The Plan (17 page)

“Alison said she closed registration early because it filled up so quickly.”

“That's great.”

“She was talking about convincing you to add a few more cities to the tour.”

“Nope.”

“They'd all fill up.”

“I know. But we're busy enough as it is. I need some down time. So do all of you. I'm not into working my staff to the bone. We have nothing to give to others if we don't take care of ourselves.”

“Good. I thought it was a lousy idea when she brought it up, but you know…”

“You didn't want to be the one to tell her.” Mitch smiled at Callum's reflection in the mirror and shrugged. “Man, you are so whipped.”

“Who's shaving today?”

“You can,” Callum said. “But only because…”

“You are a terrible shaver and cut yourself all the time. If we left it up to you, you'd have hair as wild as a smoke bush and pieces of toilet paper stuck to your face.”

“A smoke bush? That had to have been Wyatt's term.”

Mitch shrugged. “It's accurate. That's all that matters.”

Mitch picked up the can of shaving cream. Callum opened the palm of his hand and Mitch sprayed the foam into it.

“Lather up.”

Callum wiped the cream all over his cheeks and chin, smoothing a little bit above his top lip.

“Okay, sit still now. You don't want me to cut you.”

“You don't want to cut me
again,”
Callum said, smiling at his reflection in the mirror. “You're really no better at this than I am.”

“Oh, so you're now a comedian, too, huh?” Mitch said, raising his eyes at Callum's expression. “Make sure to use some of your jokes in your talk tonight.”

Callum sat in silence, watching Mitch shave his face. He could absolutely shave his face on his own. He could do nearly everything on
his own—or with minimal help. But, sometimes, he let people help him. The days he agreed to accept the most help were the ones where he had a whole weekend event ahead of him. Talking to a crowd for two days straight was exhausting. He poured everything he had into these seminars. He was often hungry and thirsty and exhausted, and his back ached. By the end of the weekend, all he'd want to do was sleep for three days, straight, which, of course, he couldn't because the next morning, he and his team would get in the van and head off to the next city for another seminar.

“There you go,” Mitch said at last.

“Pretty as a picture,” Callum replied, inspecting his reflection.

Mitch grabbed the folders from the desk, along with Callum's personal items, and tucked them inside the satchel permanently attached to the side of Callum's chair. “You ready to head out?” he said, grabbing Callum's and his own coat from the back of the desk chair.

“Yep. Except…”

“Except what?” Mitch said, turning back to Callum.

Callum gave Mitch a big grin, the one even he knew could make the ladies melt. The one that had gotten him in and out of a number of sticky situations throughout his youth. The one that said, “Oops. I made a mistake, but we both know you're going to forgive me for it.”

“I'm thinking I probably should have used the loo before I zipped up my pants.”

And then, with a shake of the head from Mitch, Callum rolled his chair into the restroom and closed the door behind him.

Claire hurried into the auditorium. She was running late. The traffic had been a killer and halfway here, as she sat in the bumper-to-bumper parking lot on the thruway, she'd been pretty certain she wouldn't make it at all. Then the traffic jam had unexpectedly cleared and, with a bit of a lead foot, she'd arrived at the auditorium just in time. Parking had been another issue. Claire couldn't believe how full the lot was. She'd finally found a spot a few streets over and walked at lightning speed to get back to the building.

She was thankful that Irma had given her the ticket in advance. She wasn't sure how she would've found the woman in this crowd. She'd also noticed signs on the doors to the building which stated the event was completely sold out and there were no on-site tickets available. When she'd accepted the ticket from Irma, she'd had no idea it was such a hot commodity.

Claire was sweaty and tired as she found a seat, a little further back than she would've liked. Collapsing into it, jammed between an oversized woman and a man who clearly had not put on enough deodorant this morning, she took a few deep breaths. She was here. She wasn't sure why, but she was here. There had to be a few thousand people here, so she was surprised when her eyes actually landed on Irma. Claire waved her hand as the two of them made eye contact and Irma waved in return. Irma was surrounded by a number of younger men and women and Claire assumed they were her children.

Claire began to relax as she heard the music start. She sat back and closed her eyes. The piano playing was lovely. Soft and gentle. Soothing to Claire's soul. She'd always loved the piano. She played it herself, but not very well. She'd constantly wished she was better at it. But, perfection came with practice, and Claire had never been good at the practicing part. She enjoyed singing so much more. She'd never minded practicing that. When she was young, she'd made a point of finding time for it. Once the kids arrived, though, time to practice had been hard to come by. She sang less as well, unless you counted the lullabies at bedtime and all the singing along to Justin Bieber, with the kids, in the car.

The music picked up in tempo and volume. The crowd, which had been noisy and talkative until this point, began to quiet down. The lights dimmed a bit. Claire noticed a small man seated at the piano to the side of center stage. His hands soared over the keyboard, barely landing on one note before they flew to another. And another. And another. He was an incredible musician. Claire didn't need to hear any more to know that. What he was doing to those keys was amazingly difficult and complex. Claire might not be able to do it herself, but she could appreciate such talent in others.

When the man finished, with gusto, the crowd broke into loud applause and cheers. The little man, who was dressed as if he'd just stepped from the page of a Charles Dickens novel—
dapper
was the word that popped into Claire's mind—stood up and bowed at the waist, before quickly making his way off the stage.

“Good evening, everyone.” A man, much taller than the pianist, was standing in the center of the stage, a microphone in hand. “Thank you for coming this evening. If you have never heard Callum Fitzgerald speak before, you're in for a treat. This is a man who, by all accounts, would have every right to feel sorry for himself. But instead, he's inspiring millions, all around the world, to achieve their dreams, no
matter what their limitations. Over the next two days, you will not only be inspired to change your life and turn your pain into power, but you'll be driven to help others do the same. Will you please give a warm welcome to Mr. Callum Fitzgerald?”

The people around Claire stood and began to applaud loudly. Claire rose to her feet, too. She wasn't really sure why she was standing—it wasn't like this guy was a rock star—but she felt it was rude to not join in.

The man in front of Claire was unusually wide, but luckily, not so tall that Claire couldn't see above his head. She had a good view of the stage and noticed a man riding his electric wheelchair toward a long, wooden table in the center of the stage. As he reached the front of the table, he stopped his chair and, using the one arm he had, hoisted himself on top. He turned to face the crowd.

“Thank you. Thank you very much,” he said to the audience, as they continued to clap.

Another man, who looked to be in his early twenties and in incredible shape, hurried out to the stage. He flipped a switch on the arm of the chair, rested his hand on the back and guided the wheelchair off the stage.

“Thanks, Mitch!” Callum called out before gesturing to the crowd. “Please, have a seat. Evenin', everyone. How are you? Before I begin, I'd like to first take a moment to thank you. There are many ways you could be spending your time, especially here in sunny Florida! I know you could be tanning yourselves on the beach or drinking a piña colada. It means a lot to me that you've chosen to spend some of it with me.”

He turned to face the piano. “Frank,” he called out. “Come back out here.”

The little piano man rushed back out on the stage.

“I'd also like to thank our pianist, Frank Rossen, for the beautiful music he provided this evening.”

The crowd applauded politely as Claire, once again, marveled at this man's talent. Even if she got nothing out of Callum's speech, hearing that beautiful music had made the trip and all the traffic worthwhile. She hoped he'd be playing again during the event.

Frank took a deep bow and left the stage once again.

“I have to apologize to you,” Callum continued. “For the past five years, we've had a wonderful vocalist who's traveled with us all over the world. If you'd come to hear me speak two weeks ago, you'd have had the privilege of listening to her incredible voice before I rolled out. Unfortunately, for us, not her, she left to have a baby. I'm thrilled to announce she gave birth to a beautiful little boy she named Noah Callum.”

There was a slight “aah” from the crowd as Callum's face broke into an enormous grin.

“I
know!
How awesome is
that?”
He laughed. “But, as a result, we're now a little short in the music department. So, the only person you'll get to hear tonight is me.”

His face dropped in mock sadness as the crowd chuckled.

“No worries, though. I won't be singing for you. You've been spared.” He wiped his hand across his forehead and smiled again. He had an amazing smile. Even from this distance, Claire was taken in by it. He didn't just smile with his mouth. His whole face lit up and Claire found it difficult not to smile with him.

“I will do my best to make tonight and tomorrow worth your while. And, hopefully, next time we meet, there will be vocal music to go along with your evening.”

Callum adjusted himself on the table with his arm.

“For those of you who don't know my story, I was born this way.”

Claire's eyes fell to Callum's body,
what there was of it.
Immediately, she felt guilt at thinking such a thought. But, well, it was hard to think otherwise. Where his legs should have been were two small stumps.
And, where his left arm would have been, was an empty shirt sleeve. The contrast between his exceptionally beautiful face—and it was
beautiful,
there was no denying that—and the rest of his body was startling. His cheeks were chiseled like a finely carved Michelangelo. His nose was perfectly symmetrical. His lips were full, the kind of lips that ended in a little smirk at the corners, as if he knew something no one else did. How could one part of a man's body be so incredible, the image of tall, dark and handsome, minus the tall, and the rest of him be so lacking? It was an oxymoron if Claire ever knew one.

“In the Bible, in the book of Psalms, it says ‘children are a heritage from the Lord. They are a blessing.' Thirty-five years ago, my parents were expecting their first blessing, a son. My mam had the best doctors and medical care in Ireland and took no medication. Nothing was expected to go wrong.”

Callum shrugged and, with his hand, waved down at his body. “And then I was born. The doctor held me away from my mam so she wouldn't see me. My dad caught a glimpse of me and had to hold on to a table so as to not pass out. ‘What's wrong?' my mam kept asking. ‘Tell me what's wrong with my baby.'

“Quietly, a nurse sat down next to my mam and told her the terrible news. Her baby, the one she had waited for for nine months, would never be able to fulfill the dreams she had for him. He would never be able to walk or take care of himself or have his own career and life.”

Claire could sense that even now, Callum could feel the pain his mom must've felt that day. “Her son,” Callum continued, “had been born with only one arm and no legs.”

His tone was soothing, hypnotic. Claire not only got lost in his words, but in the sound of his voice. The crowd of thousands vanished and it was as if Claire and Callum were the only ones left in the room. He was speaking directly to her.

“I could've given up. I wanted to give up. Do you know how cruel kids can be?
There were many days, especially during my teen years, when I'd wake up and think, ‘I can't get out of this bed,' and not just because I had no legs on which to stand.” Even from so far away, Claire could see him wink and slightly lighten the mood. “I'd think, ‘I can't face this life I've been given. Who's going to hire me? What women is
ever
going to love me looking this way? How will people see me as normal?' ”

Callum smiled at this point, a smile that said he held an amazing secret and was about to let you in on it.

“You know what I've learned? Normal isn't so great. Why would you want to be normal? The people we remember aren't the ordinary ones in life. They're the
extra
-ordinary ones who've faced incredible, unimaginable struggles and yet, overcome them. There's a reason people like to root for the underdog. A reason why we go to the movies and cheer for the long shot to win the race, or the wimpy kid to beat up the bully. Because, at some point in our lives, we've all felt like the underdog. You don't have to be lacking legs or an arm to feel that way. It's not the circumstances you're given in life that make you who you are. It's what you
do
with those circumstances that defines you.”

Callum held up his right arm and again gestured to his small body.

“I clearly know about struggles. What are the struggles you're facing today? If you're breathing, I know you've got them. Do they feel so heavy you think you can't stand to bear them one more day? Do you want to quit? Run away? Give up? I understand.”