Matthew's Choice (15 page)

“Two minutes. How’s school?”

Again, only a shrug. Matt almost asked if the cat had his tongue, but memories of adults saying that to him when he was a kid dried up the words. “How about Patches? Does she like it at Allie’s?”

Finally. A smile.

“She sleeps with me.” Noah unbuckled his seat belt as Matt parked beside the house. “After we eat, can we throw the football around some?”

Matt’s heart warmed that he actually suggested doing something. “You bet. Then we’ll go see your mom.”

In the house, Matt put their sandwiches on the red Formica table. This was the one place in the world he missed his mom the most.

“What’s this?” Noah traced his finger over initials Matt had carved into the table.

“Uh, something that got me into a lot of trouble.”

“You mean you get into trouble with people besides Miss Allie?”

“Sometimes. This particular time I got a Case knife for my birthday.” He couldn’t remember who gave it to him, only that his mother was not pleased. “It made perfect sense to me to carve my initials in our table. Unfortunately, it didn’t make sense to my mom.”

Noah leaned toward him. “Did you get punished?”

“Oh, yeah, but you know what the worst part was? My mom crying because I’d ruined her new table.”

“I know. I hate it when I make my mom cry. What’d you do after that?”

“There was nothing I could do except to buy her a new table, and you can see I didn’t do that. But she forgave me. And took my knife away. And grounded me. I hated being grounded.”

Noah’s eyes softened and he patted Matt’s arm. “I get it. Being grounded is tough.”

If Matt could, he’d freeze this moment, but it was gone too quickly.

“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 often 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

M
ATT
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 about 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?”

“Cedar Grove.” With the resources at his fingertips, Bradford knew exactly where Mariah and Noah were, so why this game? “Yes, sir, that’s a thought.”

“I make it a point to get to know my employees and their families. I’d like to meet them sometime.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“Good.”

Employee. Excitement surged through Matt’s veins, but he contained himself until he was on the other side of the door and inside Ms. Jones’s office. Evidently the secretary had stepped out, and he allowed the reality of what had just happened to wash over him. His fingers curled into fists, and he pumped the air.
Yes!
Home run, touchdown, slam dunk. All rolled into one. At this second, he could drop a basketball through the hoop and not even have to jump.

“Be careful you don’t bump the ceiling.” Ms. Jones’s calm voice penetrated his haze. She’d slipped in the other door and now walked to her desk.

“You knew,” he said, turning to her.

She gave a slight nod and handed him a white packet.

“Then why did you tell me to be sure and stop by your desk when I left?”

She took her seat and indicated a chair for him. “I wasn’t completely sure you would answer in the affirmative.”

He was too jumpy to sit and elected to pace. “If I’d said no, were you going to try to change my mind?”

“Oh, no,” she replied with a somber smile.

A little of the excitement dimmed, and he paused to stare at her. “You were going to congratulate me for turning his offer down?”

“No.”

“Then, what?” The words came out edgier than he’d meant.

“I had thought you might ask for time to consider the offer.”

Matt detected...not disappointment in her voice, but something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “If I had done that, ask for time, what would your advice have been?”

“But you said yes, so it’s of no consequence.”

Ms. Jones reminded him of his mother when she wanted him to figure out something for himself. He was curious to know what advice she would have given him. “Please?”

Tapping her lips, she seemed to consider his question. “All right, but you have too many stars in your eyes, so you probably won’t agree with what I have to say.

“First I want you to know I’ve been J. Phillip Bradford’s secretary since he went into business. We’re friends, and I was friends with his wife. While I haven’t always agreed with his decisions, I admire and respect him. However, I saw what happened to him and his family when work became the most important thing to him. And you will have that same choice—at some point, you will have to choose between your job and your family.”

“I know I’ll be working a lot of hours,” Matt said. “I think I know what I’m getting into.”

“Are you sure? J. Phillip Bradford is a generous, compassionate person. His standards are higher than most, but he expects no more than he gives.” She smiled. “The problem is he gives two hundred percent. He’s married to his job and will expect the same from you. Make sure that’s what you want, Matthew. He will accept no excuses, especially since he’s taken you under his wing.”

“But, why me?”

“Obviously, you have impressed him. If you think there are other reasons, my dear Matthew, you will have to ask him.” She slapped her palms on the desk and stood. “I have to get back to work.”

Matt all but bounced on his feet as he waited at the elevator, the portfolio tucked securely in his briefcase. In less than an hour, his life had changed. The downside was telling his current boss he was quitting. And Jessica. His excitement dampened slightly. She might not be happy he was leaving her father’s corporation.

He willed the elevator to hurry. Next on his agenda was a drive out east to the register of deeds archive office to apply for a copy of his parents’ marriage license. Maybe he should let it go for today. No, he’d penciled the time in, and if he didn’t go ahead and do it, he wouldn’t have time later.

Matt shifted his briefcase to his right hand. Lots of puzzles today...like Ms. Jones’s tone when she found out he’d accepted Bradford’s offer. The door to the elevator slid silently open, and as he stepped into the glass cage, it came to him.

Sadness.

That was the tone he hadn’t been able to identify.

* * *

A
LLIE
HESITATED
OUTSIDE
the hospital door. Matt should be the one talking to his sister about entering rehab. But Mariah had called Allie. Now if she could find the right words. She pushed open the door and halted inside the room, her pulse racing at the sight of the empty bed. Mariah had resisted any talk of getting help. What if she had run away? “Mariah?”

“In here.” She emerged from the bathroom wearing the clothes Allie had bought the day before. Mariah’s long black hair was pulled into a ponytail. She straightened the new shirt. “Thanks for getting these. I’ll pay you as soon as I get back to work.”

The breathy words matched Mariah’s pale face. Allie winced at the size-two jeans that hung loosely on her thin frame. “Don’t worry about it.”

Mariah’s lips formed a thin line. “I don’t accept charity.”

Allie had seen that same streak of independence in Noah. “Matt gave me money to buy anything you or Noah needed.”

The tight lines eased. Evidently help from Matt didn’t constitute charity.

“Well, thanks for taking the time to buy them.”

“You look nice.” For an instant, Mariah reminded Allie of the girl she’d known in high school—before drugs and alcohol took their toll. “How do you feel?”