Blindsided

by Karis Walsh

  She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under the blanket she had brought for the dogs to lie on, since the floor could get cold during the flight. She burrowed her toes beneath the comforting weight of Baxter and wondered when the drink cart would begin its trek down the aisle. She pulled out her earbuds and felt for the port on her armrest.

  “Pickwick, stop that!” Cara said for the hundredth time since they had boarded. Lenae sighed again. It was going to be a long five hours.

  “What’s he doing wrong?” she asked. So far, she had been impressed by Pickwick’s behavior. He had been curious but not afraid as they had gone through the long process of security checks and waiting at the gate and boarding. Sea-Tac had been crowded, of course, but he had seemed unfazed by the new experience. Exactly what she’d hope for from a guide-dog candidate. Cara, on the other hand, might need a sedative.

  “He keeps jumping up to look out the window.”

  “So, let him. He’ll get bored soon and settle down. This has been a busy morning for him, and he’ll probably sleep most of the flight.” Lenae hoped Cara might do the same thing. She had been tense and irritable since her father’s call the day before. Lenae assumed it was because she was nervous about performing well on tomorrow’s show, but she didn’t believe there was any cause for concern. Cara came alive when she was being filmed. Everything about her was bright and beautiful, and tomorrow the whole nation would have a chance to witness her transformation. She’d be a success.

  Lenae put her hand on Cara’s forearm and moved until she found Cara’s hand. “You’ll be great. Don’t worry. Are you shredding your boarding pass?”

  Cara looked at her lap and saw the bits of paper. “Yes. Luckily we don’t have a connecting flight.” She turned her hand over and interlaced her fingers with Lenae’s. Pickwick put his forepaws on her knees and looked at her with his usual unperturbed puppy grin, as if he couldn’t believe what an adventure they were having. “And I’m not worried. I just don’t want to do this.”

  All right, part of her did want to do the morning show. Part of her was thrilled because she had been noticed, had gotten approval. Had been asked to fly across the country and appear on national television. But those parts were the ones she had fought against her whole life. She did her public television show because she wanted to raise awareness of people who were doing good in the world. How had one segment about a guide-dog center turned into a promotional campaign for her own career? And she liked it. What further proof did she need that she had no more genuine depth than anyone else in her family?

  Cara squeezed Lenae’s hand and then pulled away to stop Pickwick as he tried to crawl under the seat in front of her. Lenae hadn’t wanted to be here, but Cara had dragged her along. She had debated with her for over an hour about the merits of being on the show and doing a short demonstration with Baxter. Lenae had argued she needed local exposure, but not necessarily national. She had been less able to refute Cara’s claim that the show would be a great addition to any grant application. But Cara’s main reason for insisting she come was because she couldn’t imagine flying alone with Pickwick, without Lenae’s unruffled help and logic. Lenae had been calm and unbothered by the ordeal of traveling with Pickwick, and Cara was amazed by her ability to remain serene not just when dealing with the details of flying with dogs in tow, but despite all the humans along the way.

  Cara hadn’t fully appreciated before this what life was like for Lenae. There were people who tried to help and guide her by grabbing her arm and dragging her along. Some spoke slowly to her as if she wasn’t a highly intelligent and capable woman, while others shouted as if she was hard of hearing. Even worse were the ones who addressed their comments to Cara, ignoring Lenae completely. Cara wanted to slap the attendant who came by and reached for Lenae’s seat belt, explaining in excruciating detail how to adjust the straps.

  “How do you stand it?” she asked when the flight attendant left, turning the conversation away from her pitiful bid for media attention and onto Lenae.

  “I just keep reminding myself you have a big performance tomorrow, and you’re usually not this annoying.”

  “Ha-ha. You know what I meant. And I’m not being annoying.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” Lenae said with a smile. She patted Cara’s knee. “I do know what you mean. I’ve lived with this sort of unwelcome help my entire life, from people who don’t seem to recognize me as a functioning human being. It’s part of my life—not a good part, but not something that will change anytime soon. It’s easy to notice the boorish or ignorant attitudes, but if you really pay attention you’ll find there are people who are much more respectful and thoughtful. The small gestures, like the woman who checked our boarding passes at the gate and arranged for our bags to be stowed for us, or the man at the ticket counter who called ahead to the gate so they’d be ready for us. Those can be overlooked if you only concentrate on the obnoxious people.”

  Cara shook her head. She wasn’t convinced she’d be able to have such a good outlook if she were in Lenae’s place. “I hate having people do things for me. Favors I don’t want, but then am expected to repay. Ulterior motives. Like my dad pushing for me to do the news show and now this morning show.”

  “Two different worlds,” Lenae said. “Most of the people who are too intrusive when they help me are genuinely trying to do something good, although sometimes I’m sure they want to look admirable by having others see them assisting the poor blind woman. But in showbiz, you’re expected to have the attitude of reciprocity. You scratch my back—”

  “I’ll scratch your eyes out.”

  Lenae laughed, but it sounded more cynical than humorous. “Been there. Three-N was notorious for backstabbing and information leaks.”

  “Is that why you left?”

  Lenae leaned closer to Cara as the crowd of boarders pushed into her space. She put her leg protectively between Baxter and the aisle. “One incident in particular,” she said. Too private to share. “But you’re doing fine on your own. You have Around the Sound and your teaching job. Your father might have prompted these new opportunities, but for the most part you’re making it on your own.”

  Lenae heard Cara’s breathing change its rhythm. “Actually, I’m not. The show hardly pays anything, and I only teach part-time. I use the money I inherited from my grandmother to support myself in those two careers. So I’m still cashing in on the Bradley name, even if I’m not featured nightly on some high-profile show.” Was that shame Lenae heard in Cara’s voice? In this strong, talented, generous woman’s admission that she wasn’t entirely independent?

  “What’s wrong with that? She left the money to you, and you’re using it in a way that helps a lot of people. I researched your show before I agreed to do the segment, and you’ve brought some great organizations and individuals much-needed publicity. And you’re sharing your knowledge with students at a college focused on community and the environment. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You should be proud of what you do. Look at my center—I can’t keep it open without financial help from foundations and philanthropists. Does that mean I’m not doing something important, just because I’m not paying for it myself?”

  “Of course not. But it’s different. You’re actively improving the life of every person who gets one of your dogs. I’m just a pretty mouthpiece for some charities.”

  Lenae wondered at Cara’s use of the word pretty. She spit it out as if it was something vile. Beauty was obviously not simple for Cara, nor was her relationship with her family. Complex and personal. Lenae should stay out of Cara’s business, but she knew what Cara did when the cameras weren’t watching her. She devoted her time to Pickwick and her students, she made baskets of herbs and organized groups of volunteer gardeners and painters. Even when she could have brought cameras along to document her good deeds, she chose instead to do them quietly. “Not true. You’re making the world better in your own way, using your unique talents and assets. And you’re giving yo
ur time and energy to puppy walk Pickwick. Even though it started as a stunt for the news spot, you’re still doing something useful and worthwhile. And doing it very well.”

  “Not really,” Cara said. “He’s been chewing on your briefcase handle while we’ve been talking. I didn’t say anything because for once he was being quiet.”

  Lenae reached for her briefcase and pulled it away from Pickwick’s determined jaws. She took two bones out of the case and gave one to each dog. “Well, you usually do a good job with him. I’ll let this time slide because it’s been a tiring day.” The plane’s engines started up and Pickwick whined softly. Lenae felt Cara stiffen beside her and she distracted her with questions.

  “When did you start performing? Was it something your family encouraged, or something you chose to do?”

  Cara reached under her seat and found the bone Pickwick had dropped. She gave it back to him and was relieved when he took it without fuss, seemingly adapting to the whine of the engines. “I wouldn’t say there was much choice in it. I was on-screen before I could walk. Anytime there was a casting call, I’d be there with my mom or the nanny, in pigtails and frilly dresses or baby designer jeans and a tiny baseball hat—whatever the required dress was for the part. My parents knew how to play the game and how to present me for parts, so I got plenty of work as a child.”

  “I’m sure you had more to do with getting roles than you realized,” Lenae said.

  “Because I was pretty? That helped, but the family connections counted even more than looks. I didn’t understand most of my lines, and I often didn’t even know what I was supposed to be selling, but I knew one thing. My parents were proud of me when I got a part, we’d all go out to dinner together, and they’d talk to me about the role and run lines with me. I was thrilled when I was cast and devastated when I wasn’t.”

  “What were they like when you weren’t playing a part?” Lenae reached for Cara’s hand.

  Cara traced her fingers over Lenae’s palm and thought back to the times between ad campaigns. Her parents were usually focused on their own careers, going to auditions or traveling to film on location. Cara seemed to disappear between takes.

  “I seemed to fade out of their lives sometimes. I’d entertain myself by mimicking ads on television, practicing in case I had a chance at another part. Or I’d stay with my grandmother. She was a film actress, but she always seemed to find time to take me places. She never pushed me to act or pretended to take me on vacation when we were really going to an out-of-state audition.”

  Lenae squeezed Cara’s hand. Her own mother had been tough on her—for good reason, since she didn’t want Lenae growing up dependent or helpless—but there had never been any doubt of her love. Like Cara’s family, though, affection had been doled out when Lenae accomplished something, not handed out freely when she wasn’t earning it. “My mother was wonderful, but very achievement oriented. I understand what it’s like to feel that love is a reward, not a given.”

  “It’s lonely,” Cara said, with little inflection in her voice. “Things got worse when I was older. At first, it was easy to get by as a cute baby or pretty little toddler, but eventually I needed more skill to back up my looks. I started losing out on parts as often as I booked them. My parents encouraged me to get into journalism, and they even tried to get me to study meteorology in college so I could do the weather on the news.”

  Lenae had to laugh at the thought of Cara spending her life predicting cold fronts and rainstorms. “I can’t imagine you being satisfied with that kind of work,” she said. “You seem too devoted to causes.”

  “I interview people who are devoted to causes, like you are.”

  Lenae shook her head, wishing she could erase the undeserved note of self-denigration she heard in Cara’s voice. “You do more than that. And even though your parents pushed you into acting early, you seem energized by performing. It would exhaust me, but you really seem to enjoy it.”

  “I do. I hate to admit how much I love it, but it feels good to stand in front of a classroom or film one of my shows and know I’m reaching people with my words and expressions and gestures. I connect with the camera or with an audience, and it gives me a high I can’t explain. Even early on, my brother Richard and I used to hang a sheet in the backyard and make up plays about animals and fairy sprites. Richard had been reading Shakespeare with Dad, so most of our plays were knockoffs of A Midsummer Night’s Dream or The Tempest. We’d invite family and the neighbor kids, and it was a thrill to stand behind that old sheet and wait for my chance to go onstage.” Cara paused and leaned her shoulder against Lenae’s as if seeking comfort or reassurance. “I’m sure that sounds silly to you.”

  “Of course it doesn’t.” Lenae moved into the pressure from Cara’s shoulder while the plane bumped and jostled them as it taxied to the runway. “I loved the excitement of working at the news station, the times when my words seemed to flow, and I knew the viewers would understand what I was trying to say. I sometimes felt excited or proud of what I wrote, but that didn’t detract from the importance of the stories I told. I’d have loved to listen to one of your plays.”

  Cara frowned. The joy of those plays had been short-lived because once her parents recognized their interest and Richard’s talent, even the simple games they played suddenly had structure and rules and fancy sets. Scripts from modern plays replaced the imaginative and silly ad-libbed ones. And while Richard had handled the post-performance critique sessions with a sense of humor and an ability not to take every criticism personally, Cara’s love of performing had been tainted. Her brother had continued to move forward with his acting, not hesitating on the trajectory of a successful career. Cara’s feelings of self-worth had been too tied to her parents’ comments.

  “The plays weren’t anything special. I had fun, but I was never as good as Richard. Once my parents saw our interest in theater—amateur as it was—they stepped in and turned our games into training.”

  “But now you’ve found a way to be center stage while upholding your values. And because you’re having fun on-camera, you’re better able to express the optimism and hope in your stories.”

  Cara rested her head on Lenae’s shoulder as the plane lifted into the air. Pickwick slid against her shins with a thud during the steep incline, but he didn’t stop chewing on his bone. After Lenae’s words, Cara felt more at peace than she had in ages. She had always felt slightly dirty enjoying the limelight, as if she was selling herself out for fame, but Lenae noticed more to her than that. Someone worthy doing something worthwhile. Was it wrong of her to enjoy the attention? Or was Lenae right in saying that Cara’s enthusiasm for performing was a good and positive quality? Cara let the rumble of the engines and the steady chomp of dog teeth lull her toward sleep. She had always fought her attraction to performing. Maybe, just maybe, she could stop fighting and embrace that side of herself.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cara paced around the hotel room. There wasn’t much room for her to walk, especially since Pickwick insisted on being underfoot at all times.

  She finally stopped and sat on the bed. Pickwick jumped up and sat next to her, and she put her arm around him and rubbed one of his favorite spots, between his shoulder blades. For all her fretting, the flight had been an easy one because Lenae had been there to help, to reassure, to laugh even when Pickwick destroyed the leather handle of her briefcase. Cara hadn’t been much help to Lenae, but maybe that was for the best. Too many people had tried to help Lenae today, and she’d handled it with more poise than Cara would have been able to muster.

  Lenae had said she understood the intentions behind the often pushy and sometimes downright rude assistance she received, but Cara believed Lenae was more bothered than she admitted. How could anyone be treated as less than human and not have it affect her somehow? Lenae was proud, fought to be seen as independent. She must hate being treated as a visually impaired person instead of simply as a person. Cara didn’t have the same experiences, but
she had been on the receiving end of comments and actions that diminished her—made her seem nothing more than a Bradley, nothing more than the surface of her skin.

  Lenae’s understanding words had helped, but Cara still struggled with her ambivalent feelings about tomorrow’s morning show. She could have resisted more than she had or flatly refused to come, but she had been excited by the news. Torn. She didn’t want to leave her job at the college or her public broadcasting show—places where she could perform while still believing she was doing something useful and not merely being vain. She didn’t want to move her career into overdrive and face the cutthroat attitudes Lenae had dealt with at Three-N. But the idea of being interviewed on a national show and having a chance to prove she could hold her own with experienced media personalities thrilled her. She wasn’t sure why and wasn’t willing to think about what it might mean for her future if she enjoyed the spotlight more than she wanted.

  Cara stood abruptly and Pickwick toppled on his side. She picked up his blue training cape and—as he always did when he realized they were going somewhere—he whirled in circles so she had a difficult time fastening him into his outfit.

  Once he was ready, Cara knocked on the door connecting her room with Lenae’s. She heard an indistinct invitation to enter and went into the other room. Pickwick pushed past her and jumped on Baxter where he sat next to Lenae. She was at the room’s desk with a portable version of her office Brailler and piles of paperwork in front of her.

  “Come on,” Cara said. “We’re going out.”