by Jan Moran
But Jimmy Don didn’t care. He planned to terminate their most experienced skincare specialists. “They’re too expensive,” he’d told her. Of course, those were Roper’s words. And probably Derrick’s, too. She remembered how he’d started grilling her about minor personal expenses.
Another sob wracked her body as guilt ripped through her soul. Others would soon lose their jobs, too.
The worst of it was that Scarlett had called her to say that Herringbone was demanding that she sign an agreement that would turn over all her intellectual property to Herringbone, including the products she’d been developing. She would be barred from working for competitors for five years, or selling to any retailer she’d ever been in contact with.
The final insult was that never again could she use her family name in skincare. Herringbone owned Valent. She choked as she wept.
Even her name belonged to Herringbone.
She allowed that some of the demands made sense to Herringbone, but it was terribly restrictive for a woman who had never done anything else, had studied and taught only this, and had committed her life to this cause.
As she thought of the restrictions against her future, another wave of anguish crushed her, and sent her stomach into spasms. She rushed into the bathroom, retching from the disgust and disdain she’d had to swallow, her body expunging the injustices from her system.
Afterward, she lay on the cold tiled floor, catching her breath, until once again, her body heaved against the cruelty that had been visited upon her. Her life, as she knew it, was over.
Again and again as the night drew on her body purged itself of the evil she’d ingested, until finally Verena lay weakened and spent on the hard surface, feeling as if her soul had been shredded from her body.
Even then, the solace of sleep eluded her guilt ravaged mind.
She was still awake when the morning sun began streaming through the bathroom window. Footsteps pounded across the wooden floor and the door banged open.
“Verena, come quickly.” Anika was frantic. She pulled on Verena’s arm. “It’s Mia, her chest hurts. You have to come right now.”
Verena scrambled to her feet and raced through the house; Anika ran behind her. In Mia’s bedroom, Bella sat holding a glass of water for her grandmother.
“It’s my, my…heart,” Mia managed to say, her eyes widening as she clutched her chest and crumpled over.
21
A sharp antiseptic smell assaulted Verena’s nose and she shivered in the frigid air conditioning. She paced the length of the waiting room, her chest riddled with anxiety, her rubber soled flip-flops squeaking on the polished linoleum floor. Anika and Bella were curled up in bright orange chairs, sleeping. They’d refused to stay at home.
Mia had been whisked from the ambulance and taken directly in for evaluation and stabilization. At one point the doctor had come out to discuss bypass surgery, if Mia were strong enough to survive it. Verena learned that Mia had been assigned to one of the best cardiac doctors in the world, Dr. Omondi, who’d trained at Harvard Medical School.
Verena had called Mia’s closest friend, Camille, and alerted Mia’s sister in Switzerland, their great aunt Lara.
Now all she could do was wait and pray for Mia.
She hadn’t slept at all last night, overcome with anguish at the horrible turn of events at the company. Mia had tried to console her, but in the end, her grandmother had suffered the ultimate price for Herringbone’s treachery.
Every part of her body ached with sorrow. She would never forgive herself, but the real perpetrator was Herringbone—Roper, Derrick, and Jimmy Don. Their sociopathic greed might have cost Mia her life. And for that, they would pay.
Verena didn’t have it in her to exact the full measure of revenge they deserved, but she prayed that somehow Mia’s beloved concept of karma would ensnare them. Verena had to believe that justice would be done, if not by courts of law, then by virtue of universal righteousness. Her father used to say, what goes around, comes around.
At times like this, she wished her parents were still alive. But the three siblings took care of one another. That morning, Verena had thrown on work-out gear and flip-flops before running out the door with them to follow the ambulance to the hospital. Anika, always the protective one, had asked a nurse for a toothbrush, toothpaste, and comb for Verena. Bella had visited the vending machine and brought back granola bars and fruit juice for all of them.
Verena placed her hands on her sisters’ chests to check their breathing. This routine brought her a measure of comfort, but in an instant, panic seized her again. What if Mia died? Verena choked back a sob.
She prayed Anika and Bella would not be robbed of their grandmother, not yet.
Verena sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. She was glad they’d gone to Europe. If this were the end for Mia, then at least her grandmother had accomplished her goal of introducing the twins to their heritage and cousins in Switzerland.
Not knowing anything was the worst of it. Other visitors had come and gone in the waiting room, but the three of them remained.
“Verena?”
She slid her hands from her face. “Camille, it’s good to see you.” Tears welling in her eyes, she struggled to her feet and hugged her grandmother’s dearest friend.
“It’s alright, ma cherie, let it out. You’ll feel better.” Camille patted her back, murmuring words of support. “I’m trying to reach Dahlia, but I brought another friend, Pierre Chevalier.” Camille turned as a smartly dressed man walked into the room.
“We’ve met,” Verena said. “How are you?”
Pierre kissed her on each cheek in greeting. “Nice to see you again, Verena. I only wish the circumstances were better.”
As they spoke, the twins began to stretch and yawn.
“Any word yet on her condition?” Camille asked, keeping her voice low.
“She’s in surgery.” Verena threw a look at the twins, and whispered, “I hope Mia is strong enough to withstand the procedure.”
Verena was relieved to see Camille, who had always been like an aunt to her. If Mia didn’t survive, Camille could help her break it to the twins. It would be the most difficult thing she’d ever had to do. She couldn’t even think about that. Dear Lord, please don’t take her yet.
Camille put her arm around Verena. “We all have a limited number of days on earth, but Mia is a survivor. She’s endured several bouts with cancer and emerged victorious. She has an indefatigable will to live.”
Verena leaned into Camille, drawing strength from her force of will, taking comfort in the familiar perfume that Camille had blended, which permeated the stylish, nubby wool jacket she wore. Camille was a survivor of the Second World War, and had met Mia after escaping to America. Verena wondered what Mia and Camille had been like then, two young women who had become friends. Verena thought about Dahlia, Scarlett, and Fianna. They were probably a lot like us.
Anika and Bella woke and rubbed their eyes. “Is Mia okay?” Anika asked.
“Soon,” Verena said, casting a pained look at Camille.
Pierre cleared his throat. “There’s a decent cafeteria here. Would anyone like to join me?”
The twin scrambled to their feet. “May we?” they asked Verena.
“Of course. I’ll stay here,” Verena said, nodding her appreciation to Pierre. Something about him reminded her of Emile, the grandfather the twins had never known.
Pierre said, “We’ll bring something back to you, dear. You’ve kept a long vigil.”
Verena watched them leave, each girl holding one of Pierre’s hands. She turned to Camille and they sat down. “I’m awfully worried about Mia. And there’s something I have to tell you.” She cast her eyes away in shame, fidgeting as she spoke. “I lost the business, Camille. My grandmother’s company. Mia tried to comfort me, but she’s the one who suffered the most. I did this to her.” A sob broke from her chest. “It’s my fault.”
Camille placed her hands on V
erena’s shoulders. “No, no, no, ma cherie. Mia called me last night, told me everything. It’s that avaricious weasel, Thomas Roper, who did this. He’s immoral, ill-mannered, and utterly rapacious; I have always despised that reprehensible little man.” She expressed a puff of air between her perfectly drawn lips in disgust.
“You know him?”
Camille nodded. “But I didn’t realize Derrick was in partnership with him. When you first started dating, Mia told me he was in some sort of banking.” Her gaze slid away in remembrance. “Years ago, he ruined another woman I knew, a good friend. Stole her business, and then spun it off later to make millions.”
“What happened to her?”
Camille pursed her lips and sighed. “She died, I’m afraid.”
A chill crept over Verena. “I was much younger, but I think I remember this story. She committed suicide, didn’t she?”
Camille bowed her head. “Yes,” she said, and then raised her eyes. “But you and Mia are much stronger than she was.”
Verena moistened her lips. Are we?
Several hours later when the cardiac surgeon emerged from surgery, her face was grim. Verena and Camille rose from their chairs. Verena clutched Camille’s thin, veined hand, surprised at the strength of the older woman’s grasp, though she was widely known for her iron will. As Verena braced herself, she realized there was no one she would rather have by her side. “How is Mia?”
“Your grandmother put up an amazing fight.” Dr. Omondi pulled off her cotton cap and shook her head, her short, curly black and grey hair spiking at the crown. “She’s resting in intensive care now, where we can continue to monitor her.”
Verena gasped. The sudden dissipation of stress rendered her weak, and her legs buckled like jelly. She dropped onto a chair, still clutching Camille’s hand. “When can we see her?”
“Soon, but limit the visit to a few minutes. She’s weak and needs her recovery time.”
“May I take the girls in?” Verena asked. They were still with Pierre.
The doctor nodded. “Mia talked about them quite a bit. I think it will be good for her to see them. You can all go in, but no excitement, and keep it brief.”
Verena hardly heard the rest of what the doctor had to say before she left. She tilted her head back against the wall, expelling pent up emotions.
Camille crossed herself and murmured a soft prayer of thanks. Verena echoed her words under her breath, limp from the ordeals of the past twenty-four hours, and then hugged Camille.
Pierre returned with Anika and Bella, and Verena shared the good news about Mia’s survival. As he’d promised, Pierre returned with a club sandwich and an apple, and Verena devoured the food with gusto.
When they were allowed to see Mia, they crept in on silent feet. Mia’s face—nearly as pale as the white blanket that covered her—lit with joy when she saw them. An assortment of tubes and wires connected her to several monitoring devices that hummed and beeped in the background.
A nurse said, “We just removed her breathing tube. She’ll be hoarse.”
Verena sat beside her. “Grand-mère Mia,” she said softly, reverting to the name she’d used as a girl for her grandmother, before she became simply ‘Mia’ to her and the twins. She pressed her lips against Mia’s cool brow, a sob of regret cracking her voice. “I’m so sorry—”
“Wasn’t…your fault.” Mia moved her head slightly.
Verena motioned to Anika and Bella to come forward, and the girls took turns, wide-eyed and solemn, caressing Mia’s hand and kissing her cheek.
After a few minutes, Anika and Bella left the room, while Camille traded places with them.
“Cold,” Mia murmured.
Camille pulled a blanket from the foot of the bed to Mia’s chest and tucked the sides around her. “If that’s not enough, I’ll have another one brought in.”
Verena watched them and thought of how close she was to her own friends. Her grandmother and Camille had been friends for sixty years—they’d cared for one another through crises and celebrations, love and loss. They were survivors; soft and feminine on the outside, but with spines tough as steel when required. These women, they were her tutors in life. Verena lifted a corner of her mouth. Who better to learn from?
The cardiac surgeon walked in, clipboard in her hand. “How’s my valiant patient?” Dr. Omondi checked Mia. “You’re a real fighter, Mia Valent.”
Mia lifted her head. “What’s…that…your arm?”
Dr. Omondi pushed her sleeve up, revealing a fresh scar on her deep caramel-colored skin. “Burned myself in the kitchen, where I met up with a hot skillet,” she said with a chuckle. “Was trying to make some of my native Kenyan dishes for my in-laws. Even docs have accidents, you see.”
“Pretty skin…I have serum…no scarring.” Mia’s eyes flashed even as she struggled to speak.
Verena hastened to her side. “Mia, it’s okay.”
“Need serum. Bring…here.” Mia was adamant.
“Your personal serum?” Verena leaned in close.
Mia nodded, and pointed to the doctor’s scar. “Return the…favor.” A smile wreathed her smooth face and she closed her eyes.
“She needs her rest now.” The doctor turned to Verena with interest. “What’s this about a serum?”
“My grandmother started Valent Swiss Skincare. She’s spent her life caring for people’s skin.” Verena smoothed Mia’s hair. “She wants you to use her special serum, one she blended years ago. We never carried it in the salon, because it couldn’t be mass produced. It’s truly incredible.”
“Your grandmother is quite a woman.” Dr. Omondi lifted a corner of her mouth and made a note on her chart. “She’s sedated, but make sure she rests. This is a critical period in her recovery.”
Camille squeezed Mia’s hand before she left. “I’ll try to call Dahlia again,” she said to Verena.
Verena stayed for a few more minutes, watching to make sure that Mia was breathing steadily, and praying that she would make it through the long night ahead.
The lunch rush was over and Lance surveyed the kitchen, directing his team and listening to comments about new seasonal dishes they’d recently added to the menu. He had a few minutes to prepare notes before his meeting with the head of catering about an important VIP wedding menu. Quail, lobster, rack of lamb…ideas whirred in his mind. This was the creative part of his job that he enjoyed the most.
His sous-chef called out to him, nodding toward the door to the adjoining dining room. “Chef, you have a visitor.”
Lance looked up at the portly man. “Pretty busy here, can you take it?”
“I’d sure like to, that’s one fine lady, but she said she had to see you. Something about Valent?”
Lance snapped his attention toward his sous-chef. “A blond-haired woman?”
“No, dark hair, but she’s hot. And her perfume is fantastic. Oh là là.” He smacked his fingers against his lips in the French fashion.
“You should be so lucky,” Lance said, laughing. Wondering who it might be, he ran a hand through his thick chestnut hair in an attempt to tame it. Have to make time for haircut.
He’d invited Verena for another Saturday morning bike ride and breakfast after he’d returned from Paris, and even offered to make his award-winning crab for her entire family, but she’d declined. Worse, she hadn’t returned a call from any messages he’d left. But he wasn’t giving up. He pushed through the door.
A petite woman who did, indeed, smell wonderful—like gardenias, he noted—swung around. “I’m Dahlia Dubois, a friend of Verena and Mia Valent. My grandmother, Camille Dubois, sent me here on a mission of mercy. Do you have a moment?”
22
“A heart attack is nothing compared to the cancer treatments I went through,” Mia said, shifting in her hospital bed so that she could complete her skincare regimen. After showing satisfactory progress during the night, she’d been moved from the intensive care unit to a semi-private room the next morning.
“Don’t downplay this incident,” Verena said, scolding her grandmother. “And be careful with those tubes hooked up to you.”
The life had returned to Mia’s face. Verena had brought Mia’s facial cleansers and moisturizers to the hospital, along with other personal items to make her feel more comfortable. Dahlia and Camille had visited earlier, and had brought an assortment of Dubois scented hand creams, dusting powder, perfumes, and sachets.
Verena had also brought roses from Mia’s garden, and the assortment of apricot, yellow, and pink blossoms filled the air with their delicate sweet scent, masking the antiseptic smell. She’d also plugged in spa music that they’d played at the salon to create a soothing oasis.
The door to Mia’s hospital room swung open and her cardiac doctor walked in. “And how are you today, Mrs. Valent?” Dr. Omondi smiled as she checked Mia. “Your color is good.” She scrutinized Mia’s eyes and face. “You have the most amazing skin.”
“Why, thank you.” Mia smiled up at her doctor. “Now, about that burn you sustained. Verena, did you bring my serum with you?”
Verena withdrew an apothecary bottle from the bag she’d brought. “Here it is.”
“Good, I’ll take that. Dr. Omondi, do you mind? This is what I use on my face to keep my skin smooth and clear.” When the doctor nodded her acceptance, Mia went to work.
Verena smothered a chuckle as she watched her grandmother administering her healing serum to the doctor’s scar. She’s irrepressible.
Mia smoothed the serum onto Dr. Omondi’s arm, instructing the doctor on how to care for it. “I’ll give you this bottle, but be sure to follow my instructions exactly. I think you’ll be pleased with the results, and it won’t take long.”
Dr. Omondi thanked her and left to continue her rounds.
“You’re incorrigible. You should be resting, and instead you’re doctoring the doctors.” Verena had spent the night at the hospital, and when Camille and Dahlia arrived in the morning, she drove home to get supplies for Mia, snip her favorite flowers, and take a quick shower. She’d pulled on another pair of yoga pants and a tank top, brushed her hair into a ponytail, and returned to the hospital. At least I have plenty of time to spend with her now, she thought. She couldn’t imagine going to work or answering to Jimmy Don today.