Guilty Like Us, page 3
No men. There’d been enough of the wrong kind in her life, including her father, to scar her for years. Of course, decent men still existed, but Tate was her brother, Rogan Donovan was already married, and the guy who owned the sushi place she loved was gay. So... No problem because she needed to focus on her new business. Stop listening to everyone else and listen to yourself. Tate told her this every time she whimpered over another career fail. Was dog walking even a career? Well, she had listened to herself and that’s why she’d rented the office space beneath her apartment on the north side of Chicago and convinced her business-minded, techie friend, Vanessa Rodelle, to join Meredith in her vision to create a company that supported and advanced struggling entrepreneurs.
After a night of brainstorming and sipping margaritas, they found a name for their company: Passion Plan to Success, Inc. Next came the business plan that outlined their goals and objectives. While Meredith might not possess the technical writing skills to create the plan—that was another of Vanessa’s strengths—she had the vision and the passion. She wanted clients who had talent, dedication, and the perseverance to stay with their dreams when life got in the way. Because life always got in the way. The prospective client could not crumble at the first obstacle. Who knew what they’d achieve, given the opportunity? Why shouldn’t the grocery store clerk with a talent for creating beaded bracelets know success? Maybe all she needed was a little money and someone to believe in her and provide the blueprint. Meredith and Vanessa could help; they could change lives.
And someday she would stop feeling guilty for being born an Alexander.
But since that day might not come anytime soon, she’d found a way to leverage it. She, Meredith Cassandra Alexander, had learned the value of manual labor! Imagine that? Her father would be furious, her oldest brother would question whether she knew what manual labor meant, and her twin brother would laugh. Well, it didn’t matter what their reactions were because she’d found a way to make money all by herself—and she was good at it.
The idea started right after the request for bead bracelets took off with orders from boutiques, salons, and high-end department stores. Everyone who was anyone wanted one, and that was known as creating the need. Meredith knew all about that term because it had sucked her in for years, depleted her allowances, and filled her closets with items she wore once, twice, or not at all. But on this particular day, Meredith had been browsing in one of the boutiques where the price of a non-designer scarf started at $125. She’d studied the pattern, run her fingers over the silky texture, considered what it might look like when worn as a headband.
And that’s when her brainchild Trendy Chic Headbands, a.k.a. TC Headbands, happened. What if she repurposed the high-end clothes she’d once obsessed over into headbands, plunked a big-dollar price tag on them, and used the profits to help her entrepreneurship company?
There’d been the issue of learning how to sew but Vanessa had apparently grown up with a mother who insisted homemade was better than store bought. It took more than a few attempts, but Meredith was determined. She spent hours practicing the various stitches, learning what thread tension meant and how it varied depending on the fabric. There were a lot of mistakes and she grew quite adept at the usefulness of a seam ripper, but she finally did it. Meredith Cassandra Alexander, creator of nothing but bills and half-baked schemes, made her very first headband using a swatch of burgundy velvet from the dress she’d worn a few Christmases ago. The price tag for such a headband? One-hundred-fifty dollars. It sold in two days.
Since that first headband, she’d designed several more, some with Swarovski crystal embellishments sewn on, others with sequins, beads, or jewels. One-inch, two-inch, five-inch...braided, roped, knotted, in various colors and fabrics, even leather. Some had beads dangling from the ends, others had feathers or tiny metallic rings. When Meredith completed her fiftieth headband, Vanessa suggested she hire a seamstress but continue to design. Then she tossed out ideas about doubling production, shortening lead time, raising prices 20 percent, even adding in a beaded bracelet with a headband purchase. Win-win. Trust me, Vanessa had said, these headbands are hot-tickets. Just keep designing and I’ll take care of the rest. If we revise a few strategies, we should be able to increase our profit margins and dump a nice chunk into Passion Plan to Success.
Meredith enjoyed designing and sewing the headbands as a creative outlet and it made her feel good to earn her own money. But the bigger picture had always been to contribute to others in a meaningful way. That’s what she hoped Passion Plan to Success would do.
Life was finally starting to make sense and it felt darn good.
She scanned her current file, jotted a few notes in the margins. There were so many struggling entrepreneurs, some with bold ideas and a creative vision, others with unique products. What could they achieve if they had financial backing and a solid business plan? Tate would be proud of her and no doubt surprised she hadn’t landed eight different jobs in as many months. Not this time. This choice felt different and she didn’t want to jinx her chances by telling him too soon. Once she had a few more successes, she’d share her news with him. She couldn’t wait to see his shock when he learned she now understood the difference between having money and making money.
And what would he say about her headbands? Of course, he’d recognize the material as high-end because her brother had an obsession with designer quality, but when he learned she’d created them with her own sewing machine from her old wardrobe? Marketed them to her social circle and upscale boutiques? And turned a profit? Now that would make him proud and she so wanted to tell him.
There’d been a nanosecond during her last visit home when she’d almost spilled and told him about her new ventures. Then her father started bombarding her with phone calls and demands to see her. Most of her life, he’d ignored or criticized her, calling her foolish, impulsive, silly. All she’d ever wanted was his acceptance and love, but instead she’d received judgment and condemnation. Sometimes, he simply ignored her as though she didn’t matter...as though she didn’t exist.
But the phone calls and the demands to see her during her last visit? They unsettled her and not even Tate’s calming voice or his offer to confront their father could keep her in Reunion Gap. Meredith packed up the next morning and headed back to Chicago, away from the man who’d done nothing but hurt her. There was no room in her life for a man with such cruel and destructive tendencies. The stroke hadn’t changed him, hadn’t made him grateful or repentant. It had made him angrier, more vengeful.
Harrison Alexander didn’t care about people other than as pawns in a very complicated chess game. And he’d certainly never cared about her, his only daughter. After years of believing she was inferior, inadequate, and unable to contribute to society in any meaningful way, she finally felt good about herself and what she was doing. She would not let him get in her head so he could manipulate his lies and make them appear true. He’d done it to his children for years, treated them as though they weren’t human beings with voices, thoughts, and ideas. To him, they were simply possessions to be managed, manipulated, or bartered, depending on the situation.
And that was why she must avoid Reunion Gap.
No matter what.
Chapter 4
Daniel waited five days before he contacted Meredith Alexander. Ethan had a plan ready to go in less than twenty-four hours, one that involved Daniel as a struggling woodworker living in Chicago who managed to pay the rent doing finishing work for a remodeling outfit. Hardly true. The only struggle he faced these days had to do with personal relationships and his insistence he didn’t want one. Too bad the females who crossed his path disagreed. As for a way to pay the rent? He owned his spread in Logan’s Creek, Pennsylvania, and the condo in Chicago. Of course, Meredith Alexander couldn’t find out, so he’d have to pretend he was camping out at a friend’s place and was embarrassed about the living conditions. That should get little Miss Bleeding Heart to fawn all over you, Ethan had said. Who knows? She might offer you a room at her place. Just make sure that room isn’t her bedroom.
Right. As if that were even a possibility. He had a mission and it did not include a personal involvement with the woman. It did, however, include a storyline he’d memorized that, if successful, would save his father. Did he feel bad about lying to her? Using her kindheartedness to achieve his goal? Hmm. No, because he couldn’t, not if he were going to have a shot at delivering her to Reunion Gap and helping his father. He had to stay focused and do whatever was necessary because the deal was only the first part of this equation. The second was finding out how Harrison Alexander had enticed a man who’d never committed a wrong to engage in fraud.
Daniel had studied the file on Meredith Alexander, searched the Internet for anything that would give him a better understanding of the woman and her interests. Other than the obvious, which, according to the photos he’d located, suggested she enjoyed exotic locations, bikinis, fancy drinks, and laughing. Had she really said one of her favorite pastimes was laughing? Who said that? He dreaded meeting Miss Uptown and pretending an interest in anything that spilled from those shiny pink lips. He’d seen enough photos to realize she favored pink and shiny lip gloss—lots of both. Ugh. Sure, the photos were a few years old and he couldn’t find anything recent, but people like her didn’t change. They only became more self-absorbed, more annoying. Who knew, maybe one of her friends told her the photos added three pounds to her shape and she’d freaked.
Laughing as a favorite pastime? This whole process would be a pain and Meredith Alexander sounded like a gigantic headache, the kind he got from eating too much sugar. Yeah, she’d be a confection all right, all sweet and no substance. The possibility of a headache shifted to reality when Ethan sent a link to a series of blogs called Moments and Observations. The blogger went by Meredith A. but his buddy told him it was the same IP address as Meredith Alexander’s. Moments and Observations? Of what? A weekend trip to New York City and the next pair of shoes?
But once he began reading the blog, it wasn’t about material wealth but a journey toward what she called a simple life filled with honest choices.
... We can spend our lives searching for that elusive feeling, happiness. What does that even mean? How can we attain it when our definition keeps changing? I don’t know but I’ve tried to chase it and I’ve failed.
Several times.
But through my many failures, I’ve found one success. Be “happy” in the moment. Yes, happy in the moment. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? I mean, I want to be happy in this moment and the next. I don’t want it to be fleeting. I want it to last FOREVER.
FOREVER HAPPINESS—that’s what I want.
Sorry, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t exist. I know because I’ve spent my whole life diving from one possibility to the next, a never-ending search to find the place I belong, living the life I was meant to live—forever. A one-and-done, if you will. Add in enough money, the right clothes, the fancy trips, the wrong jobs, definitely the wrong guy. None of it made me happy for longer than it took to finish a caramel macchiato.
In fact, all of them left me empty, including the guy. Correction, especially the guy. You see, you can’t depend on another person to make you happy. That’s on you.
So, what does a person like me do when they feel empty and alone?
And disappointed in themselves?
Almost desperate.
Floundering.
Well...
That happiness was hiding somewhere and I was determined to find it! So, guess what I did? If you haven’t figured it out, I’m a bit impulsive. Okay, my spontaneity barometer is crazy off the charts. I tossed out my designer life and embraced the exact opposite. I bought clothes from the thrift store, cut my own hair, gave up meat and dairy, even tried to grow my own food. That last was a disaster because you actually have to water the seedlings!
Who was I kidding?
No one but myself.
I was a wannabe.
When I was around people who sewed their own clothes or rescued animals, I wanted to sew my own clothes—even though I had never actually held a spool of thread. And the animals? I’m allergic to cats and I can barely take care of myself. What if I forgot to feed the dog, or left the chocolate chip cookies on the table and he got into them... Or... The list went on until the proverbial “light” went off in my head telling me I wasn’t ready to take on that sort of responsibility until I took responsibility for myself.
So, I volunteered at a rescue center.
I cleaned up messes, took them on walks. And cuddled. Lots of cuddles.
And I loved it.
I am definitely a work in progress but I’m finally finding a way to be happy in the moment.
Not forever. But for now. And after years of chasing happiness, this is enough.
* * *
Agape,
Meredith
* * *
The last post had been written ten months ago with no follow-ups. She’d had forty-two comments, mostly from women who shared in her desire to find happiness and had been equally unsuccessful. There were six male respondents, four of whom insisted they knew what she needed and they were the ones to give it to her. Some men could be such jerks. He read Meredith’s posts two more times, stopped at words like forever happiness, desperate, happy in the moment. Good luck with that.
She sounded as if she tended toward the dramatic or whatever was trending in her social circles. He considered the numerous possibilities hiding in that post. Was she on drugs? Or maybe had too many glasses of wine when she wrote the posts? He bet she’d studied drama and philosophy in college: amp up the emotion and pile on the meaning of existence. Sure, why not? This was not going to be as easy as Ethan promised and his gut told him Meredith Alexander was not the usual rich girl looking for a cause to care about.
And that was going to be a big problem and a headache for Daniel. No doubt about it.
He spent the next day in his woodshop, sanding a walnut and maple vase. Woodworking provided an escape from everyday life where he didn’t have to think about the emptiness in his soul or the reason he avoided relationships. Sure, he could say it was all about losing Sara, but wasn’t it more about the unwillingness to trust again, to love again, to be disappointed again? Would he ever be able to find peace with the past and carve out a future that was about more than the next project? Could he take that risk?
Those were the questions that plagued him most days and now he had a new problem she even had a name: Meredith Alexander.
“You’ve sure been scarce these past few days. What’s going on?” Ethan stepped around a dust booth, brushed at the right leg of his pinstripe slacks. The man never ventured into the workshop unless it was an emergency. Allergic to the dust, he claimed, but Daniel’s guess was the man was allergic to the memory of dust and manual labor from a former life—one he did not want to recall or share. No problem; everybody had their demons.
“Just working on this piece before I have to take off tomorrow.” He squinted at Ethan. “Flight’s at 9:00 a.m.?”
“Right. All set?”
Now there was a question. “I guess. It’s not like I can back out now.”
“Just follow my plan and you’ll be fine.”
Daniel set down his sander, scowled. “You mean the plan that involves lying and pretending to be someone I’m not? That plan?”
His best friend nodded. “That’s the one. If you can get Meredith Alexander to Reunion Gap in two-weeks’ time, I’ll buy you a bottle of scotch. Your choice.”
“Forget the scotch. If I do that, you’re cleaning my workshop.” He tossed Ethan a rag, laughed when it brushed against his thigh. “All of it.”
Daniel stood at the entrance of the coffee shop, studied the woman at a nearby table, head bent over a notebook, black curls pulled into a ponytail...petite...fair-skinned... He moved closer, took in the pale blue T-shirt, the black leggings...the delicate curve of her neck. This was Meredith Alexander, the key to his father’s freedom.
He knew she was beautiful from the photographs he’d seen, but when she glanced up and met his gaze, he realized the pictures had understated that beauty. Her blue eyes were more vibrant, the cheekbones higher, the lips fuller... His gaze homed in on her lips. There was nothing glossed or lipstick-pink about them. And her—
“Excuse me? May I help you?”
Her voice had a lyrical quality to it that pinged his senses, definitely not the high-pitched, affected sound he’d imagined. Daniel cleared his throat, offered a smile. He’d planned to fake curiosity but there was no need because he was curious. “Are you Meredith Alexander?”
The woman’s brows pinched as her gaze shifted from his eyes to his unshaven jaw, took in the old T-shirt and faded jeans, darted back to his eyes. “I am.”
His smile spread and he thrust out a hand. “Daniel Reese. I’m from Reunion Gap. I graduated a year ahead of your brother, Tate.” He studied her as though he didn’t know where she fit into the Alexander family. “You were a few years younger...”
“That’s right.” Meredith Alexander’s face lit up as she eased out of her chair, clasped his hand with both of hers, pumped it three times. “Daniel Reese. Wow, I remember you. Do you live in Chicago?”
His next line would begin a series of tales, none of them even close to the truth. He nodded, said in a voice women called mesmerizing, “I do. Actually, I’ve been here for a few years.” He glanced at the dog rescue T-shirt she wore. “Seems like we share an affinity for causes. I was involved in the Bring the Dogs Home project. Did you know about that that one?” Of course, she would have known about the plan to rescue dogs from natural disaster areas around the country so he had to be careful not to say too much on the off chance she’d been involved in the project.
