The Plan (19 page)

“Gia, field trips don't make a life. Besides, you can't babysit me and keep me entertained every minute of every day.”

Gia sighed loudly and sat down on the bed, across from Claire. The women faced each other, an entire lifetime between them.

“You know what I do when I'm alone here?”

Gia shook her head.

“I wait for my kids to come home.”

Claire raised her hand to stop Gia from saying anything and Gia, who'd just opened her mouth, closed it again.

“I know it's crazy, but if I try hard enough, I can just about convince myself they're at school and will be home any minute. I even open the front door at three o'clock because I know the school bus will be dropping all the neighborhood kids off at the end of the block. I sit at my kitchen table and hear the kids running down the street, yelling and laughing, and I close my eyes and pray that, for once, for just one more time, I'll hear my screen door slam open and three little voices will yell out, ‘Hi, Mommy! We're home! Can we have a snack?' ”

Tears were silently running down both Claire's and Gia's faces, but neither of them wiped them away. Tears were a part of life now. Not something to push away, but something they'd learned to accept and live with.

“But the door never opens and no one ever comes running in. No one is ever going to come running in again to tell me about their day or about the mean kid on the playground or how they got an ‘A' on a spelling test.”

Claire stood up and began to fold a shirt that was sitting on the bed. “That was my life. And it's gone. No matter how long I sit at that table, no matter how many batches of cookies I have cooling on the counter, they're not coming back.”

“Claire, I'm so sorry.”

“You know what?” Claire said, laying the shirt in the suitcase and picking up another one to fold. “I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry because I miss my husband and my kids. I'm sorry because I know it hurts you to see me like this. I'm sorry for the mess all of this has made of your life, as well as of mine. I can't do this anymore. I need a fresh start.”

“And you have to get that fresh start halfway around the world with a bunch of strangers?”

“I think I do,” Claire said, closing the suitcase and pressing down to get it to latch. “For the first time in a long time, no one will look at me with pity in their eyes. I won't be Claire, the woman who lost her whole family in an awful tragedy. I won't be the one in need. Instead, I can be the person who's helping. I realized last weekend that God can use you, no matter what your situation.”

She lugged the suitcase off the bed and walked around to sit next to Gia.

“Deep down, even you know I need to leave.”

“But I don't want you to leave me.”

Claire, full of love for her friend, this woman who'd given up so much of her own life to care for Claire, gently rested her hand on Gia's arm.

“I know. That's the hard part. I'm gonna miss you so much. I don't know how I would've survived this nightmare without you. I know I
wouldn't
have survived this nightmare without you. You've been a much better friend to me than I've been to you over the past year and a half and I'm sorry for that, too.”

“That's not true.”

Claire laughed. “Can you actually say that with a straight face?”

Gia grinned.

“Of course it's true. I couldn't give you what I didn't have to give. I'll be a better friend when I come back. And, I will come back.”

“Promise?” Gia asked, her eyes revealing the fear of losing Claire forever.

“I promise,” Claire said, pulling Gia toward her, embracing the woman who loved Claire more than Claire deserved. And Claire knew it.

She was going to make sure she became the type of woman who deserved Gia's love. Even if it killed her.

Though she doubted it would. If losing her family hadn't done her in, it would take something completely catastrophic and otherworldly to destroy Claire now.

And she wasn't going to let that happen.

“About how many wheelchairs will this donation cover?” Callum asked Alison, as she sat across from him at his desk, a stack of files on her lap and another dozen or so on the desk.

“Seventy-five.”

Callum let out a long whistle. That number was music to his ears.

“Wow. That's just grand. Make sure I personally thank Mr. Maxwell when we see him next. I don't want him to just get a letter from us.”

Alison pulled a clipboard out from under the stack on her lap and jotted down a note to herself.

“Got it.”

“Anything else?”

“That about covers it,” Alison said, always the professional. When they were talking business, she barely cracked a smile. But Callum had seen her let loose after a few drinks, and she could be quite a hoot, as Wyatt called her. She was especially entertaining if you got her on the back of a mechanical bucking bronco, which they'd done at a tiny hole-in-the-wall bar in New Mexico. He understood what Mitch saw in her. She was smart, sophisticated and quick as a whip when it came to verbally sparring with Wyatt. They all enjoyed watching that happen, and it happened often. The two of them just couldn't help themselves. Callum smiled at the memory.

As if on cue, Wyatt walked into Callum's office as Alison was exiting. He plopped down in the seat Alison had just vacated and, as was his habit, kicked his cowboy boot-clad feet onto Callum's desk.

“Hey, boss.”

“Hey,” Callum replied distractedly, as he sorted through papers on his desk. “I hate when you call me that.”

“I know, boss.” He grinned. “So, what'd cha think of that new singer lady?”

“She was incredible.” He stopped going through the papers and looked directly at Wyatt. “Okay, you always know what's going on around here. What's her story? I mean, she comes to hear me one night and then gives up her whole life to travel with us, just like that?”

Wyatt picked up the paperweight on Callum's desk and began to turn it around in his enormous hand. An ice cube in the hand of the Abominable Snowman.

“My guess? She's running.”

“Running? From what?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Wyatt placed the paperweight back on the desk. “Pain. Isn't that what most people run from?”

“That and the law.”

Wyatt chuckled. “Oh, no. She's clean as a brand-new Ford pickup. Frank did a thorough background check on her. No, what she's runnin' from is deep inside.”

“Didn't Frank find out anything in his research?”

“If he did, he ain't sharin' it. And, frankly, it's not any of my damn business. I'm not about to go Googling her. Don't matter to me as long as we get to hear her sing every night.”

“You can say that again.” Callum focused his attention back to the paper in front of him. “Did Alison tell you that Steve Maxwell donated enough money for us to get seventy-five wheelchairs?”

Wyatt let out a long, low whistle. “That's more chairs than I can shake a stick at.”

Callum glanced up at him. “If you say so.”

“Okay, Mr. Leprechaun. What better Irish expression do you have?”

Callum paused for a moment and then his eyes lit up. “We're sucking diesel now.”

“And you think Texans are weird.”

“Isn't that what they say in Austin? Keep Austin weird?”

“It sure is.” Wyatt grinned, patting his pocket.

“There still aren't any smokes in there, paddy.”

“I know, but I keep hoping.” Wyatt stood up and stretched his long legs. “By the way, I saw the way you were looking at her.”

“Who?” Callum said, surprise registering on his face. “Alison?”

“No way, padre. Claire.”

“Claire? Ms. Matthews? What are you talking about? I wasn't looking at her in any way.”

“Oh. I see. That's how we're gonna play this.”

“Play this? We're not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about.”

Wyatt laughed and grabbed hold of the door handle. “Boss, you had the hots for her.”

“The
what?
I did not.” Callum gave Wyatt an indignant frown.

“Actually, I should have used the present tense. You
have
the hots for her.”

“I don't have the hots for anyone.”

“You're so hot for her the hens are laying hard-boiled eggs.”

“There is no heat. There are no hens. And definitely no eggs.” Callum could feel the volume of his voice rising. Why was he getting so worked up over this? Who cared what Wyatt thought? He knew Wyatt enjoyed getting under his skin and Callum was giving Wyatt what he wanted.

Callum could hear Wyatt's laughter long after he closed the door behind the big cowboy. Suddenly, he didn't feel like getting back to work. He stared at his computer screen.

He wanted to Google her.

“It's not any of my damn business,”
Wyatt had said.

He'd been right. Callum had never felt the need to Google any of the other members of his staff before. As long as they had clean records and nothing incriminating in their past, and Frank had assured them she was good to go, then her personal business was just that.
Personal.
She had a right to enter their team with no assumptions being made about her. No preconceived ideas.

Still, the urge to learn more about her nagged at Callum. So much so, he wheeled his chair away from the desk to avoid the temptation.

He needed to go for a walk. Or, as it was, a roll. Some fresh air was necessary for him to gather his thoughts.

Callum wouldn't go so far as to say Wyatt was correct about him having the “hots” for Claire. But, he was intrigued by her. He had to admit there was something about her that had sparked his interest. He was happy she was joining the team. If Mitch, Frank or any of the others had been around, he would've said he was merely excited to hear her sing. And he was.

But, he was also eager to get to know her. And not by researching her online. Callum wanted to have an old-fashioned, get-acquainted conversation with Claire. He'd make sure to put that as a top priority on his agenda as soon as she joined the group in a few days.

Callum always had introductory conversations with new team members, not that there were many. They were a small, tight-knit group and the turn-over rate, other than Terri leaving to give birth, was pretty much zero. He often spent quality time with the others, and he knew them very well. Just as they knew him.

Speaking with Claire and getting to know her wouldn't be any different. She was the new vocalist and he needed to know her so they could work well together. Callum and his crew traveled all over the world, sometimes to some unsafe and rather undesirable locations. They all needed to feel comfortable with one another. Trust was an intricate and vital element to all of their relationships.

The bond he was going to build with Claire would be no different than the connections he had with Frank, Wyatt, Mitch and Alison.

Then why, Callum wondered, did getting to know Claire not feel like another professional responsibility? Why did the thought of speaking to her, the idea of looking into those espresso eyes, make his stomach tumble in ways that weren't familiar to him?

Callum rolled his wheelchair down the hall and into the elevator as it opened. He definitely needed to get some fresh air. He spoke in front of hundreds of thousands of people each year. He did
not
get nervous.

So why was it, he had to ask himself as he pressed the Lobby button on the elevator panel, did he have visions of yellow and blue and orange and purple and pink butterflies fluttering all around in his intestines?

And why did those butterflies only seem to be in there when he thought about Claire?

Claire heard a soft knock on her hotel door just as she finished applying her mascara in front of the bathroom mirror.

“Coming!” she called out, brushing over her lashes one last time. She returned the mascara brush to its tube and inspected her reflection carefully.

Not too bad.

She'd flown into Savannah, Georgia earlier that morning. Frank had picked her and her two suitcases up at the airport. She couldn't believe she was going to live out of two suitcases for the next two months. Once she was in the car, they'd headed straight to the event center where they'd rehearsed for about two hours. She was rusty and she knew it. And, though Frank didn't give her anything but positive compliments and constructive criticism, which she welcomed, she knew he knew it, too.

Oh, well. Singing was like riding a bike, right? Or, maybe it was more like running a marathon. She could only run a mile or two now, but give it time and a whole lot more practice and strengthening of her voice and she'd be doing that metaphorical twenty-six-point-two miles in no time.

That's the pep talk she gave herself, anyway.

She'd been so glad to finally reach her room and lie down for a bit. She hadn't slept much over the past month, what with all the packing and preparation required for her to be gone for months at a time.
There was the mail that needed to be forwarded to Gia's house, bills that needed to be set up for automatic payment, landscapers that needed to be hired to mow the lawn, a fridge that needed to be purged of all its food; the list seemed endless. On top of all that, she'd needed to pack. She hadn't taken much with her, but the process of whittling down her closet to what she would definitely need was not an easy task.

The nap at the hotel had come as a welcome relief. Claire had fallen asleep within seconds of her head hitting the pillow. She'd set an alarm to make sure she didn't oversleep. She'd wanted to ensure she didn't miss her first dinner with the team.

Hurrying out of the bathroom, she looked out the keyhole. A young woman, with a short blonde bob, stood outside Claire's hotel room.
Alison.
Claire remembered seeing her the night she went to hear Callum speak and Frank had mentioned her during a number of their conversations.