Miranda (7 page)

“Unforeseen events at Medika?”

“No. My own.” I had no other choice but to lie. I couldn’t tell him that my hurried return was related to the appointment of Eliezer.

“Can I help you with something?” That question seemed more of an assertion that he knew that my return went hand in hand with his sudden decision.

“Don’t worry. I have everything under control…” I didn’t take my eyes off of his. Knowing him, that would confirm his suspicion.

“They told me that I have a new boss,” I let out. I had to say it because, if I didn’t, the curiosity would finish me off. I tried not to sound sarcastic. He knew me very well. His eyes lit up.

“In fact, yes: Eliezer, my son.”

It was a strange moment. Perhaps, after all, I didn’t expect that answer. It was the first time that I heard Norman utter his son’s name. I never opened the door to know that side of him that was so mysterious. The curiosity brought me to ask him about his personal life at least once a year. I always got the same answer: “It would be better to talk about the present.”

“And you didn’t think of telling me?” It was difficult for me to conceal my disgust.

“I’m telling you now.”

There was no reason to argue. Norman already made his decision, and I hadn’t the faintest idea why. What I did know was that there was no going back.

My eyebrows rose–an involuntary reaction when rejecting a response… to the thoughtlessness.

“Come, lie down and rest a while.”

A-ha! Look at how I lie by your side, Norman.
That would not lighten the load of baggage that I carried, nor the fatigue, and would certainly have terrible repercussions if his wife were to spy on us secretly through the doorway. If there were something that he had taught me, it was learning from my mistakes.

I heaved a sigh.

“I have to go, Norman. I have several things I need to do. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.” I took my purse and began to walk toward the door, formulating my next question without worrying about what his response would be.

“Sure, Miranda. I’ll look for you tomorrow.”

He really wanted my company. Anyway, I was the only company that he has had in years. Before crossing the threshold, I turned around.

“Only one more thing, Norman. What is Eliezer like? It seems that at the very least you owe me a recommendation.”

The man sitting in the hospital bed laughed.

“Understand that I don’t know. I think that in time you’ll have tell
me
.”

That response left me speechless. Those words assured me that I had no idea what he was doing.
How the hell do you leave the reins of your life’s work to a stranger?
Although he was his son, Norman didn’t know Eliezer. He didn’t know anything at all about this man who shared his blood!

What was happening? As much as I tried, I couldn’t understand the reasons for the decision. I approached Norman again. I didn’t take my eyes off him. I wanted to analyze every clue that his body language could give me.

“What’s going on, Norman?” I asked in a calm and empathic tone.

“Nothing is going on, Miranda. It’s a decision I made… period.”

His face didn’t give off even the smallest signal of regret or doubt.
Another one of Ethan’s good disciples?

“Norman, excuse me, but I don’t understand. I am trying to find logic in your actions, but I can’t. Please forgive my indiscretion. It’s that it worries me that you are making decisions at such a vulnerable time.”

He signaled to keep quiet with a hand gesture.

“The answers to your questions are simple. I was at death’s door. My son reappears in my life, and I want him to be able to have what I built for him. Is it the best decision? I don’t know, but I can’t run the risk of not doing it while I have this second chance at life.”

“I understand,” and I said nothing more.

I lowered my eyes so that he wouldn’t be able to hear what my eyes were screaming at him:
How wrong you are, Norman. What an insensitive mistake you’re making. Why didn’t you name me?

“That’s why I need you there,” he continued explaining. “You have been with me for so many years. You know the essence of what we want to do with Medika better than anyone: what is our mission, our philosophy, that is, what we want to do other than make money.”

I sighed while I rolled my eyes.

“I need you to trust me, Miranda.”

Again, those screaming eyes: How can I trust you, Norman? A lie crossed my lips–maybe it was a compassionate lie.

“You know that you have my trust, Norman.” A pause brought me to confess part of the truth to him. “Even though I cannot stop thinking that the accident has affected your mind.”

“I am very conscious of the decisions that I have taken. I am conscious of the pros and cons. Come, sit with me again.”

I neared him and, under protest, I sat down. I felt like a little girl to whom her father was explaining why he gave her favorite toy to one of her brothers.

He took my chin in his right hand, and with care, he lifted my face, tilting it toward him. I could feel my heart beating stronger and an alarm fired up in me. Something in this scene wasn’t right. Although Norman was no more than a father to me, the twenty year age difference, at that moment, didn’t seem noticeable or significant. He was an elegant man with fair skin. The expressive lines on his face accented his firm and decisive gaze. The silvery shimmers in his hair were like a painted on armor that made him look invincible. In short order, a sense of guilt overwhelmed me when my hormones gave indications of being affected by him. My wiser self would excuse me, telling me that it was alright, because, ultimately, we were not united by any blood ties.

“I need you, Miranda.”

It wasn’t right. He knew that I could not, that I wouldn’t have the guts to give a negative response to an “I need you” from him.

“You know that I will always be here for you.”

He withdrew his hand from my face and put it in my hand.

“Go and rest because tomorrow a new day awaits you.”

Suddenly, I stopped believing that he didn’t know what his son was like. He knew very well what he was tossing me into, and, in time, I succeeded in deciphering the fight against remorse that he carried on his face.

I got up off the bed.

“Count on me,” I repeated, just in case I managed to convince myself that we were both doing the right thing. “As always, count on me. We’ll talk tomorrow. You should rest.”

His lips drew out a smile. I reciprocated, but only halfway.

“It’s about time you answered,” scolded Alex.

“What is wrong with you? I’m not your wife. I don’t need to answer after the first ring.”

“Did you just get up? I’ve been calling you since ten o’clock last night and it’s eight in the morning.” I struggled to understand his muttering.

“Is something going on? Why are you speaking that way?”

“If you read your blessed messages, you would have noticed that the new boss has called for a meeting of the board today at eight o’clock in the morning.”

I moved the phone away from my ear to check the time on the screen.

“Eight o’clock? Damn it, Alex! I’ll be there in half an hour. Tell them that I’m on my way, and there’s traffic. Make up whatever you want!”

I checked the cell phone and it had, indeed, several missed calls from him, and some text messages letting me know about the scheduled board meeting. This was going to cost me. Surely Alex would make me repay him by making me take him to happy hour. Since he’s been a married man, Elisa, his wife, wouldn’t let him go out with anyone else but me and he had to come back early–so he never wasted an opportunity to do something extra for me so that I would have to pay him back. If it weren’t for my eternal savior, Alex, I probably would have slept for several consecutive days.
Stay positive
, that would be my mantra for the day. I got in the shower and I think that I broke the Guinness world record for getting dressed and getting out.

When I got to Medika, Alex was waiting for me in the parking lot, opposite the main entrance. I figured he was alone because the others were in the conference room.

“Hello, Al…”

“You’ve finally arrived!” Alex told me in an interrupted whisper.

I couldn’t contain my laughter. His eyes opened wide.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Your voice.” I imitated his mutterings, as if the others could hear me from my car.

“If you could see the man’s face, you would swallow that mockery.”

“Is everyone there?” I was hoping that I wasn’t the only one to arrive late. “I’ll buy myself a coffee and I’ll go in. Go and ask him whether he wants a coffee.”

His eyes opened up even wider.

“Ask who?”

“The boss, who else?”

The morning was too beautiful to ruin my day so early. It wouldn’t be the first time nor the last that someone arrived late to a meeting. Furthermore, that someone was not anyone.

“Are you crazy? I don’t think that buying coffee would be a good idea. Hurry up!”

“I want to make a good impression. Remember that this new boss thing is new to me.”

As soon as I said that to Alex, I thought the better of it. If I would be arriving late, I needed to have enough caffeine in my body to deal with the day ahead of me. I thought about the possible scenarios that would surround my triumphant late arrival, but then I decided that it was not worth worrying about. I wouldn’t put even a tiny bit of the stress that I had suffered in the past few months in my system for being thirty minutes more late.

“On second thought, Alex, I think I’m going to need that coffee. Tell them that I’m still on my way.”

I got into my car and drove off to get my coffee. When I got back, a change in the Medika parking lot caught my attention. Norman’s son didn’t have bad taste: he drove a Nissan GT-R. The letters on the back of the pearl white car distracted me. Getting out of my car, I slung my purse over my right shoulder, dragged my computer case with my left hand, and my cup of coffee with the other. I entered at full speed, as always, through the back door. My cell phone rang but I had no third hand to delve into my purse. It was a circus-juggling act: holding the coffee, carrying case, purse, keys, answering the telephone, and getting to the meeting.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

I tripped on something in front of me, and got the coffee all over me. I burned my hands and chest. I looked up and discovered that I hadn’t hit a wall, unless the wall had toffee-colored hair, a goatee, fair skin, an annoyed look on his face, and didn’t stop saying the word “shit.”

This must be Eliezer. But… those eyes? That look?

“Damn it! Look at what you’ve done!” He shook off the coffee that was dripping from his hands and jacket.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” I apologized while I looked for a wet wipe in my purse to help him clean himself off.
This will solve it and he’ll thank me. Who wouldn’t sell their soul for one of these when they’re in a hurry?
“Let me clean you off.”

I lifted one of the wipes up toward his jacket, but he raised his hands as a signal to stop–that he didn’t want me to help him, much less touch him. I was dumbfounded. I put the wipe in my other hand, still humid and sticky from the coffee, and began to extend it toward him. He begrudgingly snatched the wipe away from me.

“Really, I’m sorry,” I apologized again. “Are you Norman’s son?” I asked to slightly lower the tension that my trip had caused.

“Eliezer Clausell, President.”

I sensed that his words were more of a scolding than a greeting. Oh, that wasn’t good! Half an hour with a title and he was already delineating hierarchical boundaries.

“And you are?” he asked with an apparent intention of delighting in the answer that I would give him. He’d put the name on a personal blacklist.

“Miranda Wise,” I looked him in the eye and again extended my hand to consummate the glorious moment of meeting him. My name succeeded in attracting his attention, but it was not enough to avoid having my hand extended and ignored, hanging in mid air. He continued cleaning his jacket.

“International?” A contemptuous tone surrounded the question. How was I supposed to take that?

“Correct. You can call me International, Miranda, Director of International Business, or whatever you like.” I used an informal tone with every intention that he understand that I didn’t think much of that hierarchy stuff and treating people formally.

“I’m going to my washroom to see if I can fix this disaster. I want you in my office in fifteen minutes.”

“In Norman’s office?” I asked, but he stopped and nailed me to the wall with just a look.

“My office,” he clarified, and repeated.

Eliezer went on his way to Norman’s office that, like any presidential office, had a private washroom. I turned around and made my way to mine.

Alex waited for me by the door. I put my purse in his hands and what was left of my cup of cappuccino. The guffaws were fighting to leave his mouth.

“You fucked up, right?”

“Did you see what happened?” Alex nodded. “Yes, Alex. I fucked up really good.”

***

I tried to remove the coffee residue from my blouse and jacket without success. I took off my shoes to clean them and clean off my feet, because the droplets of coffee had gone that far. I was a mess. Alex tried to help me. My anxiety and nerves were obvious. Our hands collided.