have to. My dad never touched her because he changed after my mom died.” He rubs his eyes, trying to regain his composure.
“And even more after I left for college. He was the father I’d always dreamt of having. I’m glad Addison experienced that. She needed that foundation of a good parent. Now the bastard is dying. He can’t apologize for anything he’s said over the years.” He laughs. “I went to see him in the hospital Sunday because Addison wanted me to, and he made sure to tell me what he thought of me, always worthless in his eyes. I guess it’s too late for an apology.”
My heart is breaking for him. I don’t even know what to say except sorry.
“I’m—”
“I’m embarrassed. I’m sorry that I’ve taken all of your time with my family drama. I better get going,” he rushes out as he cuts me off.
“Please, Patrick. Don’t be. You haven’t taken all my time. If you need a friend to talk to or anything, please call me. I’m always available.” I smile even though my heart hurts for him.
“I wouldn’t want to bother you.”
“It wouldn’t be a bother. You have my number now; please call it if you need a friendly voice. I might have to tell you one of my bad jokes.”
“You tell jokes?”
“Not just any jokes, but really bad jokes.”
He chuckles. “I might have to call just for a joke.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“Good. I do need to get going though. Thank you for the information and for listening.”
“Anytime.”
“We’ll talk soon.”
“Sounds good. Have a good evening, Patrick.” I want to hug him, comfort him.
“You too, Emily.” He opens my office door and walks out. I’m standing here in confusion, trying to put together what in the hell just happened.
I shake my head and sit down at my desk, organizing my papers while trying to wrap my head around Patrick and his life. I push my thoughts out of my mind to focus on work so I can get out of here.
Hot steam rises all around me. I haven’t had a relaxing bath in a while and today is the perfect day for one. Birdy’s Beautiful Lies album is playing though the Bluetooth speaker in my bathroom, while I lie back in the tub, sipping on a glass of wine.
The events of the day replay slowly in my mind, and I still can’t believe that Patrick opened up to me like that. Everything I felt for him before has multiplied by a hundred percent. Not because I feel sorry for him, but because he chose to shine in adversity, when he could have easily given up. Instead, he became determined to go for what he wanted out of life.
In his moment of rawness, the least I could do was offer to be a friend. Someone he could talk to, vent to, someone who wouldn’t judge him. Someone he could call a friend because something tells me he doesn’t have many close friends.
I inhale deeply, hoping the steam will help relax me, but my mind goes right to Patrick. There’s just something about him that makes me want to help him. I’m very attracted to him. Not just his looks, they are a bonus, but his personality, friendliness, kindness… I could go on and on about what I find in him. I think some of those qualities are a cover-up, because he doesn’t want to let anyone too close to find out who the real Patrick Matheson is—the one that was abused by his father.
Willing myself not to think about him anymore, I think about my mom. I haven’t talked to her since yesterday and probably should give her a call before I go to bed. I spend a few more minutes in the tub before I pull the plug on the drain and shower.
Twenty minutes, I’m out of the shower and ready for bed. I clean up my mess from the bathroom and put the dirty clothes in the hamper and the empty wine glass in the dishwasher. I grab the remote of the Bluetooth speaker and turn it off so I can call my mom.
I pick up my phone and hit send when I see her picture pop up on the screen. Her phone rings two times and on the third, she picks up.
“Hello, Ems. How are you?”
“I’m doing okay. I hadn’t talked to you today and I thought I would call and check on you.”
“I got out today and ran a few errands. It felt good to get out,” she says, but I can hear someone talking in the background.
“Is someone there?”
“It’s just the TV. I was watching a show and I kind of want to see all of it. Can I call you later?”
“Um…okay. Sure. I’ll talk to you later. I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, darling.” She quickly hangs up.
When did my mom get into TV shows? Who knows? I put the phone on the charger to charge and get into bed. I hope sleep comes quickly; it was a crazy day.
Why would I expose myself to her like that. I think as I sit here at my desk, reliving my telling Emily about my shit childhood, my dad, my mom… She’s so easy to talk to, so easy to get lost in, and I find myself wanting to tell her things I’ve never wanted to tell anyone else. As soon as I got in my car, I put her number in my phone. I’m sure it would be a surprise to her, and to myself, if I do call her. I want to call her…
True to my word to Kristin, I came home after I met with Emily. I find it odd to be home in the daylight twice in less than a week since I’m normally at the office all hours of the night, and when I am home, I leave before sunrise.
I’ve been in my home office doing some work since I came through the door. The information that Emily gave me has me making a second check of the research I’d done on these veteran’s organizations. I want to try to have this done before I shower and attempt to sleep, but the numbers aren’t holding my attention as I look around my office, trying to figure out what is missing from here, from my life.
When I first bought this house, I loved it. I was able to afford it on my first salary with CUGC. As I quickly moved up the ranks in the company, I doubled and tripled payments and three years later, I paid it off.
I loved the office as it has a view of the open land, and I put my desk where I could look outside at any time. My degree and awards hang on the walls, with a few pictures of my mom and sister. Where there are personal touches in this room, the rest of the house has the art décor that came with the house. I haven’t decorated it with anything of mine, because I don’t have anyone that comes over to impress, so I left it as it was when I moved in.
One day I’ll slow down and decide what I want to do, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon with the crazy stock market. I wonder if Addison would help me touch it up to something a little more modern—I need to call Addison to see what time she has class tomorrow. Then we can go to the house during the day instead of the evening.
I grab my phone and dial Addison’s number.
“Hey, Patrick,” she says without the phone ringing, again.
“Hey, yourself. I was calling to see what time you have class tomorrow.”
“I have class until one, why?”
“Want to meet at the house around one thirty then?”
“That’s fine.”
“Great. So…any change?”
“None. They keep asking me what we want to do.”
“Seriously? Do I need to come to the hospital?”
“No, I will get them to chill until tomorrow evening. I told them we were trying to find his will.”
“If they get too pushy, let me know.”
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“I will.”
“If anything changes between now and tomorrow, call me, okay? If not, I’ll see you tomorrow at one thirty.”
“All right. Night Patrick. Love you.”
“Love you too, squirt.” She laughs at my childhood nickname for her and hangs up the phone.
I go to the files I have open and check the numbers I have, because I want to be able to give everything to Kristin in the morning to make the finalized file.
My growling stomach interrupts my thoughts and I decide to call it quits for the night. I go to the kitchen and try to find something to eat. When was the last time I actually went to the grocery store? Last month, maybe it was two months ago. Looks like I need to pick up a few things and at least get food for the freezer. I find a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup in the cabinet and look for a bowl to put it in to heat up in the microwave.
I sit at the bar, eating my chicken noodles, and think about how good it’s going to be to actually sleep in bed, again. My eyes are drooping by the time I finish the soup, and I decide not to even bother with a shower. I strip my clothes as I make my way to the bedroom and fall into bed, thinking about Emily as my head hits the pillow, and I drift to sleep.
Who’s shining that light in my eyes? I open one eye to see where the light is coming from and see that it’s not someone, but something. The sun. How did I not know that it shines in here? Why hadn’t I noticed that before? Because I’ve never slept in here that long. Shit! What time is it? I rummage around in the bedsheets, feeling for my cell phone, and I find it. I put it up to my face to see that it’s a quarter after seven and my phone is almost dead. Damn it.
I look for a charger and send Kristin a text that I will be in after nine, which is almost a never for me. There’s no sense of rushing. I would be rushing to sit in rush hour traffic. I stretch my body, and I feel rested. I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night without waking up at five in the morning or without the sleep being from being drunk.