Christmas at Tiffany's (5 page)

Silence stretched, which caused Tiffany to puzzle until a thready, fear-stained voice just barely reached her ears. “Who? Who's there? Who's here? Who is it?”

Snacks with Nana would have to wait. She didn't recognize Tiffany's voice. A dull, throbbing ache built at the center of her chest. Ignoring their food, Tiffany joined Nana and found her hunkered beneath an afghan she had crocheted decades ago; but it was warm outside. Summer was coming, full of running and games and sun and vacations and—

Poor Nana
. Tiffany bit her lower lip to stem the threat of tears.

Seated proudly—tenderly—next to Nana was Duke, just like a furry guard. When Nana Jayne registered Tiffany's approach, fear lit her grandmother's eyes. She reached for her dog, for protection, resting a quivering hand against Duke's thickly muscled neck. The attentive animal simply laid his head on the armrest of the recliner, offering his companionship even as Nana's gaze touched Tiffany with the horrid emptiness of unrecognition.

Tiffany longed to break down and weep. She was becoming more and more of a stranger to her grandma, and the moment marked one of many good-byes they had been forced to endure.

But through those darkest moments, a saving grace had been found in Duke. Watching Duke interact with her grandma led Tiffany to the realization that there were tangible ways for animals to help people. Animals could—if only for moments at a time—be instrumental in rousing awareness and a sense of normalcy.

Months passed, during which Tiffany's parents agonized before making the decision to move Nana Jayne to an assisted living facility. It was autumn by then, and fire-kissed leaves danced on brisk currents of air that tugged and pulled, sending summer relentlessly into the dormant seasons of fall and winter. It was the year Tiffany entered high school. Ensconced at the Kenwood Senior Home, her grandma's mental acuity decreased with every visit—until Nana spotted Duke. Only then would her eyes light with pure joy; only then would she relax fully and rest her tired head upon the shoulders of her dog.

Sensing the benefit of interaction, eager to do anything they could to help Nana Jayne, Tiffany's parents made sure every family visit included Duke. Tiffany, meanwhile, catalogued each spark of recognition, clinging to the power of a bond she now knew was an innocent hope that Duke just might possess the power to bring grandma's memory back to life.

From that point on, Tiffany understood that people and animals shared a connection. Even when Tiffany's grandma no longer recognized anything, or anyone, Duke rested at her feet, content to guard her, his love unconditional as he radiated comfort to the bewildered elder.

That winter, just before Christmas, Nana Jayne passed away.

Through the mourning that followed, through the pain that swelled through Tiffany's spirit, Duke tracked her like a compatriot until she finally crumpled onto the bed in her small bedroom, devastated and sobbing while she cranked up the music on her stereo in order to drown out her tears.

Duke was hers now, and she clung to him like a compass pointing to true north in the midst of a storm-cast sea.

Dreams dissipated and Tiffany jerked awake, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her fingertips came away moistened by tears, and her throat stung. While she considered the circumstances of her life, the goals she had embraced since middle school, a realization came to life. Therapy animals, like human counselors, needed to possess empathy as part of their DNA. Some would possess the skill, some wouldn't. Response testing would need to be developed and executed in order to ensure maximum results.

Tiffany jotted notes and laid out some basic parameters of how to execute her idea about clinical analysis and the personality testing of potential therapy animals. Thoughts took form in rapid fire clicks of the keyboard. She'd flesh out and polish the words tomorrow; for now, though, she had solid bones for her paper. She logged off her computer and shut off the lights, ambling to bed. Nana's story, paired with Duke's empathy, would find its way into her paper—one she felt provided a solid base for her goals and intentions as a future therapist.

Tiffany knew this was her calling. If she intended to fulfill her part of God's plan she would need to channel her energy to the road ahead rather than a sudden and utterly unexpected fascination toward CEO Charming.

4

At home that night, Mitch settled into his favorite spot—a wing-back leather recliner positioned before a fireplace he had lit promptly upon arrival. At just after nine thirty, all he had done so far was peruse the day's mail, ditch his suit coat and kick off his shoes. He settled in the living room of his condo. While snaps, pops and dancing flames filled the room with life, he planned to perform a final scan of work e-mail via his smart phone. After that, he'd read the New York Times—the print copy he had brought in from the delivery box. The way he saw it, some pleasures weren't meant to be replaced by electro-technology. He was almost ready to tumble into bed and call it a day. The combination of bitter cold, wind and snow had sucked the energy out of him. Then, there was the seemingly endless dark. He was used to the mountains. He was used to the rumbling sea and sunlight. Lots and lots of sunlight. This season of waking in the dark, getting home in the dark, with precious little light in between wasn't a lifestyle he intended to embrace over the long haul.

It's going to be so pretty in the morning, before the city comes alive. The storm will have passed and I imagine the sky will be a clear, dark blue. For that brief, undisturbed bit of time, the snow will still be white, and the trees and buildings will sparkle.

Tiffany's observations from dinner returned to him wrapped in a sweetness that was an intrinsic component of her personality. He pictured her clearly, all dreamy and content. She was happy, and fulfilled. She was quiet, but strong. Mitch rubbed his chin, and his focus slowed against a haze of…of what exactly? He liked her, sure. There was much to admire about her bright personality, her charming disposition. She was low-key, yet exhibited an intense commitment to her dreams and her job—this in spite of Eric's interference.

Attraction. The word tumbled free, bounced deep in his chest. Attraction—to Tiffany. No. No dice. He scowled, determined to find center and move away from that line of thinking. He yanked his cellphone from the end table next to him, unlocking the device with sharp finger taps. A relationship with Tiffany wouldn't work. It would end painfully, complicated by work goals, logistics and even their personalities. She was fantastic, but she was, most definitely, not for him.

In immediate contradiction, he recalled the power of her smile. Large, open, authentic. She was so different from the shy, quiet image she projected. She enticed and sparkled with a vibration of warmth that put the dismal winter atmosphere of Manhattan to shame.

Determined to focus on work, he finally ran down his latest batch of e-mails; his perusal came to a fast stop when he registered receipt of a note from company owner and CEO, Scott Wayne. The subject line read:
Get Ready
.

Mitch,

Congratulations on the success displayed across the Tri-State Region in the 3rd quarter. I'm reaching out to offer my personal support and appreciation along with the assurance that your efforts are noticed and the plans we put in place before you left California are ready to be executed.

Your year of service to InfoTraxion's efforts on the east coast is nearing an end, and I speak on behalf of the entire management team when I express gratitude not only for your attitude of teamwork and cooperation, but your flexibility in taking on this assignment as a growth opportunity within the firm. You've expanded the reach of our business, solidified our brand and provided our clients with exceptional outcomes.

That understood, and realizing the holidays and a January deadline are fast approaching, the executive committee has unanimously agreed to move forward in the following ways: 1) We have established a portfolio of candidates from which we will choose a new East Coast Regional Director. 2) We intend to return you to California as scheduled in a newly established role, that of Executive Vice President, West Coast Operations.

We intend for your enthusiasm and career to expand in the years ahead and feel confident this plan will accomplish those objectives with mutual benefit.

Best regards and continue the great work. ~ Scott

Mitch stretched his legs; every other thought promptly vanished. The promotion, and more importantly, a return to Los Angeles, was coming soon. Hallelujah. He unbuttoned his shirt collar and tie as he considered what might come next in his life. The promises from corporate were beyond expectation. The advance was a hoped for blessing, precisely what he wanted most. It would be enough. He'd be satisfied.

So why did he feel so itchy?

Logging out of e-mail, Mitch stared into the leaping flames in the fireplace. Thoughts of Tiffany materialized almost instantly. Her sense of innocent wonder skimmed through his mind just as surely as orange light burst into yellow, then swept into red. Still holding his phone, he jiggled the device absently. Why did her presence linger? He was about to set it aside and reach for the Times when a vibration tingled against his hand, and the home screen lit with the name Wendy Pace.

Mitch tapped on the accept button. “Hey there.”

“Hey yourself, handsome. I hear you're getting buried by snow.”

Just a few words, in that smoke and honey voice, and Mitch could picture her perfectly. Poised and charming, flawlessly styled in whatever wardrobe essentials were deemed trendy, Wendy epitomized the word elegance. She worked as the head of a graphics design and marketing firm headquartered in downtown Los Angeles. They had met about a year ago at a business seminar after-glow. From there, personal and professional similarities led to dates…dates to a quasi-relationship they had opted to keep alive in spite of the miles apart. They were convenient and well suited.

He honestly
cared.

But right then and there, alive came the image of an equally compelling—if opposite—woman who sported a short, feathery haircut, chocolate colored eyes, and a persona full of bright innocence and soft allure. Beauty on a whole different plane.

Mitch forced an appropriate level of attention and straightened in his seat, battling to keep his focus on Wendy. “We should video chat so I can show you the patio and downfall. The storm turned the city into a massive parking lot.”

Wendy's bubbling laugh came alive, stirring Mitch to the realization that he had drifted. Again.

“Sorry pal; not right now. I had an awful day at work and I've already donned an ancient pair of sweats and thrown my hair into a messy pony tail. Next phone call, I promise.” A beat of silence passed. “Your company holiday party is this coming weekend, right?”

“Yes. New York will still be painted white, I'm sure. I'll send you pictures of the view from the top of 30 Rock.”

“If you need me to attend the party, I could clear my schedule and fly out.”

Something about Wendy's tone and word choice sent a flattening layer of disappointment against his chest. They had been dating for a while, yet a spark was missing. A rush. A thrill. There was no talk of love or romance. Rather, their relationship resembled the terms and conditions of a finely executed business transaction. Much of the blame for that fact rested on his shoulders and he knew it. Still, Mitch felt as cold as the temperatures and wind that pelted the windows in an icy, undeniable fury.

What was the problem here? Why and how had a series of simple work-related encounters, and a let's-share-dinner-because-we're-stranded interlude struck him in the solar plexus? Where had this sudden and acute hunger come from? Wendy was perfect for him. She was everything he could hope for in a woman. All the same, a sneaky prickle of discontent continued to skip against his skin.

“No worries. It's nothing more than strolling appetizers, a bit of music from a live band and some pretty spectacular city views. Next time you come to New York, I'll take you there. Just the two of us. That'd be a lot more fun than a session of corporate networking.”

His verdict caused a hesitant silence to stretch. “OK, but let me know if you change your mind.”

“I will. Sleep well, and we'll talk soon.”

~*~

It turned out Tiffany was right. The morning sun lifted into a cloudless sky, shimmering off glass, flashing off banks of fresh snow. Forcing that kind of romanticism to the background, Mitch arrived at the office and launched straight into a work-related form of attack.

Everything in his world fell into proper alignment once he powered his laptop and sank into a request for help in crisis containment with regard to a massive, months-long network upgrade for a company in Midtown that featured data streams that stretched across three continents. The project was giving his team fits, so he ran some feather-smoothing interference to assist in their efforts.

Next he uncovered an e-mail from Jay Robertson, head of personnel and recruitment at InfoTraxion as well as a close personal friend.

Mitch ~

I'm on my way to NYC for stage two interviews of your replacement. As long as I don't sleep through my alarm clock following a cross-country flight, I'll be in the office the day after tomorrow. Attached are resumes for the top four candidates we pre-screened. We'll interview them face-to-face over the next couple days then narrow the four to two. After that, hopefully, we'll make an offer to our top pick the week after next.

Mitch did a mental walk through his morning and plotted time to review the CV's. Jay's e-mail concluded with a screenshot of his flight itinerary into LaGuardia. He'd be in the office Thursday morning, and it looked as though interviews were scheduled for Thursday afternoon and Friday morning. Perfect.

It'll be good to have you back in LA, my friend! And, as a personal aside, give me credit for mercenary skills. At least, if I have to suffer through a winter visit to the east coast I get to participate in some high-end celebrating of the holiday season at a New York City icon.