All Who Dream (Letting Go) (26 page)

*Bonus (only
because I hate playing by the rules): No matter if you’re lying on the bathroom
floor recovering from food-poisoning, or drop-dead tired from a weekend full of
drama and chaos…you could trump any and all definitions of the word
beautiful
.
Any.
Time.

And of this
one I AM certain.

Sleep tight.

J
   

“I
promise, Mom. I’ll call as soon as we land.”

I hugged
him for the seventeenth time since walking outside to wait for Walt. “Okay. I’ll
miss you so much, buddy.”

“I know.
You keep saying that.”

I laughed.
“Well, that’s because it’s true. Give Rosie a big hug for me, okay? And don’t
forget to give her the gift I bought her. I wrapped it up in one of your
t-shirts so it won’t break.”

“Got it.”

Briggs
put his arm around me. “We’ll be fine, Ang.”

“I know.
Okay. You’re right. It will be fine.”

He
laughed.

“Just you
wait. You’ll know what it’s like soon enough,” I said.

Charlie
rubbed my back sweetly. “Yep, he will. And you can give him all the grief you
want, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

Walt
pulled up a second later. Cody introduced him to his uncle and aunt as Briggs
loaded their bags in the trunk.

“Well…this
is it. I love
ya
, sis. Don’t worry.”

Briggs gave
me a hug and climbed into the back seat. Charlie was next.

“Enjoy
your time as a single lady. This is New York, Ang. Live a little.”

“Ha! I
don’t even know what that means.”

“Exactly,”
Charlie laughed as she pulled me in for a hug.

“Hey,” I
said, grabbing her arm to pull her back. “I’m really happy you’re making me an
Auntie.”

Her eyes
filled with tears.
“Me too, Ang.
I want to be a mom
just like you,
ya
know. I told Briggs that last
night.”

I
swallowed hard, fighting back tears of my own as she slid in next to Briggs.

“Okay,
Code…one last hug,” I said.

“Really, Mom?”
Cody unbuckled his belt from the front seat
and hopped up onto the curb—again.

“Really.
Hey—you’re not a teenager yet. You don’t get to be
sassy about hugging your mama.”

He
squeezed me tight. “I love you, Mom. I’ll miss you, too.”

I took a
deep breath as I watched them pull away and wrapped my arms around myself. I
couldn’t imagine what more than a night without Cody would feel like. And in
that instant I doubted why I had ever agreed to stay.
Why had I let them talk me into this?

My phone
buzzed with a text.

Jackson:
How
ya
doing, champ?

Me:
Currently? Not so great.

Jackson:
Take a deep breath. He’ll be
fine. Repeat that.
He.
Will. Be.
Fine.

Me:
Thanks for your email last night.
You’re better at “five nice things” than I thought you’d be.

Jackson:
I meant every word.
  

Before I
could respond, another text came through from him.

Jackson:
The PR department will be
joining us this morning. I thought you’d want to know.

Me:
Oh…okay?

Jackson:
It’ll be okay. I’ll make sure
of it.

Nerves
swirled in my gut as I made my way up to the apartment. It was the first time
in a month that Cody wasn’t trailing beside me.

I can do this. Couldn’t I?

I stepped
into the shower, allowing my anxieties about whatever was to come in the next
few hours wash away as the hot water poured over me.

 
I took my time
getting ready, as if the extra minutes spent on my hair and makeup would bring
me loads more confidence. I would pretend for now that it did. I slipped into a
pair of black slacks and heels and buttoned up a silky, light-blue blouse. I
also threw a change of casual clothing into a bag, unsure of all this day might
hold.

I can do this.

I checked
my phone on the way to the office, and sure enough Briggs had texted to say
that they were fine, about to board, and that Cody was halfway through his
second blueberry muffin.

I erased
three possible text-replies back to him. All were way too neurotic sounding. I
finally settled on:
Sounds good!

It was
just after eight-thirty when I arrived at Pinkerton. Though I always looked
forward to seeing Jackson, I couldn’t shake the dread that seemed to overpower
me with each step I took. I tried to clear my mind while I rode the elevator
up, reminding myself to be open—like Jackson had asked me to be.

Pippy
trotted toward me in heels that looked like they
needed their own license, and hugged me. “Good morning! I was just coming to
look for you.
You doing okay without Cody?
I was going
to stop and get you a coffee on my way, but Mr. Ross told me you’d probably
already had some since you were up so early, right?”

I smiled
and tried to process the stream of information, picking up on the fact that she
was back to calling Jackson
Mr. Ross
since we were back at the office. The girl was classy—no doubt.

“Yes,
thank you though,
Pippy
—for thinking of me.”

“Of course.
May I walk you to the boardroom?”
Pippy
glanced at me with a look of concern.

“Sure,
thank you.”

I was
nervous; I hated I was so nervous.

Jackson said I’ll be fine. I can trust him.

I do trust him.

I
reminded myself of that fact over and over again.

I trusted the Jackson who had kissed me at
his brother’s lake house.

I trusted the Jackson who had played
air-hockey with me at Cody’s goodbye dinner.

I trusted Jackson who had emailed me “five
nice things”.

Pippy
stopped at large double set of doors. “Mr. Ross said
to send you in when you got here.”

“Wait.” I
put my hand out to stop her from opening the doors.

Her
eyebrows shot up.

“Do you
know…what this meeting is about?”

Her eyes
softened. “No, but I’m sure it’s not anything that should worry you.”

That assurance
didn’t exactly bring me comfort.

“Thank
you,
Pippy
.”

“Absolutely, sis.”
She whispered the last word and patted my
shoulder before opening the door to let me in. Jackson and Dee went silent as
they turned toward me. Six other faces stared at me—all sitting at a long,
rectangular table—each I vaguely remembered seeing at a dinner a few weeks
back.

Oh gosh, I’m
gonna
be sick.

“Good
morning, Miss Flores.”

“Good
morning, Mrs. Bradford,” I said, walking into the office as
Pippy
waved briefly and closed the door. Whatever this was, she hadn’t been invited.

Jackson
walked up to me, his hand touching my arm briefly before gesturing for me to
sit down in the chair at the far end of the rectangular table. “Good morning.”

Apparently
this was Jackson-the-CEO—not Lake-Kissing-Jackson. I needed to get that
straight. He was all professionalism here.
Business-only.

I sat,
the cushiness of the office chair barely registering. My heart was in my throat
as I wrung my hands in my lap, the gaze of each man and woman creating enough
heat to scorch my face.

“Can we
get you anything before we begin?
Coffee?
Water?”
Dee asked.

“No,
thank you,” I croaked.

Jackson
leaned back in the leather armchair at the opposite end of the table, watching
me like a pot about to boil. Whatever this was, he was just as unsure of how I
was going to respond as I was.
Why?

Just then
the door opened, and a face I had seen only once before entered the room.

What was his name again?

“Good
morning, Mr.
Vargus
,” Dee said, smiling at him as he
took his seat to the right of Jackson.

Stewart
Vargus
.
That’s right.

Jackson’s
posture stiffened as Stewart nodded at me, smiling. I remembered then, his
kindness to me at the dinner party a month ago. He had introduced me to several
people, keeping my company like a gentleman until
Pippy
had arrived. But when he’d asked me about setting up a meeting with him,
Jackson had made it clear that no such thing would happen. “
You have no business with Stewart
Vargus
,”
he’d said. With all the other distractions, I
hadn’t asked Jackson to expound on his statement that night, but I was
certainly very curious now.

Dee
remained standing—a fact that did not go unnoticed by me. She asked each man to
introduce himself. They did so, each taking roughly five seconds to greet me. I
wished I could say the formality made me feel better, more comfortable even,
after all, each of them were as human as I was. But it didn’t.

Though
Dee’s face looked calm, she walked over to the window where I could almost see
the wheels turning behind her eyes. She laced her fingers behind her back and
took a deep breath.

“Though
we regret what happened last Friday during your interview on The Eastman
Morning Show, Miss Flores, it is time to do some damage-control. It is not only
your future career that is in jeopardy, but the family tour that we’ve teamed
you with, along with the integrity of our company it seems.”

Everything
in me felt compressed and tight. I was sickened by the fact that the exposure
of my past would be the cause of hurt for anyone. Dee had taken a risk on
me—believed in me though I had never dreamed of any of the opportunities she
had given me. And then there were those who had graciously accepted me into
their circle even though I was the latecomer on the tour. My heart squeezed
tight thinking about my new friends.
The
Zimmermans
,
who had co-authored their book of marriage tips and Sue Bolan, who had poured
her heart out to serve and train adoptive parents.

I always
admired Dee’s ability to speak eloquently. But although she was very
professional in conduct and speech, she was never condescending. Instead, her
voice held the unusual balance of compassion and authority. She turned toward
the table fully, her tailored pantsuit hugging her curves as she moved. I felt
Jackson’s gaze on me more than the rest, but trained my eyes to focus on Dee
alone.

“After
several lengthy discussions, we’d like to propose a change to our current
marketing pitch concerning your upcoming book release and the remainder of this
tour. In light of recent events we feel there is an opportunity that has
presented itself—maybe even a moral responsibility. Miss Flores, what we’d like
you to consider, is adding to your current platform as a single mom. We feel
there is a way to salvage your fans and followers who might have been led
astray by wrongful accusations that you haven’t been forthright. We’d like you
to share your story of recovery and hope—by sharing about your past…openly. You
would do this by making some substantial revisions and additions to your
current blog, your future book, and also in your upcoming interviews.”

Every
hair on my neck rose as she turned to face me.

I blinked,
the men around the table waiting for a response from me, but I couldn’t find my
voice.

Jackson
leaned his elbows onto the table, his gaze intense as he stared at me from what
felt like a continent away.
 

“Angie,
do you understand what we’re asking?” Jackson asked.

I focused
on him as my heart pounded hard within my chest. “I…I understand, yes. I’m just
not sure if I’m ready to—”

“Well, I
think you’d better
get
yourself
ready, young lady,” said the man with the big nose directly to my right. “We
have quite a large investment wrapped up in this family tour and because of
your unwillingness to disclose certain pieces of vital
information,
that
investment is now at risk.”

“That’s
enough, Henry,” Jackson barked, red-faced.

“Miss
Flores and I had an understanding prior to her joining this tour that her
privacy would stay protected,” Dee said firmly.” She is not the one to blame,
Henry. Don’t forget that.”

“You knew
she wasn’t a widow?” He asked her.

Dee
glanced away. “It’s what I assumed.”

I
swallowed hard as Henry piped in again, “No, it’s what she
led
us all to believe—and while I have compassion for her history,
she should have been honest from the start!”

“Well,
that is neither here nor there. What’s done is done,” said Ernie
Smythe
, an older man with stark black hair that I was
almost certain wore a toupee. “The facts are that it’s not just
Divina’s
stunt that have caused
an uproar
.
Though there are some that say publicity is publicity—no matter how ugly it is,
we are not believers in that slogan. The online world has been making a mockery
out us for not checking our facts…and out of you.” He stared at me.

“What are
they saying?” I asked, my voice straining for sound.

They all
looked at me with surprise on their faces. “Have you not been online, Miss Flores?
To your blog site?”
The question came from Stewart.

I opened
my mouth, but Jackson cut in before I could utter a word in reply.