Patchwork to Healing, page 9
For the love of all things holy. “Duncan, this is Benjamin Daly. He’s a friend from way back in my teen days and a mutual friend of Mrs. Getchel’s. The friend who just passed away. Ben, this is Duncan Philips, my soon-to-be accountant, an insane musician here at Proposals, and friend.”
Duncan rose to his feet to meet Ben’s awaiting extended hand. Rebecca couldn’t get over the difference in their size. Ben stood a good foot taller, broader in the shoulder, and his hands were massive in comparison. Duncan adjusted his coke-bottled glasses to take in Ben’s dominating presence.
“Nice to meet you, Benjamin,” Duncan said, then awkwardly slid his hand from Ben’s firm grip. “Sorry to hear of the loss of your friend.”
“Yes, and thanks. She was the closest thing to a mother that we ever had.” Ben directed his attention toward Rebecca with a tender smile.
How dare he say that Mrs. Getchel was like a mother to me? Grandmother, yes, but mother, absolutely not. Heat rose across her chest and up her neck. She’d had a mother, and she’d been the most amazing and giving woman that Rebecca had ever known. No one would ever hold a candle to her.
You presumptuous, impossible man. She clutched her fists at her side and took in a few deep breaths, hoping that she could hide her anger.
“Duncan, thanks again for agreeing to meet with me. I just need to take care of the Foreman’s wedding event, and then I’m all yours if that works for you?”
Duncan slid his glasses up his nose and leaned back to hold on to the back of the chair, as if his knees were about to give out on him. Ben’s imposing presence stood steadfast over her shoulder, and Rebecca had a hard time shielding her annoyance.
“Sure, um—that should work, Rebecca,” Duncan said, then cleared his throat. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can do for you? Anything more urgent, perhaps?” His eyebrows rose and he shifted his weight while continuing to lean on the chair.
“I’m sure Duncan, but thanks. I’m all set for now.” Rebecca could tell that Duncan was relieved. His shoulders relaxed, but still seemed unsure of what to do.
“Well, I guess I’ll finish my soup then,” Duncan said, and once again took his seat before nodding at Ben. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
Rebecca grabbed hold of Ben’s hand and pulled him outside, out of earshot of the customers, then put her fisted hands on her hips. “What are you doing here, Benjamin?”
“I don’t understand. Why are you so pissed at me?”
“You were looming over me and listening in on my private conversations! How would you feel if I just showed up at your work? And I find it difficult to believe that you just happened upon Proposals. Stalking me isn’t a good look, Ben.”
“Stalking you?” he said with wide eyes. “Excuse me if I wanted to see what grown-up Becky’s life was about. I heard good things—and—and I wanted something sweet to eat.”
“Oh, I see. You heard good things. It’s good to know that my life was the topic of your conversations.”
Rebecca shivered, and she could sense her co-workers staring at them from inside.
“You know what, Ben, I don’t need this right now. I came here to work—this is my place of business. Besides, you have important things that you have to get back for, and I hardly think—”
“I don’t get you, Becky! One minute you act like you want me around—you know, to help and stuff—and the next minute, you’re pushing me away. Do you want my help or not because, for the life of me, I can’t figure you out?”
She couldn’t even look at him. What he was asking was a perfectly sound question, but she couldn’t answer. She didn’t want to do what was required of them by herself, but he wasn’t dependable. The last time she’d counted on him, trusted him, he’d left her. And he was just going to do it again. At least this time, he’d shown her the courtesy of giving her some kind of head’s up that he was leaving.
Ben stood before her, waiting for an answer. Daisy leaped onto the hood of her car and pushed her nose toward his tapping fingers. Without removing his questioning stare from hers, he nonchalantly moved his hand to Daisy’s back and gave it several long, slow caresses, then moved to under her ear. Daisy responded, pushing herself closer with a purr.
Rebecca, in that moment, wished that his hand would caress her like that and found herself getting jealous of a stupid cat. “Daisy, down,” she said, and nudged the calico off the car. “You’re going to scratch it.”
The warmth welling within her ebbed, and the momentary distraction cleared her mind. “You know what, Ben. It doesn’t really matter what I want, does it? You’re just going to do what you darn well please anyway.”
“Beck, I—”
“I’ve got to get to work.” With that, Rebecca stepped around Ben, taking only a few steps before Daisy got underfoot.
“What is with you?” She picked up the ginger cat, trudged toward the main house’s porch, opened the door, then plopped her inside with a thud. She just hoped that Ben had left because she couldn’t face him another minute. Her emotions wreaked havoc in her with a quickening pulse and the familiar knot at her throat. She swallowed hard and forced herself to not tear up.
“I always figured you for a cat person,” Ben said as he leaned against the car with his arms and ankles crossed. Once again, Rebecca faced the man she’d tried to erase for the past decade.
“Well, you figured wrong.” She brushed her hands together as if wiping the feel of the cat from her. “I thought you were leaving.”
“I will, but not before you agree to talk to me—later—after work.”
“Why did you come here, anyway?” Rebecca asked.
His long eyelashes accentuated his deep brown orbs, and she swore they could see right through her. He’d always been able to do that, and his perception of her liking cats ripped at her heart.
She used to love cats, until her life changed in the blink of an eye. But she hadn’t told a soul, not even Ben or Mrs. Getchel. And she wasn’t about to turn into a blubbering fool right there in front of him. Again, she stuffed the urge to cry deep inside, as she’d always done.
“I didn’t want to leave on a bad note,” Ben said.
“Oh, was that all?” She shoved her hands in her pants pockets and chewed on her lower lip. “Let me get this straight. You came here to tell me goodbye, again, because you feel bad.”
“Yes.” He took a step closer to her. His musky cologne was intoxicating as he lowered his strong face close to hers. “I don’t want to leave with you upset again. I didn’t want it before, and I don’t want it now.”
Rebecca wanted him to wrap his arms around her so she could cradle her head against his chest. Just once, she wanted him to think of her just as she’d thought of him over the years. He was leaving her again. She’d just have to accept that fact. Any amount of wishing on her part was futile.
“We don’t need to talk later. Let’s just get it out there right now.”
“Okay,” Ben said with some trepidation in his voice.
“You don’t owe me anything. We are just two people thrown together by happenstance. Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll take care of the project. I always end up landing on my feet.”
With that, Ben leaned into her and wrapped his arms around her and gave her a hug that as much as she wanted to push him away, made her weak in the knees. She breathed in the scent of his leather jacket and musky cologne, then gave his bicep a squeeze to indicate the embrace should end.
“It really was good seeing you again, Becky.” He pecked her on the forehead. “I’ll let you get to work.”
“Yep. I really need to get to it.”
She could barely bring herself to look at him. She just wanted him gone. Ripping off the band-aid was better than dragging things out.
Chapter 12
Benjamin’s insides turned upside down as he drove away from the Proposals. Once again, he left her standing alone while he was leaving. This time, she was a grown woman with a life of her own. Becky Mills had grown into a remarkable woman. It wasn’t his place, but he was proud of her. She still carried a chip on her shoulder, but he couldn’t blame her. All the kids in the foster system had, and if he was any indication, they still did today.
Rebecca had lashed out, then would retreat into her own world where he could never enter. Truth be told, he thought, he wasn’t much better.
Benjamin has only vague memories of his parents. They were a shadowy dream in slow motion. He could see their thin bodies in a haze-filled room, moving around the coffee table like rag dolls. Later, when he was four, his father sat hunched over a steering wheel and his mother splayed out on the other side of the front seat. The day had been sweltering and his parents were barely clothed. He had no idea what he had been wearing. He watched the scene as if in a movie, or an out-of-body experience. His mother’s eyes looked into some faraway place, her mouth agape. He heard his own voice saying, “Mommy, Daddy, wake up,” over and over again. But they never did.
Ben tried over the years to remember a good time with his parents: a smile, a hug, an atta-boy, but nothing came to mind. He only knew the feeling of being afraid, alone, and hungry. For years, the fearful pang of being abandoned had shaken him to his core. As he grew, that fear was replaced with the need to run away from those who claimed to care for him. The system had transferred him from place to place, never knowing where he’d end up or who he’d end up with.
Until he was thirteen and Mrs. G. entered his life that he had the feeling of being wanted, and if he dared say, loved.
His thoughts again went to Becky. He’d been in the system for far too long and he understood the full weight that experience carried. Even though she wasn’t in it for nearly as long, her battle scars made up for the time.
If he remembered correctly, she’d arrived at Mrs. G’s when she was fifteen. Prior to that, he’d learned she’d had health issues. He and the other kids weren’t supposed to ask about or talk about; Mrs. G. made that clear. Apparently, she’d been placed in the foster program around fourteen. He was happy that she’d been placed at Mrs. G’s because it offered her a greater chance of success. She was one of the lucky ones.
Joining the military had proved an awakening. He’d had structure, authority figures that he dared not get on the wrong side of. He’d had too many painful experiences of bad actors in his life, so he did all he could do to not bring him any more harm than necessary. In the Navy, he had a real sense of purpose and belonging that was both honorable and necessary to his well-being. To this day, he wondered why he’d left. He supposed it was his freedom and his independent streak that called him to leave. If he were being honest with himself, he’d have to confess that it was those same needs that were calling him to stop salvaging or leave Maine yet again.
***
Ben arrived at his room at the inn. He shed his coat and kicked off his shoes. He cracked open a beer from the mini fridge, lit the gas fireplace, and flipped open the large pepperoni pizza that he’d picked up. The packet of papers he’d received from the attorney stared back at him as if it were taunting him. You win. He opened the folder.
The more he read, the more he now had an inkling of why Becky might have been so upset with him. Of all the presumptuous, preposterous, and downright inconsiderate things to have put on our shoulders. The magnitude of what Mrs. G. was asking of him and Becky was just too much.
Ben paced the floor. The file folder firmly in his hand, he slapped it against his thigh. He looked up toward the heavens. “I have a life, Mrs. Getchel!” He wheeled the folder over his head. “I don’t have time for this in my life. Do you hear me?”
Ben tossed the folder on the coffee table, then plopped into the overstuffed chair and rested his head in his hands, tapping his heels on the hardwood floor. Mrs. G. always had an ulterior motive up her sleeve, but he couldn’t imagine what had been on her mind.
He now had a splitting headache and felt terrible that he’d blown off Mrs. G’s wishes when he’d first heard them. He’d basically checked out after he learned he’d inherited some money. He and Becky talked about it briefly afterwards, but he had to confess, he’d only half listened to Becky’s ramblings about the whole thing. He supposed he was too focused on her adorably messy hair to fully pay attention.
Surely, Mrs. G. hadn’t expected him to leave his whole life behind and stay here, and Rebecca had to know that as well. Frankly, he figured she’d just handle the project on her own, and they’d get their money. Now, however, he realized the will clearly stated that to receive any money, they must work together to form the foundation for foster children. Problem was he had no idea how he was going to manage that, seeing he lived in the middle of the Pacific.
Ben needed to call his team in Kauai to see if he could feasibly delay his return. Hawaii was five hours behind east coast time, so he shouldn’t have any trouble reaching anyone. Smithers would have a pretty good idea of the schedule for the foreseeable future. Maybe, Ben thought, he could figure out a way to do both.
He paced the floor as the phone rang on the other end. “Hey, Smithers, miss me?”
“You bet your sweet ass I do,” Smithers said with a boisterous laugh. “What’s up?”
“Got myself in a jam, and I’ve got to stick around here longer than I thought. Anything going on your end?”
“Nah, just some small jobs—no more superhero crap that we’d need you for. We’re actually expecting a hurricane over the next week anyway, so we couldn’t go out, even if we wanted to. You say you’re in a jam there on the mainland?”
“Seems my old friend who passed away left me in a bit of a bind. I’ve got to work some stuff out with Becky—another friend of mine.”
“That the girl Holokai’s been yapping my ear off about? Says you used to be sweet on her, back when you were a pup.”
“Yep.” He didn’t dare encourage Smithers anymore. He had a way of turning everything into some kind of sexual innuendo, and Ben wasn’t in the mood.
“Is that what they call it now? Workin’ some stuff out?”
Ben rolled his eyes at Smithers’ predictable, crass sense of humor.
“I guess a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” Smithers said.
“Guess so,” Ben said. “Hey, can you ask Holokai to swing by my place on the way to the docks sometime over the next few days? I’d like him to take what he wants out of the fridge, and throw anything else out that might spoil?”
“What, I’m not good enough for you to do that?”
“You live in the opposite direction and—”
“I’m just bustin’ your balls. I’ll let him know.” With that, Ben said thanks and disconnected.
Good, Ben thought, that will give him time with Becky, and he had to admit that spending more time with her was definitely a plus. God willing, they’d work out a feasible plan; one that would meet Mrs. G’s wishes and still allow him to go back to his life.
A brilliant sunset caught his attention through the window. He slipped on his loafers and grabbed his coat. The temperature surprised him when he opened the door. Maybe it was the calmness, without the Northeastern sea breeze. He ventured across the street to take in the fullness of the spectacular display. Just looking at the water and smelling the salty air relieved his angst, and before he knew it, he was feeling a bit better. Knowing that he wasn’t causing any added stress back home sealed the deal that he’d stick around.
Besides, he thought, he owed it to Mrs. G. and Becky.
Chapter 13
Rebecca stopped by her new house on her way home. She still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that it was hers. As she placed the key in the door, the sensation that she was intruding still lingered. She knew in time that the feeling would abate, but it was strange, nonetheless. Rebecca didn’t plan to stay long, but figured if she walked around the rooms, she’d get a feel for what might lie ahead.
She hoped for some kind of epiphany, or that the house would speak to her, but she found herself reliving the past.
Rebecca wandered into the room where she’d slept when she’d first moved in. The room was large with windows that looked toward the street. Two twin beds sat against opposite walls with matching quilts. She bet if she looked closely, she’d see the initials she’d penned on one of the corner squares.
Rebecca sat on the edge of the bed and untucked the quilt from under the pillow. She turned down the edge, and sure enough, a faint R.M. still showed on the square near the binding. She caressed the letters and wondered if anyone ever knew of this secret. The secret that she’d claimed it as her own, in a world where nothing was no longer hers.
The act of scribing those letters may have planted a seed that would spur on her need to make personalized quilts today. She held the corner of the quilt close to her chest, thinking of all the other children who were feeling lost, alone, and afraid, knowing that they’d lost everything that they ever knew.
Rebecca recalled the first time she’d lain on the bed. She repeated the action by lying on the bed with her arms to her side and looked toward the ceiling.
She remembered the unbearable sense of despair, an overwhelming remorse for what she’d done to end up in that bed back then. Rebecca recalled how she’d worn the remains of a few small bandages on her shoulder, right arm, and chest. They weren’t nearly as extensive as they had been when she was in the burn unit, but had been tender and a constant reminder of what she’d done.
Coming to terms with the loss of her parents had taken years of counseling, and lessened the burden of guilt. Try as she may, guilt reared its head and consumed her body, mind, and spirit, as if it had just happened.
