You First

by Stephanie Fournet

  And this was his fault.

  “I don’t think it’s growing,” he lied. “Everything’s the same as it was two months ago. The headaches. The vision. And if I take my medication, the seizures—”

  “When’s your next scan?” Bax asked again.

  He didn’t have time for this. He needed Bax to leave. He needed quiet so he could make the most of the hours before he took the seizure pills. No distractions. No disruptions. No people. Gray sighed. “Next month.”

  His brother stared at him, wheels turning.

  And Gray suspected he wouldn’t like whatever Baxter would say next. He braced himself. He’d likely urge Gray to go back to Dr. Cates sooner. Run more tests. Waste more time.

  It wasn’t going to happen. He had to write.

  “You need to hire someone to look after you.”

  “What?!”

  Baxter’s face brightened as the idea gained appeal. “Like a home-health aide or an adult sitter.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Even though this earned him a smile — the first since Baxter had walked through his door and seen the bruise — Gray wasn’t joking. He’d die before he let an adult sitter into his home.

  The indignity, he thought with a shudder. The annoyance.

  “Of the two of us, I’m not the one with a broken brain,” Bax jabbed.

  “It’s a meningioma,” Gray leveled. “It might give me seizures and headaches and one day stop my breath, but it’s not ever going make me agree to a…a… babysitter.”

  “An adult sitter,” Baxter corrected, his smile growing. “And you forgot the part about memory loss.”

  “I wish some of that would kick in right now.” Gray glared at his brother. “I’d like to forget this whole conversation.”

  “You need to hire someone. To help out — if nothing else,” Bax said again. “If you’re not going to take your seizure medication as prescribed, someone needs to take care of you.”

  Gray pointed to the door. “Go. Go back to New Orleans. Aren’t you Vice President of Sales? Shouldn’t you be at Blakewood Imports right now?”

  “Vice President of Sales and Marketing.” Bax gave him an evil grin. “See, you’re forgetting already.”

  Gray shook his head. “That’s not funny.” Ten minutes ago, he would have welcomed Bax’s jabs and gallows humor, but the threat of a caregiver was worse than the prospect of death at twenty-eight. He needed to get Bax off this bent before he started thinking about doing real damage. Blakewood Imports was a huge corporation with the best law firm in New Orleans on retainer. Would his family get to a point where they thought they knew what was best for him? When they and their lawyers could take away his control? Gray wondered if it was time to call André Washington, his old friend and attorney.

  Gray sighed. His parents and Baxter weren’t monsters. They loved him, and they were good people. But they worried about him. Too much. And he knew that kind of worry could make people take drastic measures.

  Gray reached across the counter for the stupid bottle, cracked open the lid, and popped a pill in his mouth.

  He swallowed. “There. Happy?”

  Baxter leaned back against Gray’s fridge and tucked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, smirking. “For now.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “SO, NOTHING YET?” Brooke asked as they raced across St. Mary to the chirp of the crosswalk alarm.

  “Nothing.” Meredith sighed. She had six minutes before her Human Anatomy Physiology lecture started, and she wanted to claim a decent spot in the auditorium, but she also wanted to commiserate with her friend. “I filled out applications in three stores yesterday. Whole Foods wants me to be able to close at eleven. Drug Emporium — which is the closest — said they’re looking for someone to open the store at six in the morning, and Albertson’s told me they just filled the position, but they’d keep my application on file.”

  Brooke gave her a sympathetic look as they approached the entrance to Wharton Hall. “You’ll find something,” she said.

  “As long that happens before Jamie gets back.” Meredith hugged her friend, said goodbye, and dashed inside Wharton. She found a seat in the second row surrounded by other nursing students who’d been in her organic chem class last semester. She told a few of them hello and got out her notebook and pen.

  It wasn’t just that she wanted to be too busy for Jamie to harass when he came home — restless and horny after three weeks offshore. She also didn’t want him to think she was relying on him to take care of her. Of course, she relied on him to put a roof over her head — for now — but Meredith paid for her own clothes, her own birth control pills, her own gas and insurance, and all of the school expenses that Louisiana’s TOPS program didn’t cover. Jamie’s insurance took care of Oscar, but Meredith insisted on meeting all the co-pays for his check-ups and shots.

  After putting what she could in savings, she didn’t have much else, but her small income let Jamie know she had her independence. And her independence — her autonomy — was a shield. The more desperate Jamie thought she was, the more often he’d want to talk about getting married. That wasn’t going to happen whether she was unemployed or not, but Jamie didn’t see it the same way. Her vulnerability was his opportunity.

  So Meredith needed a job — and fast. But it had to be the right job. Waiting tables could earn her more money in tips, but with her school schedule, she’d be expected to close. Depending on where she worked, that might put her home at midnight, and Meredith didn’t want that. Even though Oscar went down at eight, and she almost always missed his bedtime, their special time was right at dawn.

  Her baby would wake up just as the sun came through the blinds, and he’d crawl to Meredith and draw her from sleep by snuggling close. Smiling with his golden curls sticking up like a halo, Oscar was almost always happy in the morning. They’d read picture books — Good Dog, Carl was his current favorite — and sing songs in bed for a few minutes, but they’d be up and about by six-thirty. Meredith would change Oscar’s diaper, get them both dressed, make him a sippy cup of warm milk, and they’d head out with the stroller for an early walk.

  Every morning, Oscar pointed to birds and talked to the dogs they passed along the way. Meredith would greet their neighbors, who always smiled and told Oscar hello. It was peaceful. It was joyful. And it was totally theirs.

  It wasn’t much, but their mornings were the best part of her day, and if she took a job that made her work late, she’d be too exhausted to enjoy them.

  Her anatomy professor walked in and saved Meredith from these depressing thoughts when she projected the course syllabus on the auditorium screen before launching into “Topic I: The Human Body — An Orientation.”

  An hour and a half later, Meredith made her way to the lobby of Wharton. She had less than fifteen minutes to get across campus to Mouton Hall for her General Psychology class, but before she pushed through Wharton’s double doors, her eye caught on an orange flyer tacked to the lobby bulletin board.

  Personal Assistant Needed

  Hours Flexible

  Must Have Own Transportation

  $20 per hour plus mileage

  The bottom of the flyer had been fringed into tabs bearing a phone number, and Meredith ripped the first for herself. She frowned at the 504 area code. Why would someone in New Orleans post a job position at the University of Louisiana in Lafayette?

  It might be a scam, but the job she’d had at Champagne’s only paid $9.25, two bucks above minimum wage. Twice the money and flexible hours? Maybe it was too good to be true, but Meredith would go in with skepticism. Any hint of a scam, and she’d pull back.

  She stuffed the scrap of paper into her bag and headed to class.

  THURSDAYS WERE HER short days. Two classes. No labs. So after psych, she hopped on her bike — with the child seat over the back tire — and headed home. She crossed Johnston Street and passed Bisbano’s. When she pedaled past Studio Ink, her eye fell on a turquoise Mustang coupe in the parkin
g lot. It wasn’t the car that caught her attention, but the couple in the front seat — arms inked up and down and locked in a searing kiss.

  Meredith pulled her gaze away and tried to ignore the sudden pounding in her chest. It had been a long, long time since anyone had kissed her like that. She didn’t want to remember the fool she’d been then, and it would be years before she could meet someone new, so it was best not to think about kissing at all.

  It was just after 12:30 when she walked through the kitchen door to find a sleepy Oscar finishing his lunch.

  He drooped in his booster seat until he saw her. “Mama!” Oscar sat up straight and pointed a finger at her — a finger that was coated in peanut butter. “Sit down.”

  Meredith let her book bag slip to the floor as she took a seat beside him, smiling widely. “Yes, Mama will sit. I don’t need to leave.”

  “Mama sit?” Oscar questioned, smiling now, too, but still unsure. Her son was used to Meredith rushing in from school only to change into her Champagne’s uniform before setting off again. The fact that he was so accustomed to her leaving made her heart ache.

  “Yes, Mama’s sitting with Oscar. I want to sit with you.”

  Leona emerged from the utility room, shaking her head and giving a tsk. “Of course, you had to come back right before his nap,” she complained. “Now he’ll never settle down.”

  Meredith ignored the woman’s tone and turned back to her son. “I’ll get some lunch and then take him back to my room. He’ll get sleepy again in a little while.”

  Leona cocked a brow at her. “Oh? You mean you aren’t gonna run out and look for another job this instant? You’re actually gonna spend time with your baby?”

  The stab of guilt was well aimed. Leona knew exactly how to make her feel awful, and, because Meredith sensed this, she tried to push the hurt aside. But instead of firing back, she rose to her feet and headed toward the fridge.

  “Mama sit,” Oscar echoed, a whine creeping into his voice.

  She turned and locked eyes with him. “Mama’s going to make a sandwich and sit with Oscar. Okay, baby? Mama’s hungry.”

  “He needs his nap, Meredith. He’s just gonna get cranky.”

  It was better to say nothing. If she said nothing, Leona would take her silence as surrender, and, in her victory, she’d consider the subject closed. Most of the time, Meredith could allow this. Bite her tongue and bow her head.

  Today was one of those times.

  She hid her head in the fridge as she searched for sliced turkey, mayo, mustard, and lettuce, and set about making a sandwich.

  “Mama make lunch?” Oscar asked, hope lifting the question.

  Meredith smiled over her shoulder at him. His big brown eyes watched her with unbroken focus.

  “Yes, baby. Mama’s making lunch, and I’ll sit with you while I eat. And then we’ll take a nap. Okay?”

  Oscar shook his head, smiling with mischief. “No nap, Mama.”

  Leona tsked again. “Little man needs a nap,” she told him.

  Oscar frowned at his grandmother. “No nap, Meemaw!”

  “Four months early, and he’s already hitting the terrible twos,” Leona said, shaking her head. “I just hope he’s better than Jamie at that age. When that boy didn’t get his way, look out!”

  And that’s changed how? Meredith wanted to ask, but she finished making her sandwich in silence.

  “Mama sit.”

  She carried her sandwich to the table and joined her baby. “I’m sitting, my love.”

  Oscar’s lip curled in a satisfied smile, and he patted the table next to her. “Mama sitting,” he said softly.

  Meredith took a bite and spoke through a mouthful. “You are so sweet, little buddy. I love you so much.”

  “Love you, Mama.”

  AFTER MEREDITH LOADED her plate and silverware into the dishwasher, carried Oscar to their room, and read him four stories, he finally crashed. She held him tucked against her for a moment, smelling his sweet baby-shampoo smell. When it was safe to slide away from him, she tiptoed out of the room.

  Because there was no opportunity for privacy in the McCormick house, Meredith walked out the front door and headed for the Mickey Shunick Memorial. She’d brought her phone and the scrap of paper from the job flyer.

  Staring down at it, Meredith doubted it would amount to anything. She’d have to get back in her car and head across town to Super One Foods to try there.

  “Might as well get on with it.” She dialed the number and waited as it rang through. On the third ring, Meredith prepared herself to leave a voicemail. Leaving voicemails sucked. It made her nervous. She sounded stupid, and knowing that she sounded stupid made her do stupid things like forgetting to say her name or tripping over her phone number.

  She was working herself up to a pre-voicemail fit when someone answered.

  “Hello?” The voice was male, young, and it sounded confused.

  Meredith checked the number again before speaking. “Um… hi. I’m calling about the job? The personal assistant job?” She hated the way she’d turned her sentences into questions. It was a job. She wanted it. Why couldn’t she sound certain?

  “You are?”

  Meredith blinked. He sounded even less certain than she did. Which made her suspicious.

  “Um… yeah. There is a job, right? Not a scam?”

  “A scam?” Humor entered his voice, and for some reason this eased her suspicions. If someone were scamming her, he’d sound serious. Right?

  “Yeah, you know, like those job listings that say Earn $5,000 a week, and when you go online to apply for the job, it’s really a weight-loss supplement, and they ask for your credit-card number, and before you know it, your credit card’s been charged like eight hundred dollars.”

  Meredith stopped talking. She’d stopped talking because she started hearing how she sounded, and if the man on the other end was in the position to give her a job for real, she needed to sound less weird.

  “Wow… you really know a lot about that. Did that happen to you?” he asked.

  “What? N-no,” she stammered. “I just don’t want that to happen. Not that it would happen. I mean, I don’t even have a credit card, and who’s stupid enough to put down their credit card number when they’re applying for a job anyway…”

  It was happening again. Train wreck. Meredith tried to get it under control. “I mean… the job… if it’s real… I’d like some information.”

  She heard laughter on the other end of the line.

  Great. I’m never getting a job again.

  “I’m sorry. The job is real. I was just surprised to hear back so fast. I just put up those flyers this morning, and you’re the first person to call.”

  “Really?” She knew she sounded way too excited, but her gut was telling her that whatever this was, it wasn’t a scam.

  “Really. My name’s Baxter Blakewood. To whom am I speaking?”

  Proper grammar. No one running a scam would ask “To whom am I speaking?” Baxter Blakewood sounded cultured and sophisticated. Exactly like someone who needed a personal assistant. A little spot of hope pressed against her chest.

  “Meredith Ryan. I’m a nursing student at UL, and I saw your sign in Wharton Hall.”

  “A nurse?” Mr. Blakewood asked, sounding intrigued.

  “Just a student. First year,” she said.

  “Still…” he murmured. Something in his tone made her frown.

  “What…what exactly would you be needing?”

  Silence.

  “Well… the job… would require someone who could run errands. Trips to the grocery store, to the dry cleaners… That sort of thing. Running errands and taking care of a few chores.”

  So far, so good.

  “Okay… what else?”

  Again, silence.

  “Well… how do you feel about dogs?”

  Meredith thought about Zabby, the black Scottish terrier she hadn’t seen in almost two years — which made her think of B
ecca. She’d seen her sister since her parents kicked her out, but only because Becca would sneak behind their backs and meet her at CC’s or the mall or at the movies once every few months. They had to be careful, though. Becca was only fourteen. Too young to drive. She’d have to get dropped off first and text Meredith to let her know the coast was clear. If her parents ever saw them together, they’d probably lock Becca away for good.

  Thinking about Becca and Zabby and her parents only hurt, so she shoved those thoughts aside.

  “I love dogs,” she said, hearing the constricted sound of her voice.

  “Are you sure about that?” Mr. Blakewood asked, apparently mistaking her distress for something it wasn’t.

  Meredith cleared her throat. “I’m sure,” she said with more resolve.

  “Okay… how about writers?”

  Was Mr. Blakewood a writer? Meredith smiled. It would be so cool to work for a writer. When Meredith wasn’t studying, or working, or taking care of Oscar — which, admittedly, wasn’t that often since her whole life revolved around studying, working, or taking care of Oscar — she was reading.

  Reading was her one refuge. Her one indulgence. She couldn’t read if Jamie was home. One look at Meredith with a book in her lap, and Jamie assumed she was doing nothing, and she should, therefore, pay attention to him.

  But if he was offshore, and her studying was done — on nights she didn’t work while Oscar was playing or asleep — Meredith would sink into a book and feed her mind and her dreams for a few minutes. She loved fantasy best. Her favorite author was Laini Taylor. The Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy had wrecked her for anything else. No books she’d read before or since could touch its magic. But she read other genres too. She liked reading highly acclaimed contemporary novels. It made her feel smart and in touch with something bigger than the confines of her life if she heard someone at school talk about The Goldfinch or The Paris Wife.