by Lexy Timms
“There’s a free breakfast that comes with the room,” he suggested finally, with a glance at his watch. He had no idea if they were still even offering it. “I could use some coffee and juice before the drive home. I used a lot of energy last night.” The last he said with a hint of a smile, inviting her to play. To be again the woman he’d taken to bed only a few short hours before.
Mel only nodded.
The ‘breakfast’ consisted of small pre-packaged Danishes, tiny single-serving cereal boxes, and milk. No eggs or bacon or waffles in sight. All the good stuff had been cleared away ages ago. But at least the coffee was hot, and even a brand that he liked.
Brant tore into a box of Coco Puffs, eyeing Mel as she sipped a cup of coffee. She stared out the window, as though waiting for someone.
When she spoke, her voice seemed to be coming from somewhere very far away. “Brant,” she said quietly, “Who’s Lisa?”
Brant looked up from the cereal just as Mel’s phone rang. With a sound born of frustration and anger, she pulled it out and looked at the number.
The blood drained from her face.
* * *
“They’re closing the clinic.”
She barely got the words out. Maybe she hadn’t. Who knew? Her mouth had gone dry. Her hands shook as she set the phone done with infinite care on the linen tablecloth. She stared out at the waves beating relentlessly on the shore below the veranda where they sat.
It’s been a long time coming. What did you expect? With Doctors International having been discredited and donations drying up, it had to happen sometime. But to hear Carmen actually state the death of her… of the clinic was almost too much to wrap her head around.
Carmen had called in desperation. If Mel hadn’t worked with her for so many years, she could’ve easily mistaken Carmen for a newsreader for all the emotion she added. Yet, it was emotional. More like pure panic, which was the only reason Carman had called.
Mel was suddenly a thousand miles away in Belize.
It didn’t escape her attention that, despite having been replaced and out of the country for weeks, and the reason that Doctors International no longer existed, it was her they called for help. She wished she could give them some.
DI had given them unofficial warning. Carmen had some friends who could help, so they would be funded until the end of the month.
“I’m so sorry, Carmen.” Mel didn’t know what else to say.
“Doctor,” Carmen chided, “you realize that this isn’t your problem anymore, right.”
“Then why did you call me?”
There was no answer to that, and Mel sighed. Really? Carmen was silenced? Carmen?
“I’ll keep in touch, Carmen. I don’t know what I can do, but I’ll try to think of something.” She barely heard Carmen say goodbye.
She had no idea what Brant saw in her expression, but she couldn’t have been feeling that much raw fear and despair without it showing in her eyes. Her focus was on the phone, on the handful of words that Carmen had spoken, and just like that knocked the supports out from under her. He was saying something to her, his mouth moving, but the words made no sense. When he rose and held out his hand, she took it automatically, leaving breakfast half-eaten, leaving behind wild abandonment and questions and a world that seemed intent on crumbling around her no matter what she did next.
Mel could never say with any degree of certainty how they got out of the hotel. She had a vague sense of being led, giving a mumbled “thank you” to someone in a hotel shirt who approached with worry and concern etched on his face, drawn by the despair she glimpsed on her own in the mirror behind the registration desk.
Her phone felt hot in her hand. She clutched it to her, the only connection to the tiny hospital thousands of miles away in Belize.
Her clinic.
I don’t even have the right to say that anymore. It’s not “mine” any more than that mountain over there. But this was an old argument she’d held for years since she’d first opened the doors of the building she’d fought for, that she’d built with her own hands. It was hers, and would always be.
They drove fast down the coast, wind whipping her hair into her face in a stinging caress that brought tears to her eyes. At least that’s what she pretended they were from. Gradually she came to herself, and found buried beneath the grief a certain anger.
“Brant, stop.”
They were somewhere between Santa Barbara and home. Brant shot her a look and eased over, taking the next exit, pulling into a parking lot on a side street between colossal mansions with wedge views of ocean between them.
“Welcome back,” he said as he put the car in park and turned to face her, one hand reaching to cup her cheek. “Ready to talk about it?”
His fingers were warm against her cheek. She leaned into the caress, closing her eyes, and for the barest of moments could forget strange texts from women named Lisa and bankrupt clinics.
Then the phone vibrated in her hand, another text from too far away, and she was brought back to herself. “We need to do something…”
Half-turning in the seat to face him, she began to talk, using her hands to gesture wildly sometimes as she vented her anger and frustration. He let her talk, asking questions, pulling her back to reality when she floundered in the territory of self-blame and recriminations. At one point he grabbed her phone from her and called Carmen himself and pledged a month’s expenses. It was a tidy sum, even for someone that wealthy. Mel shrieked at that, objecting that it was too much, but he waved her off, and made a second call from his own phone to someone named Bill who had the money in motion before Mel finished reassuring Carmen that, yes, Brent did mean it and, yes, the money was on the way.
When she stared at him, eyes wide, trying to understand, he only smiled and raised her hand to his lips, planting a gentle kiss on her palm. “You’re mine,” he said with a shrug. “That means that clinic is mine, too. Of course I’ll help support it.”
Mel’s world wasn’t one where people gave so freely, without strings, and she was lost with no idea what to say to him. With all the strangeness of the past few days, the distance between them seemed so foolish and inconsequential. She had to force the words around a hard lump in her throat as she reassured Carmen for the fifth time in as many minutes that, yes, the clinic was indeed funded another month.
Maybe the vast fortunes of Hollywood’s royal family could keep them afloat, but as she hung up she thought guiltily about all the other sorely needed facilities that Doctors International had planted along the globe. Some, she had to admit, were really more desperately needed than hers. No one family could support DI. That was too heavy a burden, even for this much wealth.
She tried to voice her concern to Brant, tried to make sense of all of this without sounding like she was ungrateful for all he’d done, but found herself tripping over her own tongue. Brant simply put the car in gear, winding through residential streets until they escaped out of whatever coastal suburb they were in and found a road that disappeared between trees and sandy stretches that seemed better suited to dune buggies. He parked a ways up what suspiciously looked like a long driveway.
Mel watched as he walked around the car and opened her door, offering his hand.
“There’s a private spot near here I know about,” he said cryptically.
“Private?” she questioned dubiously. There had been several cars, RVs, buses, motorcycles, and even horse trailers parked on the road behind them. It might not be a smooth road, but it was definitely a busy one.
He didn’t answer, only led her to a path she barely saw between the long grasses that waved in the wind. Mel caught her breath as they came out on the top of a cliff, overlooking the beach below.
The sound of the surf was loud in her ears as helped her down a path that turned out to be more manicured than she’d expected, down to the steps carved out of the rock face itself. When she looked out at the water, she saw surfers in the distance. But the path they followed came
out on a stretch of deserted sand. When she looked up, she caught glimpses of a house above them, sunlight reflecting off the windows.
“Brant, we can’t.” Mel was looking at a fence that ran from the cliff face to the waves and signs that marked everything past that point as PRIVATE PROPERTY. Including several dire warnings of consequences to those foolish enough to journey past the warnings, it was a formidable fortress of fence and threats.
Brant climbed over it. “I told you, it’s a private stretch of beach.”
“No, Brant, it’s a stretch of private beach! There’s a difference!”
Brant faced her from the other side of the fence. The wrong side. He kissed her, arms coming around her, pulling her close despite the barrier.
Then Mel was suddenly airborne, landing in his arms as he carried her over the fence. Despite her protestations, her fears about being shot for trespassing, a small voice marveled that a man who spent his life inside practicing medicine would be that strong.
She was plopped unceremoniously onto her feet and he took her hand again and kept walking.
“We’re breaking the law, Brant.”
Brant took off his shoes and walked closer to the water. Mel reached for the boots she favored and pulled them off with the socks. The water was cool and soothing and the cuffs of her pantlegs were soon soaked through. “I was at a party here once,” he said with a shrug, and offered her his hand.
He pulled her out past where the surf had played with her toes. With complete disregard to her jeans, which were now soaked to the knee, she bent to pick up a seashell, marveling at the perfection of it, feeling some of the weight of the day slipping from her shoulders.
He twined his fingers through hers and led her back to the sand finally, inviting her to sit. She lay back, her head on his shoulder as he asked her about the clinic, prodding her when her words faltered, letting her talk, letting her cry.
Eventually his questions became more detailed. He wanted to know about the early days of the clinic, about the financing while she was there, expenses, how many people came and went through the doors, all of it. She began with the memories of breaking ground, of fighting back the jungle with nothing but sweat, a machete, and several bulldozers.
He laughed at her description of the contractors and the “government regulations” they made up on the fly, each one costing more and more money. He listened intently to the descriptions of the waste storage and incinerator, the septic tank, and the attempts by some misguided fool to put down paneling in the operating room.
“Brant…where is all this going?” she asked finally, raising up on her elbow to look at him.
“You asked me about Lisa…” Brant began quietly.
Mel’s stomach clenched. “Do I want to hear this?”
Brant sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, looking at her uncertainly. “Lisa is… a… uh… she’s a gift. To you.”
“You bought me Lisa?” Mel paused. Stared blankly. “I don’t need a hooker. Especially a female.”
Brant laughed and then settled down with a smile. “Lisa was very highly recommended by a friend of mine. She’s a great manager and organizer. I wanted to save this for a wedding present, but under the circumstances I think I need to give her to you now.”
“Brant? What are you talking about? Manager for what? I’m currently unemployed. I have all the time in the world to manage myself.”
“She’s not managing you, she’s managing your foundation.”
Mel watched him for a long time, trying to process and coming up blank. “My what?”
“Foundation. Like Doctors International but without the embezzlement and graft.”
“A… a what?”
“Foundation.”
That’s what she’d thought he’d said. “Brant, you don’t give someone a foundation! I don’t even think you create foundations, they just… are! You… are you telling me that you’ve been running off to create a replacement for DI? You’re serious? What the hell! Wait… YOU ARE SERIOUS!” Mel scrambled to her feet. Paced in a circle and then turned to stare at him, her mouth opening and closing but nothing coming out.
“Surprised?” Brant stood and held out his hands. It looked like the time her dog brought a dead rat to her doorstep and didn’t receive the hero’s welcome he so obviously was expecting.
Mel crossed her arms across her chest, suddenly cold in the wind that blew off the waves. She took a step backwards. “How… how… how…”
“It’s a wedding gift,” he said, his words faltering, expression going from pleased to wary.
“I was going to get you golf clubs!” Mel stomped the sand under her feet and sprayed them both. “And that was going to take everything I had! A FOUNDATION?! Who does that?”
“Listen, it’s in the works. Getting donations isn’t the only thing a foundation does. There are investments and securities and all kinds of things I don’t understand. I was never good with the business side of things. But I already have people anxious to join in, not just giving money, but time and skills and…” Brant’s uncertainty was melting away, becoming defensive.
Retreating.
I’m hurting him.
But was it really her fault? Okay, maybe her tone was less than thankful. No more expected than hysterical screaming was the reaction the dog had hoped for with the gift of rat. But a foundation?
“Mel, this solves not only the problem of your clinic but all of them. We’re in a position already that when we throw open the doors we can even start a few new clinics in other countries. Think about it. Doors are opening for us that DI could never get to.”
“BRANT!” Mel said, stalling until she could find a way to explain it to him. She couldn’t. “You should have discussed this with me. This is a lifetime commitment, this is long-term deal, we need to… to… I don’t know, be ready. We can’t just decide one day, ‘Hey, let’s have a foundation’ and pick it up like a bottle of wine. This needs to be… carefully thought out.”
“It is. By people who know what they’re doing. Your degree is in medicine, so’s mine. You’re used to dealing with money as a constraint. I’m not used to dealing with it at all. If we wait until we’re comfortable with throwing millions of dollars around the world, we’ll never get started. By then, your clinic and all the others will have gone back to the jungle.”
“Brant...” Mel took another step backwards, stumbling over her boots still lying on the sand. “You should’ve asked for my opinion on this. It’s too big a step. What…” she placed her palms out in a gesture that pleaded with him to understand. “This is huge.” She stared lamely at her hands. “What am I ever going to be able to get for you? Ever?” She grabbed her boots and turned to go. “We’re trespassing. We need to go,” she said and walked back the way they’d come.
Chapter 10
The ride back to the house was quiet. Mel tried a few times to try to explain, but every time she started the sentences seemed to fall apart as the words formed. Brant seemed to be stuck on the idea that a foundation would fill the hole DI created when it dissolved. He was right. But that wasn’t the point.
A foundation? That was mind-boggling. You don’t give foundations out like door prizes. Or wedding presents. I don’t know anything about foundations.
The problem, she suspected, was that he didn’t know a whole lot more about them than she did. The whole thing would be a disaster in their hands.
That’s why he got you a Lisa. So you wouldn’t have to handle the books or investments.
He still should have spoken to her about it first.
Suddenly overwhelmingly tired, Mel lay back against the seat, staring at the ocean to her right as they wound down the coast back to L.A. At least driving with the top down forestalled a lot of conversation. Never in her life did Mel think she’d be so thankful to be riding in a convertible.
She shifted slightly and studied his profile from behind her sunglasses. He drove with his right hand on the wheel, the left draped casually o
n the door. Looking to all appearances like a man relaxed, though the set to his jaw told another story entirely. He was angry.
Mel realized she’d spoiled his gift. Maybe she could have been more gracious. Thankful? It’s kind of the underscoring of everything you’ve been worrying about, isn’t it? You’ve known for weeks now how far outside your world he is. Different class. Different culture. What did you expect? You’re marrying into money, girl.
Money.
Brant lived in a world where he saw a need for a foundation and went out and created one, to instantly give it away as a wedding present. Mel lived in a world where a foundation was a formless entity that handed out too little money for a simple jungle clinic to keep the lights on. If she was to be honest, she had to admit that it never occurred to her that foundations had an origin: they just were.
And while most people in her situation would be ecstatic to come into that kind of wealth, the truth of the matter was this wasn’t Mel’s world. And the more time she spent trying to fit in, the more sure she became that it never would be.
She twisted the ring on her finger and looked down at her lap, blinking back tears.
The 101 wended south, and Brant headed east to the house. The Pacific lay behind them and vanished over hills and buildings, and they were swallowed up in the concrete and glass of L.A. once more.
And just like that they were home, and a whole new set of problems presented itself.
Someone must have been watching for them, because no sooner had the car been parked than the front door opened.
“Oh boy.” Mel removed her sunglasses slowly, exchanging an awkward look with Brant.
“Welcoming committee?”
“My mother, from the look of things. You never did meet her exactly.”
Mel took a shaky breath and opened the door of the car, not waiting for Brant to come around and open it for her.
He came around and took her hand in his, a move that surprised her given the set to his mouth. He still wasn’t happy with her. Mel’s stomach danced into knots as her feet carried her up to the front walk, really not ready to paste on a smile and pretend that everything was all right.