“I think you’re all those things. Everyone wants to be you or be near you or be your friend. I think you’re perfect.” There was silence on Cece’s side of the bed, so Greta asked, “What did my mom’s notes say about me?”
“Oh, they were so nice! She used to talk about how shy you were when you were little and how you worked to get past it. That she could see the fear in your eyes whenever you tried something new, but you did it anyway. Your mom really understands who you are.”
Greta smiled. “Yeah, she does.”
“Some of the notes mentioned clever things you said or did, like when you and your brother invented that game with the hose and the basketball hoop in your driveway.”
“We called it Water Ball,” she said, remembering. It wasn’t much of a game, but they loved it. They’d set the nozzle on the spray setting and string it over the hoop. On hot days, there was nothing like a pickup game of Water Ball.
“We never had a driveway,” Cece said, a little sadly. “That must be nice.”
“It is until you have to shovel the snow off it.”
“Your mom would write about how kind you were to kids who were being picked on at school. I thought that was heroic. She talked about when your high school swim team won at regionals, and you set a record for the front crawl.”
That particular swim meet had been Greta’s personal best. When she climbed out of the pool, she saw her parents in the bleachers, her mom totally losing it, jumping up and down, screaming her head off. “That record still stands, by the way.”
“Oh, I remember another good one!” Cece said. “The year when you figured out that the anagram of Greta was the word great. Your mom said you were so pleased. Oh, I wished I had a cooler name then, one that could be twisted around into a word. That was the year this boy in my class used to follow me around whispering, ‘Cece is a ree-ree.’ It was awful.”
“What a jerk,” Greta said. “I always thought the name Cece Vanderhaven sounded so elegant.”
They talked far into the night, telling each other stories about their lives. Despite Cece’s lavish upbringing and Greta’s own modest middle-class childhood, they weren’t that far apart when it came to the important things.
“I always wanted to do something with my life that makes a difference,” Greta said. “Otherwise, what’s the point? Why even live and breathe and spend time on this planet?”
“If it makes you feel any better, you’ve already made a difference to me,” Cece said.
“I’m glad.” The pauses between each side of their conversation were getting longer. “Do you think I’ll ever see Dalton again?” Only a few hours had passed, but the evening spent with him already felt distant.
“Absolutely.”
“You seem pretty sure.”
“I am very sure,” Cece said confidently, her voice drowsy. Right before they drifted off to sleep, Cece said, “Didn’t we have the best night ever?”
“Yes, we did,” Greta said.
“Wasn’t it smart of me to set you up with Dalton? I could tell the two of you had a thing for each other.” There was a wink in her voice. “So I made him fall in love with you.”
Falling asleep, Greta thought that between the two of them, Cece was definitely the more clever one. Would she ever see Dalton again? Oh, she hoped so.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
By the time Ellie and Mia arrived, the hospital staff had taken a sample of Matt’s blood and run a few other tests, put him on oxygen, and gotten some intravenous fluids into him. They’d already decided to admit him, but he was still in the ER, waiting for both a room assignment and a diagnosis.
Dalton had told the hospital staff he was a friend, but one of the nurses corrected him. “It says here you’re his cousin.” She stared at him over the top of her glasses.
“No, I—” And then he got it. “Thank you for taking such good care of my cousin.”
“It’s what I do,” she said gruffly, before checking Matt’s vitals and moving on to the next patient.
When Ellie arrived, she rushed to the bed and crouched down to get close to Matt’s face. “Matt? I’m here, baby. It’s Ellie.”
Matt had been completely out of it up until then, but at the sound of her voice, his eyes opened, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His voice croaked out something that sounded like her name. It obviously took great effort on his part.
“You don’t have to say anything. I’m here.” She pulled a chair alongside the bed, sat down, and reached over to stroke his hair. “Everything’s going to be okay.” Dalton got up and offered his chair to Mia.
They wanted to know where he’d found Matt and what the doctors had said, and he clued them in as best he could, but the dynamic had changed. He was an outsider now. Ellie and Mia had the love and personal connection covered, and the hospital staff was providing the medical care. Matt was in the best possible hands. Dalton still stuck around for a while, but once the doctor came up with a diagnosis of strep accompanied by dehydration and then started to get Matt ready to be transferred to a regular room, his work was done. “Can I call you to check and see how he’s doing?” he asked Ellie.
“Sure.” She got out her phone.
Dalton held up a hand. “I already have your number, but I don’t have my phone on me right now. Can I borrow yours for a minute to make a quick call?”
She handed it over without a moment’s hesitation. “Anything for the guy who helped me find Matt.”
“Thanks. It’ll just be a minute.” He gestured to the doorway. “I’ll step out into the hall to talk.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Cece and Greta slept in the next day, or at least they tried to. They were awakened by Brenna, who’d crawled onto the bed, whispering her sister’s name. From the doorway, Nanny quietly said, “I held her off as long as I could, but it’s noon, and she’s been worried about you.” Nanny crept away, leaving Brenna behind.
“Cece?” Brenna’s whisper was loud enough to wake the dead, or the hungover, in Greta’s case. Her stomach wasn’t a problem; it was her head doing the protesting. She couldn’t speak for Cece.
“Yes?” Cece asked.
“Are you okay?” The blinds were partway down so the room was dimly lit, but she heard the concern in Brenna’s voice. “I saw you fall in the water.”
“You did?” Cece’s voice had a sleepy quality. “Where did you see it?”
“It’s all over the place. Nanny said I had to stop watching it online because it was making me upset. It looked like you drowned.”
“No, honey, I’m fine. Better than fine. You know how I was afraid to go into water? I’m not so afraid anymore.”
Brenna lay down next to her sister, and Greta heard them talk in the way only sisters could. She wasn’t part of it, and it wasn’t her business, but she listened anyway. They talked about the incident in the pool the day Cece had been pulled out unconscious and rushed to the hospital.
“I didn’t mean to hit you in the head,” Brenna said, sounding anguished. “I was just practicing my kicking. I’m sorry, Cece.”
“Oh, baby, I know that. You don’t have to keep apologizing. It was a long time ago, and it was just an accident. Accidents happen all the time. It was nobody’s fault.” Cece made soothing noises while she stroked her sister’s hair. They kept talking almost as if they had forgotten Greta was there. She listened, piecing together the whole story from what they said. Brenna, who’d had water wings on her arms, had dropped her bracelet, and Cece had ducked down to get it. In the split second her head was below the surface, Brenna had practiced her kicking, knocking Cece against the side of the pool. Cece said, “You were only four years old, and you were smart enough to run for help. You saved my life, baby girl. You’re my sister, and I love you. You need to stop worrying. Believe me, I’m okay now.”
“So you’re not afraid of the water anymore?” Brenna said, sounding dubious.
“No, I decided I am not. I’m done with that.”
&
nbsp; Slowly, Greta drifted from grogginess to being fully awake. Eventually, flinging the covers aside, she got up and went to her room to take an ibuprofen and get dressed. It was a slow process. Her limbs were so uncooperative, it was like walking through maple syrup.
When she went down to breakfast, the Vanderhaven girls and Nanny were already in the kitchen, Brenna eating lunch at the counter next to Cece, whose hands were wrapped around a mug of coffee. Their attention was on a tablet propped up in front of them.
Greta walked around to their side of the counter just in time to see a clip of Katrina and Vance speaking to an interviewer. The camera was focused on them with the skyline of Las Vegas in the background.
Offscreen the male interviewer asked, “Vance, you came to fame as Cece Vanderhaven’s gay boyfriend, so I think we’re all a little surprised that you and Katrina are now married. Can you explain this to us?”
Vance smiled, his arm around Katrina’s shoulders. “I had no idea that people took Cece’s little nickname for me so literally. I was happy to be Cece’s gay boyfriend, and I’m even more excited to be Katrina’s husband and for the two of us to start this new chapter of our lives together.”
The interviewer moved the microphone closer. “What about the reports you’re pregnant, Katrina? Any truth to that?”
She grinned at Vance. “None whatsoever. We hope to start a family someday, but we’re not there yet.”
The interviewer nodded and said, “What about the rumor you had a falling-out with Cece?”
Katrina said, “Not true at all. We both think the world of Cece. She will always be important to us, especially because without her, we never would have met.”
Vance nodded. “If you see this, Cece, we love you!” Katrina gave a little finger wave and made one of the goofy faces she’d made famous as Cece’s sidekick.
“So you aren’t upset that she’s now said her cousin Greta is her best friend?”
“Are you kidding?” Katrina said. “Greta is fabulous, and did you see the footage from last night? Crazy times. I think all of America is going to want to see more of Greta and Cece.”
The interviewer said, “So what’s next for the two of you?”
Katrina smiled. “We both want to pursue acting careers, so that will be our focus going forward.”
“I wish you both the best of luck.”
“Thanks!” Katrina and Vance spoke in unison, and then he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. They made a cute couple.
After the interview was over, Cece shut the device down. Greta asked, “What did they mean about last night’s footage and crazy times?”
“It’s all over the place,” Brenna piped up. “I saw you guys singing, and I saw when Cece fell in the water and you got her out. And when she was at the place with all the teeny tiny glasses.” She took a sip of her orange juice and then held the glass up, assessing the size.
“Basically, the whole evening is now online,” Cece said. “And everyone is speculating as to what this new side of me means. Am I going to have a new reality series, or have I gone crazy?” She laughed.
“What does it mean?” Brenna asked.
“It means your sister just wanted to be herself,” Greta answered. Cece nodded in confirmation.
“I was tired of not being able to make my own decisions.” Cece sighed. “After the pool accident, everyone thought my personality changed because I had some sort of brain damage. But that wasn’t it. I tried to tell them that I was different because I came so close to dying, but no one paid any attention. They thought I was impulsive and unpredictable. Maybe I was, but it wasn’t because of an injury. I just wanted to make every moment count.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Dalton called, and Will came to pick him up. Even though it was the middle of the night, Will said it was no problem. That was the kind of friend he was.
When he walked into the building and spotted Dalton in the lobby, he said, “You know, when you said to pick you up at the hospital, I had a little breakdown, thinking something happened to you.”
“Sorry about that. I should have explained first thing.”
“What’s with the monkey suit?” He pointed at Dalton’s white shirt, bow tie, now-dried dress pants, and shiny shoes. “You go to a prom for the homeless?”
“Something like that. I’ll explain in the car.”
Will had brought a paper bag containing his wallet, apartment keys, and cell phone. Dalton rooted through the bag, eager to reclaim the things that made up his life. Driving away from the hospital, Will commented, “You didn’t last two weeks.”
“True that.” He turned on his phone.
“And you lost the gross backpack and are wearing someone else’s clothes.”
“I know. Things didn’t quite happen the way I planned, but I got the information I needed and then some.” When his phone came to life and the screen lit up, he let out a sigh of relief.
Will glanced his way, eyebrows raised, then turned his attention back to the road. He drove a fast car made even faster by his heavy foot. City driving held him back, but Dalton knew that once they reached the open roads, they’d be flying. They’d arrive in Connecticut in no time at all.
Will asked, “And then some?”
“Yeah.” Dalton couldn’t help but smile. “I met a girl. A woman, I mean. She’s really something.”
“Every good story involves a girl. Spill.”
He gave him the details of what had happened, right from the start, and when he was done, Will let out a long whistle. “You’re probably, like, the only guy I know who can do an undercover homeless gig and wind up in a tuxedo hanging out with celebrities and meeting a cool girl. Surreal.”
“That’s the right word for it.”
“And her name is Greta Hansen? Greta Hansen from Wisconsin.” He did his best to say it with a Fargo-esque accent, which wasn’t how Greta talked, but whatever. “Are you going to see her again?”
“Yes, I’m going to see her again. And again and again and again.” While he spoke, his eyes were on his phone, already seeing her. He’d found her Instagram account and could now see the faces of her friends and her parents and her brother, Travis, all of which he found interesting, but most of his attention was drawn to the photos of Greta. There you are, he thought. It’s you. One day, hopefully soon, he’d be in her photos.
When the car pulled up in front of his apartment complex, he thanked Will for the ride and got out. Will sped off as soon as the door closed, presumably to go home and get some sleep.
Dalton made a mental list of things to do, then set out to do them. He showered, shaved, and changed clothes. His fridge was pretty empty, but he found some frozen organic black bean enchiladas. Four minutes in the microwave, and he had a meal. Once done eating, he spent a few more minutes looking at photos of Greta online before sitting down to create the document that would define his future.
Three hours later, he’d created a business plan, one that would please his father. Dalton knew what he expected: a clear and concise description of what the project entailed, along with the services offered, an estimate of needed funds, and the number of necessary employees to get started. He’d found studies online with statistics and graphs and included them in his report. His father would love that. “Give me a visual,” he always said. Dalton also outlined the estimated impact on society if his plan were successfully implemented.
He’d been angry with his father when they’d first discussed Dalton’s role in the family corporation. His brother, Grant, excelled at the business end of it and was destined to take over when his father stepped down. Grant was a competitor through and through. Dalton was always what their mother called “the gentle one,” something that made him cringe, even though she wasn’t too far off. He had a penchant for helping those who seemed lost or in pain. Offering a helping hand came naturally. If that was a weakness, he had to claim it as his own.
When he’d finished his master’s degree, Dalton had suggested that
he could contribute to the family business in his own way. His idea involved revamping the family charitable foundation, a small division of the corporation that had been set up primarily for tax advantages. One woman in his father’s office distributed checks to charities at the end of the year. It seemed like money shuffling to Dalton. He had big ideas for expanding it.
He’d asked his dad to meet with him to discuss his place in the organization. At the onset, the meeting had gone well. His father had been enthused about his sudden interest, shaken his hand when he arrived, and listened to his prepared speech. Dalton had gone over it in his head dozens of times and thought it was impassioned and convincing. He could tell his dad was losing interest halfway through, but he still wasn’t prepared for his reaction at the end.
His dad had scoffed. Seriously, he made that noise people make when they’re being completely dismissive. Then he said, “What a bunch of idealistic blather.” His voice changed to mock Dalton. “I want to make the world a better place. I want to really help people and make a difference.”
Dalton found this last bit totally obnoxious.
And for the record, he was misquoting Dalton. What he’d actually said was that the Bishop Foundation had an opportunity to make the world a better place and make a real difference in people’s lives. He was ready to walk out right that minute, but he knew his father. If he just waited for it, sometimes there was an addendum. He said, “So you don’t like my idea?”
His father sat back, his arms crossed. “No, I think it’s a good idea. We’ve discussed expanding the foundation and getting more directly involved with the recipients but never found the time to follow through. My guess is that you’re just the man for the job. The problem, as I see it, is that you didn’t give me a plan. You gave me an idea. Ideas are a dime a dozen. Ideas are just thoughts until they’re put into play. You have to decide what your focus will be. You say homeless people, but that’s a pretty large population.”
Good Man, Dalton Page 23