Broken

by Patricia Haley

  “True,” she said, continuing to brush back her hair as a grin began to manifest, one she couldn’t hold back.

  The sign of joy creeping into her heart was sufficient for him. The cab pulled into London’s Heathrow Airport. He chuckled. “If you change your mind, which I hope you do, the offer is open. Whenever you want to start, whatever you want to do at LTI is fine with me.” He gave Madeline a hug and got out at South African Airways.

  chapter

  7

  Tamara squirmed in her aisle seat. Comfort wasn’t the problem. Madeline had taken care of that detail with the first-class ticket. So many images, conversations, and feelings pounced on her.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, those of you on the right side of the plane can catch a glimpse of the Mackinac Bridge, one of the longest suspension bridges in the world. Enjoy the rest of the flight and we’ll have you on the ground in thirty minutes,” the voice blared over the intercom system.

  Thirty minutes wasn’t nearly enough time to get ready for Detroit. She’d been there several months ago as a favor to Don. She’d come to town, briefly, with the intent of signing her stock ownership over to Don, which was a bust. She was uneasy during that trip. At least she had a return ticket then. This was a one-way fare. Her palms sweated as thirty minutes clicked down to twenty, fifteen.

  “Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for arrival,” the captain announced.

  Ten minutes, five. Tamara braced for the impact. The landing was bumpy but not as bad as she expected. In a few minutes the door would open and she’d have to get off. The load of passengers exited the plane person by person until the cabin was empty. Tamara didn’t budge. Finally the flight attendant came to her seat. “Ma’am, is everything all right?” Tamara gave her the okay sign. “Do you need help getting off the plane?” She needed help with more than getting off the plane.

  “No, I’m okay,” she said finally, sliding to the edge of the seat and collecting her items. Once in the Jetway, she didn’t move along any faster. After clearing customs, she exchanged her British pounds for American currency. Tamara grabbed a chair away from the foot traffic. Hiding wasn’t the long-term solution but it would allow her time to prepare.

  Hours came and went. The baggage area filled and emptied several times. Tamara decided she was ready to venture on. The sinking feeling of being alone plagued her. There weren’t family members waiting on the other side of the arrival ropes. The reality sank in. Returning alone was her choice, but it didn’t make the loneliness feel better. Tamara reached into her pocket for her phone. At least there was Don. She could call him. A few taps on speed dial and Don was on the line.

  “Where are you, Sis?” Don asked.

  “Detroit.”

  “You’re kidding. Wow, you were serious. I had no idea you were getting to Detroit so soon,” he said.

  She’d had to get out of London fast. Her life depended on rushing from the flat to safety. There was no desire to tell Don the details behind her abrupt change in plans. Remo had to remain a secret.

  “Had I known, I would have met you there. But now I’m on my way to Cape Town. You just happened to catch me on my layover.”

  “It’s not a problem,” she said.

  “Yes, but I would love to have been there to welcome you home. Unfortunately, once I get to Cape Town, I’ll need to stay there several days before I can get back to Detroit. Realistically, we’re looking at early next week before I’ll see you.”

  “There’s no hurry. Take your time. I’ll be fine until you get here.”

  The words flowed, representing filtered truth. Don was the only person she trusted, as much as she could trust anyone. There was uneasiness she couldn’t digest. Tamara had literally traveled the world, lived in many countries, tiny towns, and villages. She’d spent most of the past two decades isolated from family, avoiding friendships, and tackling life independently. Remo had been the only relationship she’d allowed, and that hadn’t worked out so well. She ended the call and would toss the phone into the first trash can she saw. There was no one else she wanted or needed to talk with.

  Tamara pulled her small suitcase behind her and walked through the airport. Being in Detroit, her birthplace, was more awkward than being in the rural village she visited in Uganda. Her heart was cold to the place; she felt no connection. Finally, after what seemed like an endless walk, she was outside, standing on the sidewalk, with no more distance to go.

  “Are you in line?” a young man asked.

  “Oh, no, no, I’m not,” she said, not sure what to do. The few hundred British pounds she’d gotten from the money machine in London converted to almost four hundred dollars. She contemplated where to go. Don wasn’t returning for at least four or five days, forcing her to find a hotel. There was another nine hundred dollars or so in her account but that was purely for an emergency. Some kids grew up having to keep enough coins to make a phone call. Their parents insisted. She’d evolved to the point of having to keep enough to hop a flight. First-class was nice, but economy had become the new standard as her funds dwindled.

  “Excuse me, are you in line?” someone else asked. She stepped away from the taxi stand after a third person asked if she was in line.

  Tamara had to think. Transportation, a hotel, and food for at least a week were going to cut deeply into the four hundred dollars. She contemplated using the fifty thousand dollars Madeline had offered and quickly discounted the notion. She wasn’t looking for a handout. The airline ticket was great, but Tamara wasn’t about to trade one prison with Remo for another. She was never going to be indebted to Madeline. A long-term lease at a no-name motel, a can of beans, and a bus pass would come first.

  She stood out of the way as people moved briskly up and down the sidewalk. They had purposes, places to go, and reasons for being there. Jealousy whisked in, followed by a flood of memories, causing her to rethink her decision. Perhaps coming to the States wasn’t her best idea. It wasn’t too late to ditch the plan and run away. She could turn right around and get a flight to London, or maybe Brazil. She always wanted to spend more time in South America after taking a trip there a few years ago. Tamara stood still and let the tiny meltdown fade without overreacting. Rational thinking took over. There was no way she could go back to London with Remo on the loose. He didn’t know all the details about her tragic past, and what Remo did know wouldn’t steer him toward Detroit. That’s the last spot on earth he’d look for her, because no one expected her to go home, not even Tamara. Best to stay put. Detroit was the safest place right now, especially with her mother out of the way.

  She moved to the taxi line. When her turn came she was ready. “Downtown, please.”

  “Where?”

  Downtown was good enough for now. She’d select a hotel after they arrived. The Ritz-Carlton wasn’t an option. Motel 6 wasn’t either, not yet. That would come next week. Something in the middle would work until she figured out a better plan. “You can drop me off at Cobo Hall or the Renaissance Center, whichever ride is cheaper.” It didn’t matter where she landed; she’d be walking the rest of the way.

  chapter

  8

  Joel sat in his office, reliving the whirlwind events. Over and over he tried sorting the pieces with no success. Three years of busting his behind to build DMI, and in one weak moment, it was gone. Poof. Gone. The loss was numbing but the strike against his intelligence was brutal—crippling and difficult to discount. Looking back, he could see the company was going through a slump. Sales and morale were down, but he was a winner. The same tenacity he’d used to triple the value of the company in three years could have served him in restoring DMI to its rightful place on the leaders’ board. He was angry at himself for giving up so easily and handing DMI over to his half brother and to his nemesis, Madeline, the most horrifying stepmother on the face of the earth. Yet, in all of her attempts to destroy him, his credibility, and his success, she had failed repeatedly. It wasn’t Madeline who made him a quitter. He held tha
t title exclusively. No sane person would have willfully handed over the CEO position of a multibillion-dollar company. The reality of his decision continued digging into his consciousness, eager to wreak ongoing havoc.

  Joel flipped a handful of paper clips around, intrigued by them for no reason. Attempting to clear his thoughts wasn’t working. He needed a much more significant distraction. Sheba was the first image that came to mind, his muse. The few hundred miles to Chicago were nothing; they hadn’t been in the past. She was the one constant source of relief that he’d relied on from the moment they met three and a half years ago. Her magnetism had captivated him then, and the allure of her presence still raised his heart rate. There wasn’t a particular aspect of her personality that explained the attraction. It just was. What the heck. He picked up the phone, holding it for some time without dialing, until the beeping became annoying. Zarah poked her head into the doorway of his office.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” his wife said, still frail.

  He hadn’t quite determined if her recent episode was truly a suicide attempt or purely a loss of will to live. Maybe they seemed the same to most, but to Joel, suicide was actively taking control of death, while losing will was equivalent to quitting. He had a preference, and quitting wasn’t it. Regardless, Zarah had a ways to go before fully recovering. He returned the phone to its cradle. Sheba couldn’t be in the picture. He had to give Zarah the full attention she needed. Their marriage was initially a business arrangement between him and her father in an attempt to combine their two companies, yielding a large international conglomerate. She came with the deal. At the time, Joel was comfortable with the agreement. Now that he had a wife who didn’t have much of a personal life outside of their relationship, he felt the sheer weight of his decision. On paper it made sense. In his house, it was bitter, but he had to find a way to make it sweeter if there was any hope of her surviving. Truth be told, he wanted out, but Zarah had nowhere to go. Her family was a thousand miles away in India. Joel got up from the desk and went to her. She tensed.

  “It’s okay, just relax.”

  The irony sank in for him. Here was a woman who spent every second she was awake struggling to win his affection. To have him cast an endearing glance her way. To bear his children. Yet, as he pulled her close, Zarah wasn’t receptive. Joel didn’t give in. He knew she was frightened and fragile. He would go slowly with her. Perhaps there was a remote chance of salvaging the makeshift marriage. Zarah was his wife and for the second or third time in their marriage, he was interested in intimacy. Taking her hand, he led Zarah from his office in the back of the house, down the hallway, and up the grand staircase to the master bedroom. Each step he could feel her hand relax into his. By the time they’d reached the bedroom threshold, she was firmly gripping his hand and pulling closer. Joel shut the door, turned out the lights, and let the natural flow of their union lead without resistance. He didn’t know what tomorrow was going to hold. He didn’t know what Sheba was doing. All he knew was that Zarah was his source of comfort tonight.

  chapter

  9

  Sherry was up and about early, which was easy to do given her constant worrying about her son Joel’s predicament. Her nights weren’t completely sleepless, but to say she was well rested would be a lie. After Joel abruptly stepped down from running DMI, Sherry had decided to leave too. There wasn’t a compelling reason to stay. She had been willing to endure the years of torture at the hands of Madeline, her deceased husband’s first wife, for the sake of Joel. The years had passed and the ribbing mellowed, or at least the layer of tolerance she developed softened the jabs. At times she felt like a gazelle darting from the clutches of Madeline. Oddly, Sherry respected Madeline’s fearless commitment to protecting her children. Too bad Sherry and Joel had to be the primary targets of her relentless attacks.

  As of a few days ago, the battle between her husband’s two families was over. Unfortunately her son was on the losing end and perhaps wouldn’t recover. Sherry pulled onto the grounds of Joel’s estate, not stopping until she was parked in front of his house’s double doors. She glanced into the mirror on the visor. Vanity wasn’t important but the distraction did allow her a few more seconds before she had to enter the house. She slowly opened the car door, preparing for the fallout from the recent family upheaval.

  Sherry knocked, simultaneously anxious to get inside to check on her family while dreading the despair that awaited her there. Her dilemma was cut short when the housekeeper answered the door.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Mitchell. Please come in,” she said, stepping aside.

  Sherry entered with heart racing. “I know it’s early but I was up and about and figured I’d stop by for a visit.” Anxiety dominated Sherry, causing her to fidget.

  “Mr. Mitchell isn’t up yet.”

  “I’m up,” Joel said, descending the stairs in a pair of silk pajamas covered with a matching robe. The housekeeper left them alone. “What are you doing out so early?” he asked his mother as he reached the bottom of the stairs and gave her a peck on the cheek.

  She couldn’t tell him the extent of her concern. He had enough of his own problems. She wasn’t going to be another addition to his list. Besides, she was the mother. He needed her to help fix what was broken in the family, for a change, and Sherry intended to deliver. She rested the palm of her hand on his cheek. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m cool.”

  “No, really, how are you?” she asked as Joel linked arms with her and gingerly stepped to the kitchen.

  “Let me get you some breakfast,” he said without answering her question.

  Normally she would have left the discussion alone, sensing he didn’t want to talk about it, but not this time. Joel and Zarah were in a crisis and she wasn’t going to let the topic drop. She would push as she’d seen Madeline do so many times to get the results she wanted. Perhaps that’s what Sherry had to do to save her family. Whatever was required, she was going to do it.

  “Joel,” she said, taking a seat at the counter. “I’m not worried about eating. I’m worried about you. This can’t be an easy time, walking away from DMI. I know how much the CEO position means to you.”

  “I did what had to be done. With Zarah falling apart and nearly dying,” he said, almost whispering, “I had no choice.”

  “I understand you want to nurse your wife back to health, but I worry about how you’re going about it.”

  Joel pulled a pitcher of fresh-squeezed juice from the fridge, gathering and filtering his thoughts before responding. His mother couldn’t know the depths of his failure. “Mom, you don’t need to worry about me,” he said, pouring the juice without making eye contact. He didn’t want to take the chance of her seeing through his concocted answer. “I’m a big boy. I will recover from this fiasco and get back on track. Trust me,” he said, resting his hand on hers, “me and Zarah will be just fine. Don’t you worry.”

  He lifted her chin and looked her in the eye this time. He had to be convincing, otherwise she wouldn’t let the issue go. Piecing together the fragments of his humiliated existence wasn’t her job, and it definitely was not her burden to bear. It was his exclusively. Besides, there wasn’t much she could do. She couldn’t barge into DMI and reclaim the top spot for him. Madeline would eat her alive. Mom couldn’t regain the Southern division from Uncle Frank’s silent partners.

  “It’s my job to worry. You are all I have left, you and Zarah.” Tears swelled in her eyes, weakening Joel’s stoic disposition. He couldn’t cave in front of her, but watching his mother cry was tough.

  “Mom,” he said, taking a seat on one of the bar stools next to her and draping one arm over her shoulder. “I have this in check. I have a few ideas brewing on another business opportunity,” he told her, which wasn’t true, but it was what she needed to hear. “Once I get Zarah settled down, I’ll put some things in motion. You’ll see. This kid is not out of the game. I had a rough run these past couple of quarters with DMI, but I�
��m as sharp as I was three and a half years ago when we put DMI in the spotlight. I did it once and I can do it again.” That part he believed.

  Sherry sighed. He took that to mean her fears were subsiding. So he continued painting a positive outcome. “You know Zarah owns the West Coast division of DMI. There is a real possibility that I can take that seed and build it into a viable business.”

  Joel could feel his mother’s hand tense underneath his. “I thought you were expecting Don and Madeline to reclaim that division and fold it back into DMI. If you keep it, won’t that cause a problem between us and them?”

  Eager to maintain the ground that he’d gained with his mother, Joel quickly retracted the statement. “You’re right, I’m not trying to re-ignite a war.” He felt her hand relax. “Who knows, I’m just tossing ideas around to let you know that I have plenty of options. So you don’t have to worry about me.”

  “What about money? You’ve spent almost everything you have, between purchasing Harmonious Energy from Zarah’s father and pouring cash into DMI for the past two or three months, trying to save it. You can’t have much left.”

  That was an understatement. If it wasn’t for Zarah’s modest two million that came from her father’s estate several months ago, he’d be broke. “I’ll be okay,” he said.

  Mom turned to him. “If you need money, mine is yours.”

  “No way.”

  “Really, I want you to have my money. I checked with my accountant. I have sixty-seven million dollars in liquid funds, another hundred and fifty-three million in investments and other assets. It’s yours, all of it, except my DMI stock. I have to keep that. You understand.”