Come Fly With Me (50 page)

"I
have
Aunt
Lizzie,
my
dad's
sister—she's
okay,
but
it's
not
like
she's
my
mother,
or
anything."

Allison
nodded
sympathetically.

"You
must
know
the
story
that
everyone
does—about
my
mom,"
she
said
as
she
picked
up
a
paintbrush
and
dipped
it
in
some
paint
daubs.
"The
truth
is
she
suffered
from
severe
post-partum
depression
and
killed
herself
a
few
months
after
I
was
born.
My
father
was
crazy
over
her
and
couldn't
bear
it—he
thought
she
was
perfect.
They
made
up
that
story
about
an
aneurysm.
But
what
I
want
to
know
is
what
kind
of
saint
kills
herself
and
leaves
a
defenseless
baby
on
her
own?"
She
looked
at
the
abstract
spots
her
doodling
left.

Allison
was
speechless.
Kaitlin
was
so
candid
and
insightful
about
the
tragedy.
"I
assume
you've
had
counseling?"

"Of
course—years
of
it.
I
have
friends
who
get
counseling
when
they
break
a
nail."

Allison
was
uncomfortable,
and
determined
to
lighten
things
up.
"Do
you
want
to
talk
about
this
anymore?"
Allison
asked.

"Nope,
I'm
done."

"Good.
So,
how
about
some
waffles
and
hot
chocolate
at
The Cupping Room
?"

"Only
if
they
have
fresh
whipped
cream,
none
of
the
stuff
that
comes
out
of
a
can."

"I'm
pretty
sure
they
can
manage
to
come
up
with
some
freshly-made
whipped
cream
for
Michael
Essex's
daughter."

"Natalya,
please
follow
up
with
Bradley
and
see
if
he's
made
any
headway
on
those
price
projections
for
the
new
jet
interiors?"

"I'm
right
on
it,
Ms.
Ross."

Allison
leaned
back
in
her
chair
and
closed
her
eyes
for
a
minute.
When
she
opened
them,
she
looked
out
over
the
gray
city.
The
weather
forecasters
had
been
threatening
snow
all
day,
but
the
streets
were
bare.
She
looked
up
at
the
sky.
The
clouds
were
leaden
and
angry-looking.
Well, I feel angry too, you're not the only ones
,
she
thought.
The
company
had
found
its
footing
at
least,
and
she
was
feeling
more
comfortable
with
handing
over
the
reins.
But
to
whom,
was
still
the
major
sticking
point.

Should
she
play
it
safe
or
go
rogue
? I've played it safe for the past twenty-nine years, maybe it's time to stir things up a little,
she
thought
.

Her
musings
were
interrupted
by
a
knock
on
the
door.
"Come
in,"
she
called
and
grimaced
when
Bradley
entered.

"Here
are
the
price
projections,"
he
said.
"I
worked
the
numbers
using
less
expensive
materials
that
still
have
a
luxurious
feel.
Microfiber
suede
is
less
costly
than
imported
leather
and
is
just
as
comfortable
for
the
seats.
A
glossy,
smooth-grained
walnut
works
well
for
the
tables
and
is
more
cost-efficient
than
Makassar."

"And
not
as
exotic-looking,"
she
interrupted.

"Yes,
but
in
these
times,
the
ability
to
charter
or
own
a
private
jet
is
luxury
enough
without
overdoing
the
interior
space,"
he
challenged.

She
looked
at
him
carefully.
"Perhaps,
but
our
wealthy
clients
have
high
standards."

"Look
at
them;
let
me
know,"
he
turned
to
leave
and
paused.
"I've
given
a
lot
of
thought
to
what
you
said
to
me
a
while
back."

"You
mean
when
we
were
in
L.A.
for
the
near-disastrous
meeting
with
the
interior
design
team?"

He
nodded,
"It's
been
a
couple
of
months,
and
you
were
right.
No
one
cares
where
you
come
from,
as
long
as
you
get
somewhere
in
life."

"And
that
somewhere
is
up
to
you.
But
Bradley,
unfortunately,
people
do
care
where
you
come
from.
It's
up
to
you
to
prove
to
them
that
it
doesn't
matter."

She
turned
her
attention
back
to
his
report.
"It
looks
like
you've
put
a
lot
of
effort
into
this
presentation,"
she
said
as
she
thumbed
through
the
report.
"Initiative
is
important
at
this
time
when
so
much
about
the
company
is
in
a
state
of
flux."

She
smiled
at
him.
"It
feels
good
not
to
be
fighting
with
you.
I
think
our
grandfather
would
be
proud
if
he
could
see
us
now."

Bradley
winced.

Allison
continued,
"One
day
I'll
sit
down
with
you
and
show
you
your
heritage,
I
think
you'll
be
surprised
to
learn
that
your
grandfather
was
a
kind
and
gentle
man."
Her
attention
was
redirected
towards
Alex
as
he
stepped
into
the
room.