Matthew's Choice

by Patricia Bradley

  “Can we go throw the football?”

  “Eat your sandwich first.”

  Noah rolled his eyes, but picked up a packet of ketchup and squirted the red sauce on his plate. He dipped a French fry in the ketchup, and then tackled his burger.

  After he drained the last of his drink, Noah swiped his mouth on his shirt and folded his arms, waiting.

  Matt stuffed the napkins and to-go box in the trash. “You ready to throw the football around?”

  Noah grabbed the ball and tossed it up. Matt snagged it in midair. “Wait until you get outside,” he said, tousling Noah’s hair.

  The unusually warm weather of a week ago had deserted them, but it wasn’t uncomfortably cold as the January sun filtered through the bare trees. In the spring, he’d need to get someone to clean up the yard since the last tenants hadn’t raked the leaves. Maybe one of the neighbors would know who to hire.

  He told Noah to run deep then spiraled the ball through the air. Noah caught it and came closer to lob it back. “Show me how you do that.”

  Matt bent down and showed Noah how to grip the ball with his thumb and index finger. “Then you place these fingers over the laces.” He positioned Noah’s fingers where he wanted them, then showed him how to stand. “It’s not about how hard you throw. The power comes from your legs. Now you throw and I’ll catch.”

  Noah practiced the steps. “Dig your back foot in the ground,” Matt called out. “That’ll give you more leverage when you rotate your hip.” He clapped when Noah made a decent throw. “That’s great. Next time hold the ball closer to your head.”

  Soon, Noah’s passes lengthened, sending Matt all the way to the shed. The boy had a natural arm. After a few passes, Matt held on to the ball. “That’s enough for today. Don’t want to make your arm sore. And it’s time to go see your mom.”

  “Do you have any more stuff in the shed like this football?”

  Matt scratched his chin. “I don’t know. I think I saw some boxes with your mom’s name on them.”

  “Could we take them today and show them to her?”

  “Maybe one box.” Matt unlocked the shed and scanned the boxes, spying one marked report cards and dolls. Evidently his mother indexed by the last word so everything in the box should begin with the c or d.

  Noah traced his fingers over the boxes at the other end of the shed. “Can we see what’s in some of these?”

  “Sure.” Matt scooted him out of the shed. “Maybe next week.”

  They loaded the boxes in the front seat of his car, then Noah climbed into the back and fastened his seat belt. “Can we put the top down?”

  “It’s a little too chilly today. Maybe some other time.” They drove the short distance to the hospital and found a parking spot near the door.

  When they entered Mariah’s room, she sat in a chair by the window, reading a newspaper.

  “Mom! You’re out of bed!” Noah ran to his mom and hugged her.

  Mariah looked much better than yesterday. Someone had shampooed her hair and fluffed it up a bit. “Are you using the breathing thing?”

  “Yes, little brother.” She gazed at Noah. “You look so handsome.”

  “Aw, Mom. Guess what Uncle Matt’s been doing? Teaching me to throw a football.”

  Mariah smiled at him, her eyes bright. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. We brought you a surprise.”

  “Yeah!” Noah grabbed the box and put it in his mom’s lap. “It’s stuff from when you were a little girl.”

  When Mariah read the end of the box, her fingers flew to her lips. “Oh, my word,” she whispered. “My dolls.” She glanced up at Matt. “Where—”

  “In the shed behind the house. Our childhood. It’s all there, neatly boxed up.”

  She blinked back tears. “I didn’t know. I haven’t been back in years, not since mom—”

  “I know. But that’s going to change.”

  “Yeah, Matt put all our stuff in his house.”

  “And you’re welcome to move in after you’re released from—”

  She shook her head. “Not now.”

  “Mom, open it. I want to see what’s inside.”

  She stroked Noah’s back. “Okay. But I’m tired. Help me in bed first.”

  Matt and Noah helped Mariah to the bed then Matt took the chair she vacated. When she asked for the box, he took a small penknife from his pocket and sliced through the tape.

  Noah stared at the knife. “Is that—”

  “No, I never saw that knife again.” He closed the blade and started to slip the knife in his pocket when he noticed the longing in his nephew’s eyes. “Would you like to have this?”

  “Matt—”

  “Every boy should have a pocketknife, sis. I’m sure he’ll be careful with it.” He turned to Noah. “Won’t you?”

  “You bet. I won’t take it to school or anything.” Noah took the knife and ran his fingers over the grooved bone handle. “Thanks, Uncle Matt. You’re the greatest!”

  All it took was a knife to win his nephew over? “Don’t cut yourself with it, because if you do, your mom will kill me. And don’t carve your initials in Miss Allie’s table.”

  Noah rolled his eyes. “I’m not crazy. And I’ll be careful.”

  Mariah reached for the box. “Well, I want to see what’s in here.” She removed the lid and a gasp slid from her lips. “I can’t believe Mom kept these dolls all these years.”

  Matt and Noah exchanged a boy-to-man look. “Mom, what’s in there besides dolls?”

  Mariah laid the dolls on the bed and peered inside the box. “Here’s a deck of cards. Matt, remember how we used to play Crazy Eights?”

  Noah opened the deck. “I know how to play that.”

  As Noah dealt the cards and Mariah sorted through the box, Matt settled back in the chair, observing the two. “Look here.” She held up envelopes. “My report cards.”

  “I want to see.” Noah looked over her shoulder. “Wow, Mom, you really did make A’s and B’s.”

  “I told you. Oh, look, here’s a can of pick-up sticks.”

  Noah shook the box. “What’s that?”

  “I’ll show you.” Matt took the box to the shelf under the window. “You hold the sticks in one hand and let them fall and then you see how many you can pick up without disturbing the others.”

  Mariah picked up another envelope. “My birth certificate. I’ve been trying to find this for ages.” She frowned and looked up. “This doesn’t make sense. Mom listed her married name instead of her maiden name.”

  “What?” Matt left Noah and crossed to the bed.

  “Here, see for yourself.” She handed him the certificate.

  Matt scanned the document. Their mother’s married name was on the line for her maiden name. “Maybe that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

  “My maiden name is on Noah’s. Not my married name.”

  Matt rubbed his neck. “Why would she do that?”

  “Maybe for the same reason she wouldn’t discuss her family, except for Grandmother Rae.”

  “Did you ever know our grandmother?”

  Mariah twisted a strand of hair around her index finger. “I think so...sometimes I remember this older woman holding me. Don’t remember what she looked like, just a fuzzy impression.”

  “I don’t remember her at all. I used to ask Mom why we didn’t have grandparents like all the other kids, and she’d cry and then I felt bad about asking.”

  “Yeah, I know. Mom was really secretive. When I was a kid, I thought she was some sort of princess who ran away from the castle.”

  He grinned. “I thought she was a spy.”

  They both laughed.

  “She was so different from Dad,” Matt said. “I’ve ofte
n wondered why she married him.”

  “He wasn’t always mean. That happened after he lost his job and started drinking. You were too young to remember when he would get down on the floor and wrestle with us.” Mariah folded the birth certificate and slipped it back into the envelope. “I remember something that happened one Christmas. She and Dad thought we were asleep, and you were. But I wanted to see Santa. I’d crept into the hall, and I heard Dad ask Mom if she wanted to call her father. She started yelling at him, saying, ‘I’ll never call that man ever. And don’t mention his name again.’ That’s why I hadn’t asked anything about our grandparents.”

  Matt slipped his hand in his pocket and jingled the change. “You know, we could probably fill in all of these gaps.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If we had her social security number, we could run a background check.”

  “Do you have it?”

  If he did, it was probably buried in one of those boxes in the shed. “Do you know where they were married?”

  “Memphis, I think. Why?”

  “We could at least find out what her maiden name was. And who knows what else we might discover.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MATT GLANCED UP at the address over the double doors. One Bradford Plaza. Some day he would walk into an office building that carried his name on it. As he crossed the slate floor, he couldn’t help but notice the panorama of the Mississippi River and the two bridges across it. He punched the penthouse button. The first step began with climbing to the top at the Winthrop Corporation. To do that, Matt had to convince J. Phillip Bradford to let him handle the conference needs of the CEO’s other charitable organizations. Matt intended to accomplish that today. The elevator door slid open, and he stepped inside.

  “Hold the elevator, please!”

  Matt jabbed the open button as Bradford’s secretary hurried toward him with a Starbucks cup in her hand. “Thank you, Matt.” She leaned against the rail and caught her breath. “FYI, Mr. Bradford is in a mood today—which is unusual for a Wednesday. He usually doesn’t get this bad until much later in the week.”

  “Good to know.” Matt had heard that Elizabeth Jones had been with Bradford since he started his first business and was certain she was past retirement age. Not that he would ask. While Ms. Jones seemed to like him, everything about her advertised top-notch executive secretary, from her wedge-cut silver hair to the black business suit and smart heels she wore. She would not find age-related questions entertaining or appropriate. “Is that a peace offering?”

  “No, this is for me. J. Phillip can get his own coffee.” She brushed a speck of lint from her suit. “I noticed you have a nine o’clock appointment. Good idea to get here early.”

  Matt checked his watch. Twenty minutes early might be overkill. The doors opened, and he waited for Ms. Jones to exit then followed her into the reception area, which was already full of people waiting to see Bradford. Definitely not overkill.

  The secretary turned back to him. “Why don’t you wait in my office? I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  He trailed her inside the spacious office, grateful for the favor. The room’s simple elegance continued the theme he’d seen everywhere else at the Bradford Foundation. He nodded his head toward the waiting room. “What do they all want?”

  “Donations. On the second Wednesday of each month Mr. Bradford sits down with representatives of the nonprofits that provide services to the Memphis needy. With the economy the way it is, I’m sure they’re here to ask for bigger allocations.”

  She paused and pressed her lips together, almost like she wanted to say more. Her phone buzzed and she picked up the receiver. “Yes, Mr. Bradford. Matt’s in my office. I’ll send him right in.”

  Matt started toward the door, but she held her hand up. “Yes, sir, I’ll have someone get it for you.” She paused and two red splotches appeared on her cheeks. “Yes, sir.”

  Ms. Jones’s hand rested on the receiver, and she muttered something under her breath Matt didn’t catch. Then she straightened, and her demeanor changed from obvious irritation to sanguine as she pressed a button on her desk. A soft buzzer sounded, and the door unlocked. “You may go in, but I’d be pleased if you’d stop by here before you leave.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Matt straightened his tie and stepped through the door that fed directly into Bradford’s corner office. Floor-to-ceiling windows comprised the two outside walls, and the CEO stood with his back to him as he gazed out the window that faced west.

  “Good morning, Matthew.” The older man turned and motioned for Matt to join him. “Last night’s rain washed away the smog...come get a great view of the Mississippi.”

  Bradford was a study in contradictions. Where his employees wore strict business attire, the CEO dressed expensively casual in a Robert Graham cotton shirt—Matt recognized the brand because Jessica had wanted him to buy a similar shirt before Christmas. He’d said no because of the cost. Bradford also wore khakis. Matt had never seen him in a power suit and wondered if the old man would wear khakis to the banquet. He joined Bradford at the window. A barge rippled the water as it drifted south toward the I-55 bridge. It occurred to Matt that the scene reflected the same panorama that hung in the entrance foyer.

  “From here, I’ve seen the Mississippi at flood stage, and I’ve seen it low enough to ground barges, but even at its lowest, it’s a powerful, beautiful river. Ten dams can’t contain it when it’s at flood stage.” Bradford smiled at him. “But you’re not here to talk about the river. Have a seat.”

  Matt chose a straight-back chair he wouldn’t sink into and waited while Bradford sat behind his desk. Matt couldn’t help calculating the cost of the weathered cherry desk. At least three grand, maybe four. The side door opened, startling him, and Ms. Jones entered with a Starbucks cup.

  “Your coffee, sir.”

  Bradford took it with a slight twinkle in his eyes. “Thank you, Ms. Jones.”

  She turned and crossed her eyes as she passed Matt. He gulped down the laughter that threatened to escape his mouth.

  As the door closed, Bradford took the lid off the cup. “Impossible woman. Thinks she runs this place. Sometimes, I have to remind her otherwise. Now for you.” He fixed his gaze on Matt. “Let’s cut to the chase. You’re here to snag the conference business for all three nonprofits, but I have another offer for you.”

  Matt leaned forward, not quite sure what to expect.

  “Your talent is being wasted as director of food and beverage at the Winthrop Corporation.” Bradford sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee. “You are nothing more than a glorified event planner.”

  “Excuse me, sir? There’s a little more to my job than that.”

  Bradford waved him off. “You will admit Winthrop is not utilizing you effectively?”

  Matt shifted in his chair. He couldn’t argue that point, but he remained quiet.

  The older man set his coffee on the desk. “It’s time for me to slow down a little, to turn loose a few things, so I’m creating a new position here at the Bradford Foundation. I’ll come up with a fancy title later, but for now, let’s just say I want someone to come under my wing, learn every aspect of this foundation. Eventually this person will become CEO in my place. Are you interested?”

  Did Matt just hear him right? “Why...why me?”

  “You’ve finessed everything I’ve thrown at you, and you keep smiling. Don’t you think you can handle the job?”

  Matt sat straighter. “Oh, I can handle it. I just figured you’d want to give it to a vice president or someone who’s come up through the ranks.”

  “I thought about that, but I want someone more like me in the job. Someone who’s willing to put in the hours that will be needed. I think you fit the bill. So, can you give me an answer now, or do you need to think abou
t it?”

  Matt raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t mention the salary.”

  A glint of admiration flashed in Bradford’s eyes just before he cracked a wry grin. “I didn’t, did I?”

  He named a figure, and Matt struggled to keep from blinking. Twice his salary at Winthrop. For once he was speechless, but not for long. “When do you want me to start?”

  “How soon can you?”

  Matt thought a minute. “After Valentine’s Day.”

  “That’s a little over four weeks. Why so long?”

  “I can pass most of my contracts over to my associate, but there are a few that will wrap up Valentine’s Day that I personally want to take care of.”

  Bradford’s gray eyes darkened as he rocked back in his chair and stroked his jaw. Maybe Matt had blown it. He held his breath as the CEO cleared his throat.

  “I would expect nothing less of you.” Bradford stood. “We’ll make your effective date of employment February fifteenth.”

  Matt scrambled to his feet and shook the hand his new boss extended. “Yes, sir.”

  “And in the meantime, we have a banquet to put together.” Bradford picked up a yellow envelope and handed it to him. “Suggestions for a few changes. And on your way out, stop and see Ms. Jones. She has another packet for you. A portfolio on the Bradford Foundation for you to study. I want you to know this company inside out.”

  So, Bradford had been certain of Matt’s answer before he ever arrived. “Yes, sir!” He stepped back and strode toward the door.

  “Oh... Matt, how’s your sister?”

  He paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned to address Bradford. “She’s better and hopefully will be released from the hospital this weekend.”

  “Good. I’m assuming you’ll be able to get her sorted out before you start work here.”

  A twinge of unease settled on Matt. How much did Bradford know about Mariah? “Yes, sir, this weekend.”

  “You may want to move her and your nephew to Memphis. That way you won’t have to run back and forth to...what was the name of that little town?”