by Pat Simmons
“Yep.” He slipped his hands in his pants pockets and craned his neck to check on Aunt Tweet. “I share the office with my brother at work, which I don’t mind, but when I work from home, this is my space. Demetrius has a smaller version of this layout at his loft.” At his desk, he pulled out the chair for her and she sat at his work space.
“Also,” he lowered his voice. “Whether you think so or not, you’re doing a great job with your aunt.”
Hearing his praise and her aunt thanking her in one day made a few tears trickle down her cheek. Unexpectedly, Marcus leaned in and without any hesitation kissed her cheek, absorbing the moisture as if their relationship was more than neighbors—tentatively friends.
“I think you needed that too.” He strolled to the doorway and left it cracked, allowing Tabitha to have a bird’s-eye view of Aunt Tweet.
Her lips formed an ‘oh,’ but the word never came out, so she swallowed it. Marcus had kissed her hand, now her cheek... Okay, okay, she coaxed herself back to reality, and quenched any further thoughts of kissing. Settling in, she focused on the thrilling part of her work, taking control of her income.
That morning, Ava Elise had handed out packets with information about each rep’s territory, car, and drug assignments.
Her sales were based on the success of doctors writing prescriptions for Porital to treat osteoporosis; Nalox for sinusitis and Dyabolin, a supplemental injection for Type 2 diabetes.
Pfizer developed biotech products. Some quarters, she had earned big bonuses. The most had been sixty thousand dollars. She had taken a twelve thousand dollar pay cut when she applied for the position that offered forty-thousand starting off. It was worth it to care for a loved one.
Plus, all the sisters received a five thousand dollars monthly stipend whenever Aunt Tweet was in their care. It was the other part of the year, when Tabitha didn’t have the trust fund money or the big bonuses to count on. Unless she used her savings, she would feel the squeeze after she paid her house note and other perks she had grown accustomed to like traveling, shopping, and pampering.
She did the math for the upcoming sales quarter. She could earn twenty thousand dollars. Her diabetes drug accounted for sixty-five percent of her bonus, about thirteen thousand dollars, but if she could hit one hundred and fifty percent, her bonus could climb up to thirty thousand.
Although Porital and Nalox accounted for twenty and ten percent of her quota, respectively, she had to reach one hundred percent on both, or her twenty thousand dollar bonus was in jeopardy. She didn’t believe in losing money, so it was show time.
Tabitha caught herself smiling, not because of Marcus’ kiss, but her friendship with Ava Elise who had pulled her aside before she left class. Her trainer’s encouragement had kept her sane.
“You’re on your own now,” Ava Elise had told her. “I can’t help you out in the field. If you make an appointment with a doctor, nurse, or hospital rep, you’d better keep it. I’m confident that things will work out with your aunt.” She hugged Tabitha, then added, “I’ll be waiting to hear good reports.”
“You will.” I hope, she kept to herself. It was one thing to make a plan. Now, she had to work it.
After saying their goodbyes, Tabitha drove away from the office, not doubting her ability, but the circumstances that were beyond her control. God, help me.
She had already contacted the rental company to meet her at Ceyle-Norman to pick up their car because she would have keys to a new blue Ford Taurus.
Next, she checked her emails to see which doctors had confirmed meetings to hear her drug pitches. Her schedule was packed. She had no choice if she was going to make her bonuses. She had a tight schedule to make ten office calls. Hopefully, after she gave the physicians her spiel, they would agree to take her samples and monitor the effectiveness on their patients.
“So what do you like to do besides teach and model?” she heard Marcus ask Aunt Tweet.
Model? Her great-aunt never modeled—or did she? The stories he was able to pull out of her aunt were entertaining, but were they true?
“Oh, I used to travel. I’ve been to a lot of places...” her aunt’s voice was perky.
That was true. Souvenirs from those exotic places were tucked away for safe keeping in Tabitha’s bedroom. Her sisters also received identical keepsakes from places like Vietnam, Italy, Philippines, and Indonesia. Yes, her aunt had been a world traveler.
“During the Korean War, I learned to speak Chinese.”
What? Chinese? Who? Her aunt? Yeah, right, then Aunt Tweet said something that sounded like an authentic dialect.
Marcus chuckled. “What did you say?”
“Good morning.” She giggled. “My mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be.”
How much do I know about the woman who lives in my house? Tabitha wondered.
“I’m at the age now where I’m tired of traveling. I’d rather go to church. My sister and I went a lot as kids. I hated it. I had to sit still or get a whipping, if I didn’t. Mama used to say the difference between a Christian and sinner...” She paused.
He prompted her to continue as Tabitha’s curiosity was piqued too.
“Oh. A Christian repents. A sinner never will tell God or anybody else they’re sorry. I’m going to tell God I’m sorry before I die.”
God, please don’t let her die in my house, Tabitha silently prayed.
AUNT TWEET WAS THE entertainer. Her life experiences and intellect as they watched Jeopardy captivated Marcus.
He was also in tune to Tabitha. The saltiness of her tear was still on his lips. He had thrown caution to the wind at signs of her distress. At least she didn’t slap him. He grinned.
Without skipping a beat of Aunt Tweet’s chatter, he had gotten up and checked on Tabitha who was working feverishly. She seemed like she belonged in his study, in his house, and in his life. Dating had to be a possibility between them. He couldn’t let her to walk away.
She gnawed on her shapely lips when she was concentrating. Her dark brown hair was a perfect match to her flawless skin that was free of makeup. The ponytail added to her innocence. When she yawned, he couldn’t help, but stifle one too. By his third trip to check on her, she began to rub her eyes. It was time to call it a night—for her sake.
He knocked to announce his presence. Looking up, she smiled, but the tiredness in her eyes verified she needed her rest.
“Come in. Oh—” she snickered—“it’s your office.”
“Which you can use any time.” Sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, he studied her. Marcus had never asked a woman to leave, so this was a first, especially when he selfishly wanted her to stay, so they could talk. “Your aunt is nodding, and I think you need to get some rest too. Aren’t you glad I drove?” He grinned.
“Yes, it’s a long way to my house,” she joked, then stretched gracefully. “It’s early for me, but I do need to get Aunt Tweet to bed.” She started packing up her things. “Marcus,” she paused. “Thank you for letting us invade your space and time.”
“You’re more than welcome. See, I know how to take care of the caregiver.” He chuckled, and she joined him as they headed to his family room. Aunt Tweet was nowhere in sight. He began to panic.
“Where is she?” Tabitha raced to the front door to look out—nothing.
“She was just sitting in there. You look down here. I’ll check upstairs.”
“I doubt she would’ve climbed the stairs. They’re getting hard on her knees.” Tabitha wandered into his kitchen.
He hurried upstairs anyway. She wasn’t in his weight room or his master bedroom. Opening the third bedroom door, he found her in a fetal position, asleep. Putting his hands on his belt, he grunted in disbelief. He scooped her up in his arms and slowly walked downstairs.
“I found her,” he said as loud as he could with waking her.
“Upstairs? Is she okay?” Not waiting for an answer, Tabitha rushed to him with emotions of relief, anger, and helplessness flas
hing across her face. He was sure if he had extra arms, she would have collapsed in them, after examining her aunt for herself.
“I owe you an apology, I didn’t know she could move that fast.”
She nodded. “Welcome to my world.”
“Grab my keys. I’ll carry her to the car.” While she did as he asked, Marcus couldn’t help but wonder if Aunt Tweet was really suffering from confusion and memory loss, or playing a game and winning.
Chapter 15
A
few days later, Marcus had returned from a late lunch with a client when there was a knock. “Come in.”
Latrice, Victor’s ex-girlfriend, stuck her head inside his office. He waved her in, and immediately noticed her demeanor as he nodded for her to have a seat. If she quit this time, he wouldn’t rehire her.
“Mr. Whittington,” she said hesitantly, then swallowed, “I need a favor.”
He lifted a brow, linked his hands together, then leaned across the desk and waited.
Fumbling with her fingers, she wouldn’t look at him. Her lips trembled as she uttered, “Victor...is in jail...”
Again? he silently added. When tears filled her eyes, he shifted in his seat. Oh boy. He wasn’t immune to tears.
Sniffing, she bowed her head. When she glanced up, her cheeks were wet. Oh man. He grabbed a fistful of tissues and handed them to her.
“Thank you.” She dabbed her eyes. She swallowed and took a deep breath. “Please, Mr. Whittington. We don’t have any money. Can you put up bail money for him to get out?”
“What?” Marcus roared as he shot up from his chair. Was she crazy? Seeing her flinch made him regain his composure and take his seat. This time, he took a deep breath. “Latrice, I like you as a person and enjoy seeing your boys.” He paused. “There are no polite words to describe my sentiments toward Victor.”
On numerous occasions, he had gone out of his way to help his ex-employee with groceries, co-pay for one of his boy’s doctor visits, and most recently last month, a loan to buy Latrice a gift for Mother’s Day. Marcus considered his gestures an investment in people. “When I’ve tried to help him, he threw it back in my face. Not only do I not choose to help him this time, I doubt he’d want my charity.” He grunted, disgusted with himself for trying to pay it forward. There were so many choice words he could repeat at the moment. “Did he put you up to this?”
“No...God did,” she said softly. “I don’t know if you’re a praying man...”
“I am.” Who in their right mind didn’t pray? If not at bed time, or over a plate of food, most definitely in a jam. Victor get busy.
“Do you listen?” She cast him a hopeful expression.
Latrice had him there, but no way was he going to fess up. When he didn’t answer, she proceeded. “I cried and prayed and asked God for mercy. I didn’t sleep all night. This morning, I heard Him while I was feeding the boys. The Lord said to come to you.”
Great. Marcus didn’t know if he believed her. “God hasn’t told me anything. I thought you and Victor split anyway.”
“We did, but I still love him—from afar. I have two little boys who need their mother and father, whether we’re in the same household or not.”
“I can’t come to Victor’s rescue this time. He’s on his own. Sorry,” he said with finality in his voice that the conversation was over.
She seemed slow to accept his answer. When it sunk in, she graciously thanked him, then quietly left his office. If she had put up a fight, he wouldn’t have felt bad. Rubbing his head, Marcus exhaled. He pushed Victor’s custody status to the back of his mind. The man was officially a repeat offender, but that had been his choice. On the other hand, Latrice’s plea nagged him throughout the day. The next day too.
Friday couldn’t come fast enough. That afternoon while Marcus was making plans to hang out with Demetrius later downtown, his cell rang. Tabitha. “Hey.” He grinned and turned away from his brother.
“I need a favor,” she said in a frantic voice.
His senses went on alert. “You’ve got it. What is it?”
“I’m behind on making my physician visits. I have to see this doctor today before he leaves for vacation, which means I’m not going to be able to get Aunt Tweet before six.” She paused. “I wouldn’t ask, but I have no one else.”
His heart twisted, waiting for her to tell him what she needed. “Don’t worry about that.”
“I’m not trying to take advantage of your kindness.”
“Talk to me. I don’t have anything special planned.” He heard Demetrius clear his throat. Marcus ignored him. Tabitha gave him the name of the adult care facility and the latest time Aunt Tweet had to be picked up. “Thanks for calling me.”
“Thank you.” He didn’t miss the relief in her voice. “I’ll call Bermuda Place and let them know you’re coming.”
When the call ended, he turned around. Demetrius had his arms folded and a scowl on his face. “Nothing planned, huh? What am I, invisible?” He huffed. “Don’t tell me, the neighbor again.” He swore, then spat, “You’re a sucker when it comes to women.”
His brother didn’t know the half of it, like Marcus babysitting, so Tabitha could get some work done. “Watch it. Besides, one look at her and you would be a sucker too.” His attraction was beyond looks. It was a magnetism that made him want to know more about her. ‘Now,” he said, lifting his keys off his desk, “if you’ll excuse me, I can’t keep a lady waiting.”
When Marcus arrived at the adult care facility, he advised the receptionist who he was and who he was going to pick up. Once he showed his license, another woman escorted Aunt Tweet to the lobby.
“Look who’s here to get you,” the staff member said.
“That’s my son.” Aunt Tweet smiled and lifted her cheek for a kiss.
He delivered, thanked the staff, and walked her to his car. Once behind the wheel, he teased her. “So, I’m your son, huh?” He chuckled.
She nodded and matched his chuckle.
Was she playing games with him? During her game shows, Aunt Tweet was an intellectual powerhouse. Other times, her memory was fuzzy.
He drove away, thinking about his grandparents and parents. Their mental health was good. What about him and the woman who would be his soulmate? Marcus planned to wake up with her every morning and kissing her good night. He shivered at the thought of losing recognition of the most important person in his life—his wife.
I HAD NO CHOICE BUT to call Marcus, Tabitha told herself. She was desperate for help as she waited impatiently in the lobby of the office of Dr. Aaron Bernstein. He was a highly sought-after expert on Type 2 diabetes treatment. She was hyped about this drug, because it truly would benefit patients who dreaded the daily insulin injections.
If Dr. Bernstein had been her last appointment, she might have made it from South County to North County to get her aunt. There was no way now. She had two more stops to doctors who had requested samples of Nalox for sinusitis.
When the door opened, Tabitha stood, ready to sing the praises of Dyabolin. She blinked, recognizing her former coworker and sales rep, Evan Carter, as he stepped out. When he saw her, he grinned and headed toward Tabitha.
Keena Johnson, the head nurse or Dr. Bernstein’s gatekeeper, motioned her finger to wait. She remembered Tabitha as a rep for Pfizer. In addition to the samples Tabitha brought to the office, she toted bagels for the staff. “Right after his next patient,” Keena said.
“Okay.” Tabitha exhaled.
“What are you doing here?” Evan asked and gave her a hug before she could blink. When it came to male acquaintances, she wasn’t a hugger, so she stepped back. She preferred to maintain a professional protocol with the old handshake. Of course, Marcus had been the exception to her rule, she mused. He had not only brushed his lips on her hand, but her cheek too. Secretly, she hoped there would be a next one on her lips.
Thinking about the possibility made her smile. Evan, evidently, thought it was for him “Same as you. I�
��m with Ceyle-Norman now.”
“Ouch.” He gave her a look of pity. “I heard you quit, which was a shocker. I know that was a pay cut. Why?”
Not that he deserved an answer, but Tabitha didn’t want him to think she had gotten fired because she didn’t meet her sales quota. “My sisters and I are taking turns to care for our aunt. Traveling wasn’t an option.”
“They have some great nursing homes.”
“I’m sure, but I’d rather not leave my aunt in the hands of people I don’t trust.” She swallowed. She had to trust Marcus to call him, right? Yes, she did trust him with her most precious cargo.
He nodded. “So, what are you pedaling?”
She hated that term, as if pharmaceutical reps were drug dealers. “Dyabolin—”
The door opened, and the nurse waved her forward. “You’ve got seven minutes.”
“Great. Take care, Evan.” Tabitha picked up her case and disappeared behind the door.
Keena directed her to the first office. Dr. Bernstein stood from behind his desk and extended his hand, then offered her a seat. She didn’t waste any time. “Thank you for seeing me,” she began her spiel. “Dyabolin may be revolutionary for your diabetic patients who fear needles as a part of their treatment.”
Folding his hands, he leaned back in his chair. She recognized the look. He basically was challenging her to convince him.
“Dyabolin isn’t insulin, but it helps the body continuously release its natural insulin to maintain blood sugar for seven days.” Tabitha knew it sounded too good to be true, but results from the clinical trial had proven successful.
“What are the active ingredients and the timeframe for stabilization in the blood stream?”
“Depending on a patient’s metabolism, it could take six to eight weeks before the medicine is effective, so they would have to be monitored closely.”