All Who Dream (Letting Go) (3 page)

The young
woman stared as if trying to solve a complicated math equation, mouth hanging
open a tad. I touched my face, checking for leftover animal cracker crumbs.

“
You’re
Ms. Flores?”

“Yes…is
there a problem?” I looked down at Cody, who seemed equally confused by her
reaction.

Suddenly
the woman smiled—white teeth gleaming as her eyes sparkled with life.

“No! I’m
sorry!” She shook her head, “You’re just…
different
than what I was expecting.”

What had she been expecting?

She
clapped her hands together, smashing the neon-colored sign between them as she
hopped in place twice—yes, hopped. The tone in which she said the word
different
wasn’t insulting, but it did
spark my curiosity.

“I’m
Pippy
! It’s so nice to meet you Miss Angela Flores! And you,
young sir, must be Cody!” She extended her hand to each of us after dropping
the sign at her feet.

“Nice to meet you.
It’s
Pippy
,
you said?”
 

You don’t hear a name like that every day.

She beamed
as if I had just complimented her. “Yes, my full name is Penelope, but everyone
I know calls me
Pippy
. My twin brother came up with
it when we were toddlers, and it just kind of stuck. Come on, let’s get your
bags into the car and we’ll get you settled in at your apartment.” She looked
toward an older gentleman standing behind her near a shiny black town car.
“This is Walt. He’s Mr. Ross’s personal driver.”

Dee had
mentioned that name several times during our meeting with the attorney three
weeks ago when we finalized my contract.
What
had she said about him?
I couldn’t remember now. My mind had been far too
preoccupied that day to retain such details, except for one, my concern for
Cody’s privacy.

Dee’s
eyebrows had shot up as I spoke my terms, and anxiety built within my chest.

“So you
refuse to answer any questions regarding Cody’s father?” she clarified.

“That’s
right,” I said quietly. “Though my son doesn’t remember him, I won’t discuss
our family history with the media.”

She
nodded slowly, a hint of comprehension passing over her features. “You’re so
young to be a widow.” She exhaled. “We’ll make a master list of approved
questions for your interviews.”

I fought back
the urge to swallow. “Thank you.”

And with
that, an addendum was added to my contract.

I reached
my hand toward the driver. “Hi Walt, it’s nice to meet you.”

He was an
older gentleman, early sixties maybe, with grayish-white hair, dressed in
slacks and a button-up shirt and tie. He loaded our bags in the truck and then
opened the door to the nicest town car I’d ever seen. The black leather inside
smelled new—a far cry from my old beater back home that smelled of crusty
french
fries and dirty socks.

Pippy
scooted in next to me. Her hair was styled in the
cutest pixie-cut I’d ever seen, framing her oval face perfectly. Her green eyes
seemed to exude happiness when she spoke with dainty, heart-shaped lips.

Cody had
already struck up a conversation with Walt, quizzing the driver on New York facts.
The man seemed pleasantly amused, so I turned my attention back to
Pippy
.
 

“So here
is the new itinerary.”
Pippy
handed me a sheaf of
papers. “I wanted to make sure I gave it to you today so we could go over any
questions or conflicts before tomorrow. I’m sorry I didn’t get it to you
sooner, the work load has just buried me alive this week—not that I’m
complaining—but that’s also the reason I wasn’t sure who I was looking for at
the airport. I didn’t have a chance to look at the picture Dee sent before I
left for the airport.”

“Oh…okay,
thank you,” I said, reaching for the six-week schedule. I bit my bottom lip as
I counted the highlighted formal events. My two semi-formal dresses were about
to get a lot of use. This was not good.

“Is
something wrong?”
Pippy
stared at me.

“Um…I
just didn’t realize there would be so many formal occasions.”

My hand
instinctively went to my necklace, as my thoughts cast around for some kind of
answer to this new dilemma. I had no idea how or where to shop in this city, or
what kind of extravagant cost would be associated with such an endeavor. This
was so not my element of expertise.

Pippy
nodded,
her smile sweet and
genuine. “I can take care of anything you need, Miss Flores, just let me know.”

No one
had ever said such words to me before, yet even at her young age I sensed she
was more than capable. I could just picture
Pippy
smiling at the challenge of any task asked of her—big or small. Her personality
was like sunshine: bright, warm and totally addictive.

About
forty-five minutes after leaving the airport, we pulled up to a large,
red-bricked building with black shutters that had intricate detailing around
every window. My stomach dropped to my knees.
This is really happening.
A doorman stood outside of the massive
glass doors, and Cody was beside himself in child-like wonder, eyes wide. The
gold-plated words scripted over the doorway read,
The T. Ross Building—Est. 1945
. A young man at the desk in the
lobby took our luggage from us and allowed us to catch the elevator ahead of
him. Our room was on the fourteenth floor, and I found myself thinking again
about the long trip down to the bottom.
Pippy
handed
me the room key (which was an actual key) with a tag looped through it, the
numbers 1408 stamped into the metal.

When we
reached our room at the end of the hall, I unlocked the door and exhaled
loudly. Though the apartment was small in size, it was nice—
very
nice. Two bedrooms were attached by
a central living area with a galley kitchen at the far end. It was fully
furnished, with a chic sofa and chair set, a small table, and even a corner
desk. Cody ran for the room on the left. I heard several loud gasps, while the
sounds of paper ripping gave me pause.

“Mom!
Mom! I have a big basket on my bed! It’s full of toys—Mom!
You won’t believe it! There’s an iPad in here and a card with my name on it!”

I dropped
my purse to the floor in the entry way and met Cody inside his new bedroom. No
bigger than a walk-in closet, Cody’s room was made up of a full-size bed, small
desk, chair, and closet. It was a perfect space for him. He sat on the bed,
touching the loot beside him—an iPad and a basket filled with toys and books
appropriate for an eight year-old boy. I was stunned—speechless.

Who did this? Dee?

Cody
passed me the card as he started opening the box for his new iPad. He probably
knew exactly the steps necessary to set it up. His best friend, Dillon had one,
so he had seen the device in use plenty of times.

Dear Cody,

Thanks for visiting our city with your mom.
We hope you will have a good time here even though there will be a lot of very
boring events filled with boring people.

Hope this helps.

Jackson

Pinkerton Press

 
“Who’s Jackson?” I asked
Pippy
who was standing in the doorway, smiling.

 
“Oh that’s-”

A phone
buzzed.

Pippy
searched the giant bag slung over her shoulder for
the vibrating device, placing several things onto the arm of the sofa outside
Cody’s door during her mad scramble. Finally, she found it.

 
“Hello? Yes…sure, okay…I’ll add it. Oh? Sure, I’ll
be down before he’s here then.”

Pippy
slid the phone into the front suit coat pocket, a
wise choice since the entire state of Texas was in her bag.

 
“I have to get going…I have some things I need
to attend to this evening, but there has been a change in the schedule.”

I suppressed
a frown that tried to surface.
Okay…so
maybe this is something I need to get used to. The schedule has changed twice,
and I’ve only been in New York for an hour.

 
“You’ve been asked to attend a special dinner
tomorrow night—you are welcome to bring Cody, of course. It’s a meet and greet
with the upper management at Pinkerton and some of our sponsors. Dee thinks you
should be there—she called Mr. Ross to make sure you were extended an invitation.”

“Oh?
Okay…” I started to sweat at the thought of my measly wardrobe. I looked at
Pippy
, debating. Seeing the way
Pippy
and Walt were dressed on a Thursday evening after a workday made me question
the few things I had packed. I hoped one of the two dresses I had would be
sufficient for such an event, but all of this was so out of my league. “Um…I’m
sorry to ask this of you—I’m just really bad at this kind of thing. Would you
mind looking at my dress options and telling me which is most appropriate for a
dinner event like that?”

Pippy
grinned like I had just offered her a briefcase full
of cash, and followed me into my room where my suitcase lay on a luggage stand
at the edge of the bed. The thin garment bag was hung in the closet. It held
several blouses, slacks, a pencil skirt ensemble and two semi-formal dresses.
One dress was short, fitted and black, with a shimmery overlay, while the other
was a red, silky slip dress that Rosie insisted I purchase. The hem stopped
just above my knee. Floor-length gowns were always a letdown as they usually
fell just above my ankle—one of the curses of being tall.

As I
pulled the clothes out and laid them on the bed,
Pippy
looked back to the garment bag as if expecting something else to come dancing
out of it.

 
“Oh, is this it?” Her eyebrows lifted.

 
“Yes…until…I can figure something else out.”
Heat flushed my face.

 
“Alright, then I’d go with the red one. That
will be beautiful with your blonde hair and hazel eyes.”

Pippy’s
phone buzzed again. After reading the screen she
hurried into action, hiking her purse higher up on her shoulder before heading through
the living room toward the front door.

 
“I’m sorry—I have to leave, but tomorrow
morning the car will be here at nine to pick you up for the signing at the
first bookstore. I’ll fill you in on everything else then, and we can talk more
about the plan for tomorrow evening.”

“Oh,
okay, sounds good. Thank you for all your
help,
Pippy
…it was nice to meet you.” I followed her out the door
of our new temporary home.

She
stopped mid-stride in the hallway and turned toward me. Her smile was huge.
“The pleasure is all
mine
, Miss Flores. See you
tomorrow.”

Inside
our apartment I found Cody spread out on his bed, iPad instruction booklet in
hand, and shook my head, laughing. I’d never see the kid during the course of
the next six weeks if I didn’t lay down some ground rules soon. Tonight though,
I’d let him have his fun.

As I
passed the couch I saw
Pippy’s
green binder, the one
that had held my most recent itinerary.

“Cody, can you stay here for a minute? I need to see if I
can catch
Pippy
. Come lock the door behind me. I’ll
be right back.”

“Sure, Mom.”
Cody walked to the
door as I raced down the hallway toward the elevators.

Fidgeting, I watched each number illuminate as I made my
descent down fourteen floors. Finally, the door dinged open, and I raced
through the lobby toward the exit doors where Walt had parked earlier. As I
trotted into the bright lights of the city, I turned my head, hearing
Pippy’s
voice rise above the sounds of traffic. She was
engaged in a focused conversation with a tall, suited figure. Though the man’s
broad back faced me, I could clearly see how he dwarfed
Pippy
.

I
paused
my steps as her words
found me.

“...so I’m thinking I should take her shopping, but I’m
not sure what kind of budget she has...her wardrobe is scarce at best.”

“
Pippy
—I trust you can take care
of it. I pay you to sort these types of things out so I don’t have to,” the man
said, seemingly preoccupied with something in his hands—I couldn’t see what,
but I assumed it was a phone.

“I can expense it, then? I think she’ll need quite a few
items-”

“
Pippy
, yes, expense it—fine. I
have more important things on my mind than a wardrobe crisis at the moment.
What is it with all this nervous chatter of yours tonight?” His voice shifted
into a growl as he looked down at her. “She’s just a mom.”

Until that moment, I hadn’t known how that word could be
used as an insult. I also hadn’t realized how utterly inferior and inadequate a
phrase could make me feel. It wasn’t that he’d called me a
mom
; it was
the word he said right before it:
just
.

A second later, Walt pulled up to the curb in the town
car. Then
Pippy
saw me—standing like a frozen idiot
on the walkway, her green binder in my hands.

“Oh—uh—Miss Flores...I didn’t know you were standing
there,” she said, motioning to the man beside her. “This is Mr. Jackson Ross.”

The man turned around, and my stomach bottomed out. He was
young—much younger than I’d imagined the Mr. Ross that Dee spoke about so
highly. But his youth was not what caused my breath to hitch. This guy looked
like he’d been plucked right off a Hollywood movie set. He was the perfect
type-cast for a rogue-assassin plotting to save mankind from the deadly grasp
of evil!