Honest Betrayal

by Girard, Dara

  ***

  “Sure I can make this work,” Sara said. “But you’ll have to trust me. I’ll want information about the company, the clientele, goals etc...”

  “Miles can get it for you.” Brenna said.

  He glanced up from taking lint off his trousers and shrugged. He hadn’t said anything since they’d arrived.

  “That means yes. The focus will be this cane. It has a spring and adjusts to one’s weight, compensating for one’s gait. It doesn’t make a sound on hard surfaces which is a relief. It’s a revolutionary design.”

  Sara glanced at the cane then Brenna. “I had an announcer in mind for this but I know someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “You. You’ll look good on camera; you’re eloquent and know the product. And the fact that your husband created it will be a great angle.”

  Brenna inwardly rebelled. She’d spent her life behind a desk to hide that part of her and now they wanted to use it—use her—to sell products.

  “It will be perfect.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Miles stared. “You want Brenna to be the spokeswoman?”

  “She’s the best choice.”

  He groaned. “I can’t allow this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Hunter will kill me.”

  “When you’re selling a warehouse load of canes and other products he won’t mind.”

  Brenna nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  He shook his head with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man, but remained silent. He stood and looked around the office at pictures of successful campaigns and awards.

  Sara whispered. “I’m glad he at least has a pulse. I was afraid he was in a stupor.”

  Brenna leaned forward. “Interested?”

  She glanced at him. “I never thought I’d go for an older man.”

  “He’s in his mid-thirties, early gray.”

  Her eyes trailed the length of him. “Not bad looking.”

  “And smart, considerate. I can find out more.”

  She twirled her pen uncertain. “I may not be his type.”

  “You are,” Brenna said.

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s my job to know. Besides he kept trying to ignore you. You’ll have to make that hard.”

  A masculine voice cut in. “She doesn’t have to.”

  Both women turned to Miles who leaned against the desk. “I usually prefer pretty women, but I think you’ll do.”

  Sara narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like gray hair.”

  “So? I like red heads.”

  “I like brown eyes.”

  “I prefer gray.” He grinned. “Free for dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here’s my card.” He straightened, winked at Brenna then returned to looking at the awards that lined her walls.

  Sara frowned at his card. “What just happened?”

  “I think you just met your match.”

  The two women shared a smile.

  ***

  Two weeks later Brenna, Miles and Hunter sat in the conference room while Curtis beamed at them. He closed the marketing plan. “Hunter, it’s an excellent idea. I’m very pleased.”

  Hunter gripped his hands under the conference table, but maintained an impassive expression. He didn’t glance at Miles or Brenna.

  “Using Brenna as our spokeswoman is inspired.” He flashed her a smile. “Thank you, dear.”

  She returned the expression.

  He shifted his gaze to the man next to her. “And Miles I didn’t know you had some hidden marketing creativity in you.”

  Miles tried not to look ill, uneasy by the silence of his friend. “It’s nothing.”

  “This is the kind of thing I like to see. You three understand that Randolph is about teamwork, helping each other, stretching boundaries. I am proud.” He stood. “Feel free to leave early today. You deserve it.”

  He left; silence fell.

  Hunter’s quiet voice slipped through. “I ask you to take my wife out for lunch and the next thing I know I’m being congratulated for an idea I never had.”

  Miles cleared his throat. “Hunter, I—”

  “It’s a great idea,” Brenna said, prepared to stand up for him.

  Hunter took a deep breath, resting his arms on the table. “I didn’t marry you so that you could sell our products.”

  “Don’t worry. I know why you married me.”

  He shot her a glance, but said nothing.

  “You don’t have to agree,” she continued, hoping to convince him of the plan. “This is all out of your hands now. You should be thanking us for caring enough about your job to save it.”

  “You think it needed saving?”

  Miles spoke up. “We wanted to help.”

  “I was handling things.”

  “You were drowning and everyone knew it,” Brenna said. “No amount of late nights in the office and meetings were going to fix it. Now you can sulk if you want to or be gracious and give us credit.”

  He picked up a pen and stared at it. “I was handling things,” he repeated softly. “I had plans that I wanted to put into practice. Do you think I’m not qualified for the job?”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Is this Hunter speaking or his ego?”

  Their eyes locked in ready battle. “No, it’s your husband,” he was pleased with how cool he sounded although the voice didn’t sound like this own. “I need you to trust me.”

  There was a flicker of surprise then weariness. The expression pleased him. “I do trust you.”

  He continued in the same cool tone. “That’s why you asked me first?” he said sarcastic. “So that I wouldn’t have to sit in front of my father like an imbecile. You respected me so much that my opinion was of utmost importance to you. Correct?”

  “That’s not—”

  He held up a hand. “You don’t need to defend yourself. Your plan is excellent. You both make a great team.” He shot Miles a glance. “Congratulations.” He stood and gave a mocking bow. “However, I had plans of my own and you two got in my way.” He let his gaze fall, but the silence kept them still. “A fact that I find irritating.”

  “We didn’t mean—”

  His voice deepened. “This will never happen again.”

  Brenna spoke up. “Hunter—”

  His gaze captured hers with such fury she nearly bit her tongue. “This will never happen again,” he repeated.

  “No,” Miles said.

  Brenna shook her head.

  “Good.” He left.

  Miles groaned. “I think I would have preferred a fatal beating.”

  Brenna covered her eyes defeated. “He doesn’t understand. He always comes from another angle I never think of.” She let her hand fall. “We’re helping him and he sees it as a lack of respect.”

  Miles paused then said, “Did we respect his opinion?”

  “We didn’t ask for it.”

  He nodded grimly. “Exactly.”

  ***

  Stephen stared at the row of drain cleaners with growing anxiety. He needed something fast or the bathroom would flood. He could still hear Fiona shrieking after the toilet had overflowed. He selected one then set it back down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw an old man wearing worn tan slacks and a tweed jacket, ask a young man where the crackers were. He rudely brushed him aside. Stephen pretended to look at a can of cleaner hoping the man would ignore him. He didn’t.

  “Excuse me,” he said in a surprising baritone for man of slim build and many years. “Do you know where the crackers are?”

  He sighed. Did he look like he worked there? He glanced up at a sign and pointed. “Crackers are in aisle six.”

  “Six?” He looked at him with blank gray eyes. Not blind just unsure.

  “Yes. Six.”

  “Thank you.”

  He saw the man leave and head in the wrong direction.

  Stephen groaned, grabbed what he needed then went afte
r him. “Wait, it’s this way. Come on.”

  Once in aisle 6, the man looked at the row of choices like a startled animal. Stephen picked up a box. “What brand are you looking for?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m looking for something to go with this cheese.” He lifted the block of Brie out of his basket.

  “Oh. Well, my sister likes these. She puts ham and avocado and paste stuff on it.” Yea paste stuff that sounds really clever.

  But the man smiled. “That sounds good.” He put the box in the basket then looked at his list.

  Stephen tried to inch away. “Glad I could help. Enjoy your meal.”

  “Do you know where the wine is?”

  He sighed. “Follow me.” Once in the liquor section, the man stared at the row of bottles clueless.

  “Do you know what kind of wine would go with this cheese?” he asked.

  No, he didn’t and the fact that this guy thought a black man in faded jeans and a T-shirt that said: Lighting Rod would know anything about wine and cheese amazed him. Beer and hot dogs? Sure. Wine? No way. “Give me a minute.” He dialed Brenna. He saw a man frown at him and shrugged. Yea, now he was one of those idiots talking on the phone in a supermarket. Oh well. “Hi, Brenna. Do you know what kind of wine goes with um what was that...right...Brie cheese?”

  “You’re buying Brie? Have you forgotten where the cheese spray is?” She began to laugh.

  He frowned. “No. Will you answer the question?”

  “Brie cheese goes well with champagne. But it depends on where you got the cheese.”

  “At the store.”

  “The regular store?”

  His tone turned surly. “No, that special store on the planet Neptune.”

  “I prefer Venus.”

  “Stop being a wise—” He glanced at the man and censored his words. “Guy. Just tell me what’s wrong with the grocery store cheese.”

  “Unless you want cheese that tastes like wall paper paste go for Brick cheese in a regular grocery store. It’s excellent with grapes and apples—”

  “What kind of wine?”

  “Chardonnay. I think you could—”

  “Thanks.”

  “But you could—”

  “Bye.” He hung up and turned to the man. “I’d suggest you get Brick with—”

  “Chardonnay. I heard.” He gestured to the phone. “Girlfriend?”

  “No, sister.”

  The man nodded and picked up a bottle. “I had a sister. She’s gone now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He put the bottle back. “I’m not.” His eyes twinkled. “She was a pain in the ass.”

  They selected the wine then picked some fruit. At the cashier, the man fumbled through his few bills. The cashier looked annoyed so Stephen offered to pay for everything. The man feebly protested, but Stephen knew he was grateful. Once outside they parted ways. Stephen jumped in his truck and glanced at the clock. Fiona was probably going crazy by now. The image made him both smile and groan as he started the engine. She was going to kill him for being so long. He glanced up and saw the old man running for the bus. The bus passed him, leaving him in a cloud of black smoke. Too bad, Stephen thought as he pulled out of his parking space. The next bus wouldn’t arrive for a half hour. Probably even longer considering Murphy’s Law about cold days. He gripped the steering wheel then swore. He couldn’t leave him. Damn his bleeding heart. He drove up to the bus stop where people huddled in dark colored coats, while puffs of air escaped them as they breathed.

  He rolled down the window. “How far do you live?”

  “Few blocks.”

  “I could give you a lift.”

  The man smiled and opened the door. He climbed in as eager and trusting as a child. Stephen found it a bit unnerving, but was glad to help. “Thank you.”

  Stephen nodded then caught glimpse of a woman scowling and eyeing him as though she might have to identify him in a line up one day. He smiled and waved; her frown increased.

  On the drive to his home, the man told Stephen his name was Percy Seaborn. He’d been a teacher for thirty years at a Vermont private school. He’d been married twice: divorced once and widowed once. A daughter had died in a car crash at thirty-six and he had a son who hadn’t spoken to him in five years. He continued talking as they pulled up to a little gray and white house. One of the few original homes that hadn’t been swallowed up by new development. Enormous half million dollar houses nearly swallowed up the neighborhood. Stephen helped the man take his bags inside and rested them on the kitchen table. It was a clean but dark house with furniture from the fifties with a well worn but functional green couch and orange carpeting. In the kitchen he saw light brown standing water in the sink. He looked around, his mind brimming with ideas of how to brighten the space. A nice lamp in the living room and recess lighting in the kitchen would help.

  He watched Percy put his purchases away and wondered what he was celebrating. Did he live alone now? Was he going to invite a friend over or was it a treat for himself? He shrugged it was none of his business.

  Percy handed him a few bills. Stephen waved them off. “It was no problem.”

  He shoved the money back in his wallet. “Aren’t too many people like you around nowadays. What’s your name?”

  “Stephen Garrett.”

  He shook his hand. “Thanks young man. I’ll remember this day always.”

  Stephen shrugged then left.

  At home, Fiona met him at the door with a loud shriek. “Where have you been?!”

  Stephen slipped out of his jacket and tossed it on a chair. “There was this old man—”

  She waved her hands. “I don’t want to hear it. I’ve been waiting forever. Everything is soaked.”

  He fixed the toilet then cleaned up the mess. Once finished, he sat at the table as Fiona read a magazine and ate a bowl of chips.

  “His name was Percy,” he said.

  She grabbed a chip. “Who?”

  “The man I helped.”

  “Oh,” she said without interest.

  “He lives in this nice little house, but the plumbing is awful and the lighting terrible.”

  “Yea, a lot of old people live that way.”

  Stephen rested his forearms on the table. “Not out of choice.”

  “I’m sure he has family that looks out for him.”

  “I’m wondering if I could help.”

  Fiona glanced up suspicious. “How?”

  “I could work on the place. Maybe even get one of the guys to help with the plumbing.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Do you think he’ll pay you?”

  “He probably couldn’t afford to pay me.”

  She looked at him curious. “Then why do it? You’d have to pay for all the supplies and just think of all the hours wasted.” She stood and kissed him on the head. “You’re sweet, but impractical. You don’t even know him.”

  “He seemed nice and—”

  “Everyone seems nice to you.” She wrapped her arms around him. He leaned against her, rubbing his cheek against her arms. She smelled good. “I’m glad you have me to keep you out of trouble. You’d give away half your time. It’s not as though you’re rich enough to do that. Now what do you want for dinner?”

  He drew away. “I’m not hungry.”

  She straightened. “Are you sure?”

  Stephen rested his palms on the table and looked up at her. “I think I could help him,” he said more certain. “It wouldn’t take long. I could —”

  Fiona placed her hands on her hips. “Want to know what I think? I think it’s a stupid idea to help some old man you hardly even know. I bet you he wouldn’t even want your help. He has his pride. He’s not a charity case. Someone to help you make yourself feel better.”

  His tone tightened. “I’m not suggesting this to make me feel better.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh sure. I know you. You always start coming up with strange projects when you’re bored. Why can’t you take up pool or s
omething? You have ideas that never work. Remember that training course you took? A complete waste of time and money. I love you and I’m tired of seeing you get hurt. So please leave this alone.” She patted him on the shoulder then headed for the kitchen. “Now I’m going to make your favorite soup okay? While I’m doing that give that cat a bath will you?”

  The cat was named Lillian and she hated the flea dip, but endured it with cat dignity. To make up for the ordeal, Stephen took her for a ride. Lillian loved to travel, he’d discovered that when he first brought her home. She cried in the carrier so he let her out to see if she was hurt. Instead she crawled out and sat on the seat and began grooming herself. He began to drive and she jumped to the floor of the truck and fell asleep. He eventually created a harness for her because Lillian sometimes liked to climb on the door and look out the window. He didn’t want her to get hurt.

  “I think she’s wrong,” Stephen said to the cat. “I think I could help him. It will have to be a secret of course. Can you keep a secret?”

  Lillian looked at him, blinked then turned back to the window.

  A smile tugged at his mouth. “Yea, I agree.”

  ***

  The next weekend, he knocked on Percy’s door, listening to the sound of the melting snow, dripping from the rafters. He caught a glance of the neighbor a neat looking man who hurried into his house after sending Stephen a suspicious look. Stephen knocked on the door again. As he stood on the porch, he rehearsed what he would say. He’d offer to help him install a fixture or two nothing fancy. It was up to Percy to say no.

  Percy peered out the door suspicious. “Hello?”

  Stephen shoved his hands in his back jeans pockets. “Hi, um I’m Stephen Garrett. I’ve been thinking about your house and—”

  He frowned. “It’s not for sale.”

  “No, I’m an electrician and I see your house is kinda dark. I could help with some—”

  “I’m fine.” He began to close the door.

  “It wouldn’t cost you anything,” he said quickly. “Actually, if you give me some time I bet I could at least fix your sink in the kitchen. You shouldn’t have standing water like that.”

  Percy hesitated then opened the door wider. “Why would you want to help me?”

  Stephen shrugged. “Nothing better to do.” He took out his wallet and handed him his card. He remembered Brenna insisting he get one and now was glad. “Here’s my card. As I said it won’t cost you anything. You can check me out if you want. I encourage that you do.”