The Girl He Needs (3 page)

“How so?”

“Giving me grief about my doctor appointments. Asking me if I thought the work would be too much when you brought in the other pilot. For what it’s worth, I ain’t nobody’s Pops and I’m offended y’all call me that. I asked you to stop.”

“Now listen here, Mel. This is bullshit and you know it. Don’t be a dumbass.”

It’s clear McRae’s about to get on a good roll and light into this clown, but before he can continue I lunge across the console, reach across his shoulder, and disconnect the call.

“What in the hell? Why did you do that?” He twists in his seat, his glare swinging between the road and me.

“You were saying
way
too much. You need to shut up and involve the company lawyer, quick.” I sit back in my seat and pull the seatbelt across my body before producing a notebook from my purse. Funny, mother wasn’t lying when she said geometry wouldn’t come in handy with my day-to-day life, but my Yale law degree would. Score one point for demanding, cold-hearted mother and zero for wayward, disappointing daughter.

“I don’t see how this is any of your business,” he shouts, before looking back at the road.

“You’re right, it’s not.” He watches me in the mirror and I meet his gaze. Usually the winner of all stare downs, I relent, instead concentrating on what I want to get on the paper, only looking up briefly when the truck shifts into the other lane and bears down on an exit. He’s totally going to ditch me.

“There’s no company lawyer. Wouldn’t getting one make things worse with Mel?” Vann asks as he turns and I feel his attention on me.

Writing furiously, I answer without looking up. “Mel already has a lawyer. I’d say things have already taken a turn for the worse.”

“How could you possibly know that?” McRae asks.

I know he’s bright. I know he’s running a company, maybe second in command, and it has gone to shit on him in only a handful of minutes, probably because of his intransigent and controlling nature. Getting him to see what I’ve figure out takes one level stare, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. I can almost picture the gears in his head working. It takes a second, but he puts it together.

“He was recording the call.” His eyes shift back to the road but he leans toward the wheel and rakes a hand down his face before giving a weary sigh.

“How do you know he was recording?” Vann asks. I let McRae answer.

“He let the answering machine pick up first. Jeez, what did I say?” He mumbles the last part to himself.

“How does any of this make sense?” Vann asks.

I lean forward coming to rest between the two front seats. “If he’s documented that he’s asked repeatedly to not be called Pops without success, that’s harassment. If your performance evals reflect the time off he’s taken as negative to his job performance and he’s got clear medical issues, that’s a case for discrimination.”

“I knew you were spreading things too thin,” Vann says before shifting closer to the door. Apparently, a whack to the arm is a small price to pay to get in another I-told-you-so dig. He turns to me. “I told him hiring old friends who needed a good job didn’t mean they were gonna do a good job. You’d think after two other failures with a personal assistant, my brother would get smart.”

I hand McRae my notes.

“What’s this?” He glances between the paper and the road.

“That’s everything you said. You’ll need to show it to your lawyer.”

He shoots me fleeting glances. As if he can’t wrap his mind around the fact that I may have just done him a solid. I don’t want to be annoyed, but I am. It’s something I’ve become all too familiar with, this impatience with people underestimating me. They see what they want to. Having an overly large chest doesn’t help my plight, either.

“Uh, so... I owe you something more than a thank you, but I can’t even think of a way to repay you,” he says. His drawl is as subtle as his brother’s and charming. He gives me what looks like a shy smile. Or one that shows he isn’t familiar with accepting help.

“We can call it even. Giving me this ride...so...thank you.” Our eyes meet and we smile at each other. I get the impression from the way he shifts awkwardly in his seat that he doesn’t like being in debt to anyone, either.

I can’t stop myself from asking and change my attention to baby brother. “What did you mean, Vann, about hiring friends?” I wonder about McRae’s intentions. The picture being painted is one of a genuinely nice guy. But I’ve yet to come across one in my travels, and I need assurance that my sense of people’s character hasn’t taken a sudden cliff dive. That the road isn’t making me too jaded and cynical. I could have stayed home and achieved that with far more comfort and luxury.

Vann turns to look at me, and I glance at the eyes watching me in the mirror. McRae does an eye roll before looking back at the road.

“Brinn has this idea that he can help some friends from the old neighborhood. Friends who are capable of working but don’t. What my brother doesn’t understand is not everyone is as driven to change their lives as he is. They think they’re getting a free ride but this guy”—he cocks a thumb to his brother—“makes a workaholic look lazy and a taskmaster gentle.”

McRae chuckles and shakes his head.

If I ask the next obvious question, I will be prying for sure and I’ll forever know things about these brothers I’m not sure I want to know. I’m not looking to play twenty questions and divulge anything more about my life. So I keep it simple. “Oh, I see.”

Perception of his character—intact. It’s a relief to know McRae may be the worse businessman ever but at least he has a bleeding heart to balance it out. Oh, how my father would cringe at the thought.

“What are you hoping to find in Florida?” McRae asks, glancing between the road and his ever-chiming cell phone. Business never stops for him.

It’s an odd question. Usually people want to know what brings someone to a destination.

I want to find my brother. I want to know why he cut me from his life. I want to know why I can’t connect with people, why leaving is so easy. I want to know what it is I want. But what do I say to this stranger?

I hesitate before deciding on my fondest wish. “I’m reconnecting with my brother.” If I say it enough maybe it will come true.

“So where can I take ya? I have to swing by Daytona Beach first and check in with the shop, but after that I can take you anywhere. It’s the least I can do.” I’m pulled in by his soft southern drawl and the way he says “ah” for I.

“Actually, Daytona Beach is perfect. No need to take me anywhere else. Just drop me off at a motel that’s close to food and shopping. I need to get a charger for my phone.”

“The Sleep Inn in Ormond Beach is perfect,” Vann tells us.

“We should be in town in thirty minutes,” McRae says over his shoulder. “Are you sure you want a motel? It really isn’t any trouble to take you anywhere. To your brother’s or something?”

I recognize his need to provide. He’s a control freak, just like my father, like my mother for that matter. He wants to manage me, either to ensure he’s done the right thing or because I’m a loose end to him. The difference between this guy and my father is that if I were to end up dead in my hotel room, McRae would probably feel he shouldered some of the responsibility, even if he never saw me again. My father would
never
go that far.

“No, thank you. The Sleep Inn will be fine.”

“There’s a Walmart across the street and lots of food,” Vann says.

“Perfect,” I say and smile. I’m starving.

As we’re pulling into the motel parking lot, I take in the convenience of its location. I can easily get by without a car for a while as I try to get organized. I know I have to watch my budget, but I’ve done a good job of being frugal over the last two years. Selling off my BMW Coupe when I set out on this journey was the smartest move I made, hands down. I’ve been able to find enough work along the way to avoid dipping into my emergency funds, and I want to keep that momentum going.

McRae idles for a minute before he turns off the engine. His eyes flick to the clock on the dash and then to me. I’m sure he’s anxious to get to his business.

“I don’t feel right leaving you here,” he says.

I’m already pushing open the truck door. I reach for my rolling suitcase and toss it out of the truck. Both Vann and McRae leap out and come to stand by my door. Vann takes my suitcase and pulls up the handle. McRae reaches out and takes my tote, yoga mat, and purse. He offers me a hand to help me out of the truck, but I slide out on my own.

I smile at the brothers as I take my bags. “I’m fine. This is perfect.”

“Here’s my business card. It has my cell number on it. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.” McRae passes me the small stiff card. I give it a quick glance, taking in the blue tones he used, but purposefully don’t look at the information. I don’t want my brain to store any of it.

“Thanks. I appreciate the ride. Good luck with Mel and all that business.” I don’t want to give him any of my information, though I know I should in case they go to court. I’m a witness to the conversation, after all. But intuition tells me I haven’t seen the last of these two. Twenty-four hours ago, I certainly didn’t think I would be riding to Florida with them. So I say nothing and turn away. I look back once, give a wave, and don’t look back again. When I get into the motel lobby, I toss the card into the trash and walk to the front desk.

I check in, renting the room for a week. Today’s plans include walking to Walmart, lounging by the pool, and Italian for dinner. Every new adventure starts somewhere and mine begins here, with my first actual lead in finding Will, and shockingly provided by him. Something good waits for me here. I can feel it in my bones.

Summer is officially in full swing and the weatherman is talking about this season’s hurricane names. Families from all over the world are visiting the beaches, the Mouse, and partaking in the awe that is Florida, and I just looked at a room-to-let that left me desperate for a shower and looking over my shoulder.

It wasn’t the girl renting out the room who had me mentally running through my self-defense moves; it was her boyfriend. Being skeeved out was no longer my chief worry, as is the usual with rooms to let. Some are dirty, others, eh, just not the safest of environments. But this place offered a boyfriend who embodies creepster. Guys eye girls, that’s a fact, and generally I know what they’re thinking. This dude? His onceover gave off a vibe that he was formulating a plan likely involving duct tape, a plastic tarp, and possibly a concrete block. After I’m safely in my rental car, I scrub my hands over my body as if it might wipe away the heebie-jeebies.

Discouraged that I haven’t found a place to stay and that my attempts to draw out my brother have failed, I’m left feeling more deflated than a flat balloon. I cleave to my one success, landing a job at a local British pub called the Fox and Hound
the second day I was in town
.
I stopped in,
hoping for some fish and chips and mushy peas, and started chatting with the lovely woman who owns the pub about what we missed most from the United Kingdom and her hometown of Oxfordshire. Within twenty minutes, I became their new bartender.

With a cheerful chime, my phone indicates new emails. I’ll be honest. I check it a lot. After I emailed Will to tell him I was in Daytona, I thought and, said-a-prayer-before-I pressed-send, hoped, I’d get an immediate response. By immediate, I was willing to accept within the same day. It’s been a week, and I refresh for new email so often I believe my smartphone can anticipate it now.

I suck in my breath when the screen indicates an email from Will. The time stamp is eight minutes earlier, when I was trying to extricate myself from Creepy House.

Room to let? I don’t know how or why you do it. Sounds too revolting and not something I’d like to experience. Good luck with that.

That’s it?

It’s hard not to be frustrated with the lack of progress in my attempts to make headway with Will. All I want to know is why he walked out. Why he cut me from his life. He’d been there for every single important moment in my life, and when he needed me the most he walked away. And never looked back. The first two years after he left, he never responded to a single email I sent. Now I cling to the bits and pieces he gives me. But frustrated or not, I want to know. I want him to tell me to my face, and more than anything I want to know him again.

But apparently that’s not going to happen if I’m living in a room-to-let, and I can’t carry the cost of a hotel indefinitely, considering the pace at which Will moves.

In a stroke of what I hope is genius, I pull up a popular vacation rental site and scroll through the options. Granted, the expense will burn through my cash faster than I’d like, but I can try to offset it by getting a second job. It’s only temporary, after all. I’ll tackle that obstacle when I have to. Hopefully, my extended stay will appeal to a landlord instead of the day-to-day gig, and I can negotiate a better rate.

“Please, please, please let there be something,” I whisper as I scroll through the list, hoping my luck can do an about-face, grant me a lucky break. At the bottom, I see the perfect rental.

It’s for a one bedroom, over-the-garage apartment. The description says bright and airy and that alone makes me feel warm from the inside out. I haven’t stayed in a space larger than twelve by twelve since I left home. Once I even lived in a yurt. The few pictures make me eager to see inside.

No roommates? More than one room?

This appeals to me on such a deep level I think it’s talking to my soul. Couldn’t I indulge myself just a tad with this apartment? Without giving it anymore thought, I type out an email and wait anxiously for a reply.

Instead of driving back to my hotel, I drive to the beach and construct an email to Will while I wait. I’ve sent a series of these light but slightly probing emails over the week that I’ve been in town.

Hey, sure love the beach. Everyone says I should see the Gulf Coast beaches, but I’m pretty happy with the sands on the Atlantic side. It beats Connecticut :). You live near the beach? I’m still looking for a place to stay. Have a lead on an apartment. I know, going nuts here. Fingers crossed.