Baby Kisses (7 page)

Tooty's heart jumped. "I..I.."

"What?"

Embarrassed, she looked at her hands and chewed her lip. "I don't have money for plane tickets."

Miles shook his head. "Do you really think I would make you pay for your own tickets? I asked you to come. I'll take care of all the costs."

"But Harris isn't an employee."

"No, but his mother is, and she needs to be able to concentrate on my needs…er business, and Harris needs to be with her for her to do that."

Excitement tinged Tooty's response. "You really want us to go?! That would be so cool. I love the song
New York, New York.
I'll work really hard for you."

The plane had been in the air an hour and Harris had not stopped talking for more than two minutes. Miles closed his eyes and berated himself for having invited Tooty and Harris to New York.
What were you thinking?
He answered his own question.
You weren't.

"Mister Brightperson, are we almost there?" Harris asked for the fortieth time from his seat behind Miles' special accommodations in first class.

Tooty said, "Bright
man,
Harris, not Bright
person."

"No, son, not yet." Even in his irritation, Miles couldn't help but grin at the excitement in the child's voice.

"I gotta go to the bathroom, Mommy," Harris yelled loud enough so that the passengers in coach could hear him.

"Okay, Harris. Let's go."

After they returned, Harris said, "Mister Brightperson, are we almost there yet?"

* * *

Tooty held Harris' hand and followed Miles through the maze of airport traffic. Both she and her son were stunned speechless at the enormity and grandeur of JFK International. Miles was talking to someone on his cell phone. He said goodbye and then stopped his wheelchair. "This way is baggage claim."

Tooty and Harris followed him in the rush of passengers headed in the same direction. While they waited for the conveyor to start its circular motion, Miles explained, "My driver is waiting outside the terminal. He'll take us to my penthouse and you'll have the remainder of the day to unpack and rest, and tonight my parents and a friend are coming to dinner."

"There's ours, Mommy!" Harris yelled, and pointed to two faded yellow suitcases that Tooty had bought for a few bucks at a garage sale. She lifted the luggage off the conveyor. A few minutes later, Miles lifted his expensive black leather one with telescoping handles. He set it on his lap. "Put Harris' suitcase on top of mine. It's small enough."

Tooty did as he asked and then, holding Harris' hand while pulling her old suitcase on its wobbly wheels behind her, followed Miles as he pushed the lever on his wheelchair and started forward. After a long walk past airport shops and through bustling crowds focused on reaching their next destinations, they finally exited the terminal.

Miles paused and scanned a line of limousines. "There's my driver." He pointed toward a tall, skinny, older man with slicked down gray hair peeking from beneath his chauffeur's cap. The distinguished looking driver hastened toward them.

"Good afternoon, sir. It's good to see you again. I trust you had a pleasant flight." The chauffeur glanced at Tooty and Harris standing beside Miles.

"Yes, very nice. It's good to see you, too, Harvey. I'd like you to meet Miss Tooty Townsend and her son Harris. Tooty is my personal assistant in Colorado. She'll be working for me while we're in New York. Tooty, this is Harvey  Frankowitz. You'll meet Myrna, his wife, at the house."

Harvey bowed slightly. "My pleasure, Ms. Townsend. He looked at Harris. "It's a pleasure meeting you, too, Harris."

A movement beyond the backseat window of the limousine caught everyone's attention and Harvey reached to open the door. Tooty watched a pair of slim, shapely legs and shiny red heels, swing toward the curb and a woman of exotic beauty step to the sidewalk. "Hello, Miles. I'm so happy you're home. I hope you don't mind that I came along to meet you. God, I've missed you." She bent and lightly grazed his lips, lingering a second, and then slid her finger across his mouth to remove her lipstick.

"Hello, Monica. I'd like you to meet Tooty Townsend and Harris."

Still bending over Miles, she turned her head to scan them from head to toe. Rising, she walked toward Tooty and stretched out her hand. "I'm pleased to meet you. Miles has told me about you and Harris. When he left for the Wild West, I just knew he'd have to hire a personal assistant. My name is Monica Newport, and I guess you could say I'm sort of a personal assistant, too. I love helping Miles." She shook Tooty's hand and her eyes conveyed the true meaning behind her words.

"I'm happy to meet you, ma'am."

Monica smiled, but there was no warmth in her eyes. "You must call me Monica." She looked at Harris and he stepped behind his mother's legs. "And you're Harris. What a cute little boy, you are."

Tooty pulled Harris from behind her. "Say hello to Ms. Newport, Harris."

Shyly, Harris said, "Hello. You got really red lips."

"Harris!" Tooty scolded.

"Sorry." Harris looked at the ground.

Tooty noticed Miles' lips twitch, like he was trying not to laugh. Secretly, she agreed with Harris, the woman's lipstick was redder than a fire engine.

Harvey punched his key fob and the trunk flipped open. Harris shouted, "Cool!" Pulling his mother's hand he dragged her until they could watch the driver loading the baggage. After that, Harvey assisted everyone into the limo and then loaded the wheelchair in the trunk.

During the drive through New York traffic, Tooty sent surreptitious glances at Miles and Monica. Was she his girl friend? Jealousy twisted her gut and she chastised herself.
He's too old for you, anyway. Besides that, he wouldn't give you a second glance.

Monica reached to smooth a lock of Miles' coffee colored hair and Tooty's stomach dropped to the floor. She concentrated on Harris, his head swinging back and forth between all the windows trying to take in everything—crowds, vendors, cabs, limousines, billboards, tall buildings, glittery storefronts.

* * *

Miles was relieved when Harvey pulled the limo to the entrance of his building. Monica's constant touching was starting to irritate him. The doorman hastened to page a porter while Harvey unloaded the wheelchair and helped Miles into it. After the porter had loaded a cart with their belongings, Miles led the group to the elevator that would take them to his penthouse.

Secretly, he smiled at the amazement on Tooty's face as she towed an excited Harris alongside. It was silly, but he was proud to show what years of hard work had accomplished. Although born into wealth, he had insisted on becoming successful on his own terms. For years, he had lived in a small flat while writing his novels and hoping for a break. That break had materialized when he was twenty-five with his first bestseller. After that, there had been three more hits and then he'd started the
Mac Righteous
series. He almost smiled at the irony of possibly writing his best selling novel to date in a humble home in the woods of Colorado.

During the elevator ride, Monica kept her hand possessively on his shoulder. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was jealous of Tooty.

Harvey's wife, Myrna, met them at the door and he made introductions. The full-figured woman said, "I'm so happy you're back, sir. I'm making one of your favorite foods for dinner, Shrimp Tortellini." She looked at Tooty and Harris. "And please call me Myrna. When you're ready, I'll show you to your room. It's lovely and has wonderful views. You must be tired from your long flight."

Tooty said, "Thank you," and glanced at Miles.

He said, "You rest and unpack. Why don't we meet in the living room at five? After dinner I'll show you around the apartment and the office you'll use while you're here."

"Okay."

Miles watched her smile sweetly, reach for Harris' hand, and follow Myrna. His heart thumped at her smile. He glanced up to see Monica watching him. He said, "So, tell me what you've been up to, love." She warmed at his endearment and followed him into the library.

* * *

Tooty followed Myrna into a magnificent bedroom. It wasn't overly large, but it looked like a glossy from a designer magazine. Harris ran to the floor to ceiling windows. "Wow!" he shouted. "We're way up high!"

"You certainly are. This is the sixty-fifth floor." Myrna pointed, "And there's the Empire State Building."

Tooty gazed over the city, happy that she and Harris would have an adventure to talk about for the rest of their lives.

Harris giggled, "The cars are so tiny down there."

Myrna said, "Wait until tonight. The view is wonderful."

Tooty turned from the window. "This room is amazing."

"Yes, Mr. Brightman has exquisite taste. He worked closely with Ms. Newport. She was the interior designer."

Tooty kept a smile plastered on her face, but felt her stomach drop again. The sophisticated Monica who had captured Miles attention, was also a successful career woman. She glanced back around the room and didn't like it so much anymore. It had a kinda cold feeling.

Myrna left after showing Tooty an intercom near the door that was connected to the kitchen. "Anything you need, you just call me."

Getting Harris to settle down with his favorite stuffed animal took some doing, but after a few admonishments, he finally cuddled into a ball hugging his bear to his heart and went soundly to sleep. Tooty brushed her fingers across his brow.
I love you, Harris. You're the best screw up I ever did. I wouldn't change anything. I wish you had your heart's desire—a daddy.

After unpacking their clothing, she lay beside Harris, but she was too keyed up to rest. Reaching into her oversized purse, she pulled out the little box protecting Annabelle's diary. Her heartbeat quickened. Was the wounded soldier going to live?

Monday, March 27, 1865

Everyday has been a battle to keep the soldier alive. Sometimes, I can't seem to feel his heartbeat and I fear he has gone to heaven, for surely heaven will be his home after suffering so much in this life. We've had to pour liquor on his wounds several times because of the infection. Afterwards, I always run outside and cry my eyes out. He tries not to yell, but the pain is too much and he does. Tears fall from his eyes and he brushes them quickly away. Everyday, I sit beside him stroking his face and hair with a cool cloth. Sometimes he opens his eyes and I'm blessed to see their blueness.

Wednesday, March 29, 1865

Today I awoke in the rocking chair by the fire to see Blue Eyes staring at me. His eyes always make me breathless. It's like he can see into my innards. I just stared back until I realized he was lucid and not perspiring with fever. I jumped out of the chair and went to feel his forehead. It was cool. He didn't say anything. Just stared at me and then closed his eyes again, falling back to sleep. The rest of the day he slept peaceful and his stumps looked much better. The redness and swelling is disappearing. One leg is gone just below the knee, the other just above the knee. It takes all my willpower when I'm around him to keep from crying at seeing someone in such dire straights.

Thursday, March 30, 1865

Today, I found out the soldier's name. I'd just brought some broth to feed him and he was awake. He'd pushed himself up to almost a sitting position and when I sat on the edge of the bed to spoon feed him, he said, barely above a whisper, "I'll do it." His hands shook terribly when he held the bowl and he handed it back to me. He looked so sad when I fed him that I wanted to cry. I can only imagine how difficult it is to be so helpless. I asked him his name and he whispered, Eli Riles. He thanked me for helping him and then said he wasn't hungry and closed his eyes. I think he's got that depression on him like Pa had after Ma died.