His Dream Role

by Shannyn Schroeder

  Samantha finished her coffee and drove to her parents’ house in Lake Forest. The drive home always did something strange to her. She found comfort in the sights, but that nagging feeling still pulled at her. She hated feeling this way. It was time to put her foot down and be her own person.

  Instead of leaving her car parked in the circle drive, she pulled in near the garage to make it easier for her parents to put the car away. It wouldn’t be coming back to the city with her. She let herself into the house and called, “Mom?”

  “In here, honey.”

  She followed her mom’s voice to the kitchen. She found it funny that her mom so often sat in the room, because Sam couldn’t remember a time her mother ever cooked.

  “Hi, Mom.” Sam walked through the room and kissed her mom on the cheek.

  Vanessa closed the book she had on the table and removed her reading glasses. “What are you doing home? We didn’t expect to see you until the holidays after finals.”

  Her mom acted like the drive from the city took days. She came home occasionally on the weekends just to visit, but her mom seemed to forget that.

  “I’ve made some decisions and I want to talk to you and Dad about them.”

  “Your father’s not home yet. I don’t know when he will be. Why don’t you stay for dinner and wait with me?”

  “I can’t. I have studying to do.” She sat across from her mom. Nerves roiled and the coffee in her stomach splashed uneasily. “I’m leaving my car here.”

  “Is there something wrong with it? I can call the mechanic now.” Vanessa reached for her phone.

  “No, Mom. It’s fine. It’s just ... I hate driving that expensive car when I’m working with people who aren’t sure where their next meal is coming from. I have twenty kids in the shelter right now who can’t count on Christmas.”

  “Sweetheart, if you need a donation for your work, just ask. You don’t need to make some noble gesture. We’d be happy to help.”

  Sam sighed. “It’s not about donations, Mom. It’s about who I am. I need to stand on my own, to make my own life. I can’t do that if I’m driving your car and living in the apartment you pay for.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Your father and I have worked hard to provide you with a good life. You can do whatever you want with your life, but you don’t have to throw away all of the advantages we gave you.”

  Sam pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not throwing away the advantages you’ve given me. I’m using my education to get the career I want. I just don’t feel right flaunting my family’s money in front of people who have nothing.”

  Her mother reached out and took her hand. “Money isn’t evil.”

  “I know that. But it clouds things. That car is an invitation for trouble in some of the neighborhoods I travel.”

  Vanessa sighed. “So you’ll keep your apartment then? That can’t possibly cause trouble.”

  “I’ll stay at least through graduation, when I can get a job. Then I don’t know.”

  “Your father and I feel so much better with you in an apartment with a doorman. It seems safer.” She patted the hand she held. “We worry about you.”

  “I’m a big girl. I need to be able to take care of myself.”

  “We both know your father isn’t going to like this, so I hope you’re prepared for a fight.”

  The words weren’t lost on Sam. She’d have to fight her dad, but her mom was in her corner.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Now, tell me more about these kids who have you all worked up.”

  Sam went to the stove and started to boil some water for tea. “The shelter does amazing work. Women leave horrible conditions to come to us. They’ve been beaten down, physically and emotionally, yet they somehow find the courage to run. But it seems like the run itself is all they had energy for. So many of them are still lost when they arrive. They don’t know who they are anymore, if they ever did.”

  “What exactly do you do?” Her mom had shifted so her complete attention was on Sam.

  Sam loved that about her mom. No matter what they talked about, Vanessa always gave her total focus. As a teen, she resented it because she felt like she could never get away with anything, but after seeing how other people lived, she’d grown to appreciate it.

  “Right now, I mostly play with kids and talk to them. The hours I put in at the shelter work toward my degree. Once I graduate, I don’t know that they’ll have a paying position for me. In fact, I doubt it. I’ll have to look somewhere else, but right now, I can’t imagine not being there, so I might continue to volunteer.” She walked around the kitchen and pulled out teacups and tea bags while she waited for the water to boil.

  “But if you had your degree,” her mom continued, “what could you hope to do for these women and their children?”

  “I hope to help them realize there is life after abuse. That not everyone is out to hurt them. That they can be valuable members of society. That they can raise their children to have a better life.” As she spoke, tears pricked the backs of her eyes and her throat thickened. She thought of the women she saw with such hollow looks in their eyes and her heart went out to them, especially because she knew so many would return to their old lives.

  The kettle whistled and Sam turned her attention to the tea. Her mom came up next to her and put an arm around her shoulder.

  “I’m proud of you. I had my doubts when you declared your major and told us you wanted to be a social worker.”

  “Why?” She knew her dad hadn’t loved her decision, but her mom never let on.

  “I knew you would excel at it. You’re empathetic and love to help people. But you’re so softhearted that I worried that it would tear you apart. Social work isn’t for the faint of heart. But seeing you now, hearing the conviction in your voice, I’m not sure what to think.”

  Sam poured water into the waiting teacups and handed one to her mom. They sat back down at the breakfast nook. “I’ve enjoyed the work I’ve done at other locations, but this one just feels right. I don’t know how to explain it. When I first walked in, I thought it would be horrible. I mean, what do I know about abused women and kids?”

  She looked around the kitchen that was nothing short of lavish with its stainless steel appliances and marble counters. Life here had been easy. She never had to worry about anything.

  “What changed?”

  What had changed? At what point did walking through the doors of the Hope Center become normal for her? “I don’t know.” She thought back and knew. It had been Alex. The girl had been only eight when she and her mother came to the shelter.

  Because she didn’t have her degree, Sam was told she was there to offer support not counseling. She could play with the children or aid with homework, help women with their résumés or filling out job applications. During a spur-of-the-moment art project with a few kids, Alex drew a picture and then blurted out that her mother’s boyfriend had molested her.

  Sam had frozen, knowing she wasn’t supposed to counsel the child, but Alex had looked up with her big brown eyes needing some reassurance. Sam simply said, “That was wrong and it wasn’t your fault.”

  Then she’d taken Alex to her supervisor and together with Alex’s mom, they got the details. Alex hadn’t told her mom out of fear of retribution from the boyfriend.

  “Where did you just go?” Sam’s mom asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

  “I was thinking about when things changed for me at the Hope Center. It was actually a who. I helped a little girl and her mom. They had a terrible story and they trusted me to help.”

  Sam called a cab to get her back to the city. As she and her mom drank their tea, she filled her mom in on school and friends. Before long, the cab arrived.

  Her mom stood. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider? It’s just a car. We could probably talk your dad into trading it for something less . . .”

  Sam shook her head. “It’s okay, Mom. I live near the el stop and there are always b
uses running. I can get anywhere I need to with very little hassle. The car is more trouble than it’s worth most of the time. Trying to find parking is horrible, and then there’s rush hour on the expressway.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I am. This will be a good experience for all of us.” She made a scissor motion with her fingers. “Cut those apron strings a little.”

  Her mom smiled and pulled her into a hug. “You can try to cut away all you want, but I’m holding on.”

  “Thanks.”

  The cab ride back to the city felt like it took forever. By the time she walked through her front door, she was exhausted. She collapsed on her couch with her laptop so she could study. Instead, she Googled “Doctor Who tenth doctor.” Cute. Dorky, but cute. Much like her actor friend. She immediately recognized the clothes she’d seen earlier in the day. His face was different, of course, but he’d nailed the costume.

  She wondered how he chose the characters to dress up as. And why? Even more important, what was his name?

  Her homework sat untouched as she started Netflix and searched for Doctor Who. Maybe watching might give her some insight into who this guy was.

  Free walked into his childhood home and yelled, “I’m home.”

  “What’s with the yelling?” his mom called from the living room.

  Free left his jacket in the foyer and walked into the living room, where his mother was entertaining some guests. Whoops. “Sorry, Mom. I didn’t know you had people over.”

  She rose from her seat and kissed his cheek. “You might be more aware of what happens around here if you visited more often. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. I wanted to drop off these.” He pulled the tickets for opening night from his pocket.

  “Oh, lovely.” She turned to her friends. “My son, Humphrey, is starring in A Christmas Carol.”

  “I’m not starring. I’m Fred.”

  She poked his arm. “Still a major role. It’s not like you’re a caroler.”

  “They couldn’t cast me as a caroler. I can’t sing for sh—anything.”

  His mom shot him a sharp look. Although Amelia Mitchell cursed on occasion, she would never stand for it with company in the house. “Um, is Dad around?”

  “In his study, as always.”

  He waved to his mother’s friends. “Nice to see you all.” Then he ducked back through the foyer to the other end of the house to see his dad.

  Entering his dad’s study was like stepping back in time. Free remembered being young, maybe six, and sneaking in here and sitting under the desk to listen to his father work. Anthony Mitchell always seemed so important. He had phone calls to make and meetings to attend.

  In a way, none of that had changed. His father was a major player in investment banking, but now it didn’t seem so mysterious. Free understood the business, so it removed some of the magic. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Humphrey, what are you doing here?”

  “Jeez, can’t a guy just visit his parents without having a reason?”

  “At twenty-two? No. Sons tend to come home when they want something.”

  “Well, I wanted to talk to Mom, but she’s busy.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  His dad help with charity? Not likely. “No, but did you see that Tritec is poised to take over Omnibyte?”

  “Who are Tritec and Omnibyte?” Even as he asked, his dad was pulling up company information on his computer.

  “They’re both relatively small tech firms, but together, they can be in a position to become major players.”

  “Where did you hear about this?”

  “I read. You have the Wall Street Journal delivered to my apartment even though I can access it online.” Free took a seat in the oversized leather chair across from his father.

  “I saw nothing about this.”

  “You would’ve overlooked them. They haven’t made a big enough splash for most people to notice. But I’ve been watching. Tritec just got an influx of new investors, and it looks like they’re prepared to announce something big before attempting a takeover.”

  His dad didn’t respond. He was absorbed in reading whatever was on the screen in front of him. Free knew better than to keep talking.

  “Hmm,” his dad grunted.

  Free had become an expert in deciphering his father’s noises. This type of grunt meant he was considering the options. After a few minutes of typing on the computer and taking notes on a legal pad, his dad looked up. “Looks promising. I’ll get someone on it.”

  Free wished that someone could be him. His dad gave a pile of folders on his desk a little shove.

  “Take a look at these. See what you think.”

  Free reached over and pulled the stack onto his lap. The files contained financials on various companies that his dad must’ve been considering investing in.

  “Can I take these with me?”

  His dad nodded. Ever since last summer, his dad occasionally gave him some research to do even though he wasn’t officially on staff yet. He needed to prove himself because other guys would be out to get him from day one. He was the boss’s son, so he knew the target on his back would last until he’d proven he was good enough to be a banker.

  His dad had no doubts, which made him feel better, but he remembered the tough time Cary had when he started. Other guys sabotaged his every move. It was part of what led to Cary’s depression and overeating. Cary had a hard time reconciling the ease with which he interacted with clients with the issues he’d had with colleagues.

  “When do you need them back?”

  “Yesterday?”

  “I have class tomorrow and then rehearsal, but I can have the analysis done the following morning.”

  “Rehearsal?”

  “A Christmas Carol. I left tickets with Mom in case you want to come see it.” He knew his dad wouldn’t. Theater wasn’t his thing. He’d indulged Free’s mom and her love of acting over the years and he tolerated it in Free, but he had zero interest in watching.

  “Why didn’t Cary come with you today?”

  Free shrugged. He hadn’t even asked Cary if he wanted to. “Don’t you see him at work?”

  “Sometimes. I have better things to do than check in on every employee.”

  “How long do you think Mom’s friends are going to be here?”

  His dad threw up his hands. “I never know. I stay out of the way so they don’t try to rope me in to any plan they’re hatching.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “To tell you the truth, I have no idea. You know your mother. She’s part of so many groups and organizations, who can keep track? I thought today might be book club. If it is, they should be done soon. Unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  “Did they have a bottle of wine open?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  His dad laughed. “Then they’re probably wrapping up. Every now and again, they read something sad and then they open wine. They drink and cry over imaginary people.”

  A soft knock sounded at the office door and then it swung open. Amelia strode in. “How are my boys?”

  “Good meeting?” his dad asked.

  “Wonderful.” She turned her attention to Free. “Why are you really here?”

  “I came to ask you about a charity thing.”

  Amelia clapped. “I love a new project. What are you considering?”

  Free stood. “Let’s go to the other room so Dad can finish his work.”

  Amelia led the way out of the office. His dad mouthed a thank-you to Free as they left.

  “I met this girl.”

  Amelia spun and gripped his arm. “That’s wonderful. What’s her name? How long have you been seeing her? When will you bring her by?”

  “We aren’t dating. I just met her at the coffee shop, and she was telling me about a shelter she works at and how the kids there need books.”

  She looped her arm around his and tugged him toward the kitchen. “
A book drive. I love a good book drive. What’s the shelter?”

  “I actually don’t know. She didn’t give me the name, but I’ll probably see her tomorrow. I can get it then.”

  “I’ll call the girls tonight. It’s the perfect time for a book drive. People are out for holiday shopping. What’s it take to grab a book and drop it in a donation bin? We’ll have a library for your girl by the first of the year.”

  His girl? Not even close. His mom’s positive disposition rubbed off on him, though. She’d always had the ability to make him believe in the improbable. Hearing his mom develop a plan to impress a girl made him believe he might really have a chance with Samantha.

  Chapter 3

  Samantha found herself standing in the coffee shop waiting for whatever his name was. How ridiculous was it that she liked a guy but didn’t even know his name? She didn’t wait for guys; it wasn’t her style. But she had a feeling he’d be coming to get his usual coffee before rushing out to rehearsal.

  Interesting that he drank boring old black coffee. He was such a colorful, unique guy in his costumes that it seemed he should have a more complicated coffee order.

  The door opened and in he came, carrying a plastic bag. He wore a fedora and a leather jacket instead of his longer overcoat. He smiled a cocky grin and then she realized that he was Indiana Jones.

  “You’re here.”

  He tipped his hat. “I’m like a bad penny. I always turn up.” He stepped toward the counter to order.

  “Wait.” She laid a hand on his arm and then realized that was more personal than they’d been and snatched her hand back. “We’ve met and talked a couple of times now, but I still don’t know your real name.”

  He extended a hand to shake. “Humphrey, but my friends call me Free.”

  “Free,” she repeated with a nod and shook his hand.

  The name was unusual, but suited him. Old-fashioned, yet the nickname was fresh. “Ready for coffee?”

  “As always.”

  She allowed him to order for her. She liked that he paid attention to her order. Of course he waved off her offer to pay for hers. They sat at a table and he slid the plastic bag over to her. “What’s this?”