Next to You (Life) (12 page)

“I’m glad you’re safe, Bex.” I yawn. “You took away several years of my life in a couple of days, Princess.”

“They did, not me.” She snuggles next to my body. “Now go to sleep, I bet you haven’t slept much, Dan, thank you again for rescuing me. I—never mind.”

She closes her eyes and a few tears escape from them. My heart wants to ask her what she was about to say before second guessing herself. However my eyes win the battle and within a few moments I fall asleep with her in my arms and for the first time in a long time I feel whole.

Chapter 22

“
I
’
ll be there
in a couple of minutes, Ty,” I say as I hang up the phone. Tyler just got back from North Carolina where he was visiting his father who is in jail accused of premeditated murder, kidnaping, aggravated assault and several drug related charges. Gregg Sanders along with the Patricks are looking at a minimum of twenty years in jail according to Henry—my lawyer. I let him handle the ordeal because if given the choice, I will choose an AK-47 and use the three of them as my targets.

Becca and I barely spoke while she was in the hospital, or during the plane ride to San Francisco. Later, ‘I’m not ready’ and my favorite, ‘I’m fine’, were the only phrases we all heard from her after the twelve hour nap we took together. It wasn’t personal, she did the same with Drew and Raj. She even did it to Buddy; who flew in as soon as he learned what had happened to her. Tyler met us at the airport and Becca ran to his arms, as if he had been part of the rescue team. So far I have no idea about her emotional state, if she is going to need another year to recover or if the damage is irreparable and everything she worked for, for the past few months went to waste. Before I leave my office to meet Tyler, I glance at the playpen where my dog used to stay while I worked. It’s now empty. Buddy lost my dog and I lost the girl that I never had—again—but I refuse to head back to hell.

“Brightmore,” Tyler greets me as he bobs his head when I arrive in his office. I place my portfolio next to the door and pull out my iPad. “Take a seat, we were just talking about the modifications for the new building.”

That’s when I notice Blaine Frank is already here. He’s one of the new architects we hired to head the West Coast branch of our construction division. This is not what I am expecting, since I want to ask Tyler about Becca. I want to know if they found a new place for her to live in or if she moved in with him until the fright of being kidnapped is gone, but with the stranger in front of us it’s impossible.

“Sir,” the voice of Ty’s assistant comes through the intercom, “I have a Steve from the Brightmore Foundation on line two, Betsy patched his call through. He needs to talk to Mr. Brightmore—says it’s urgent.”

The frantic voice of Steve comes through the phone as we take the call on the roundtable speakerphone.

“There’s this kid, he arrived at the rec-center,” Steve explains on the other side of the phone. “Darla, the director said that his younger brother helped him walk all the way to the center while crying for help. She said that he either asked for Miss Becca first or after the boy convulsed.”

As he tells us that they took him to the nearby hospital and that he’s being treated, the situation regarding the Foundation begins to unravel. The shelters are at full capacity and they don’t have enough beds for the night. The rec-centers can’t hold the attention of the coaches and teachers any longer; and the children are drifting away. Becca had a knack for knowing what was going on inside the centers and how to fix the problems that arose.

“Were there any signs of abuse?” I ask Steve, because if, as he said, he has been following her instructions to the T; then he shouldn’t be having all these problems piling on him.

“No, I mean maybe… there was a prior report of bruises, but what was I supposed to do with that information?” Steve’s voice cracks. “They are children, and get into all kinds of trouble, right? This is a disaster, Mr. Brightmore.” There’s a long pause, I can hear him hyperventilating while talking and I hope he calms down. “Becca would know what to do. She’s the brains of the operation, Sir.”

The Foundation has been Becca’s baby since day one. She was hands on for the entire operation. From making sure the childcares have the best care providers to a nurse or two on site, supplies, and clean equipment—state of the art. The rec-centers have or should I said had capable coaches, teachers and other professionals who either donate their time to teach the children’s classes or we pay them. The shelters have everything, from first aid supplies, basic clothing, blankets, sheets, cots and food. She had records of every child who stepped into any structure of the Foundation. She made sure they were taken care of as well as their families.

They were her clients, as she calls them—or called them. The woman visited them at their homes. If anyone noticed something strange, like bruises, malnourishment or any little sign of neglect toward a child, they reported it to her. Steve has received a few of those calls, but apparently has done nothing about it. She didn’t leave instructions on that regard. Therefore, we all dropped the ball—including me. I always thought the way she cared was a nice touch, but way too much work. Her OCD at best—now I know better. Today I have a child in the ER fighting for his life and a father in the police station about to be booked for child abuse. According to Steve, Henry is there to make sure he rots in jail. The mother and his two siblings are, for now in the shelter, where we don’t have enough beds to accommodate them.

“This isn’t good,” Steve says on the other side of the line. Guilt is dripping from his words along with what I can only guess is frustration, the same I feel because there isn’t much I can do. “Jesus, she never told me what to do and if she learns about it… Becca won’t take it well.”

That’s correct, she won’t. A child with a severe head trauma, broken ribs and a punctured lung among other bruises is fighting for his life.

We stop talking about the kid and begin to discuss the most important matter, how to prevent this from happening again. I’m wondering how many people are on the streets because she wasn’t there to find some permanent arrangement for them. The number of children that became a statistic of child abuse under our noses is unknown.

“For a tiny scaredy-cat, my sister had her shit together,” Tyler says, then continues taping on his phone. Since Steve informed us about this crisis Ty grabbed his phone and half ignored us. It has been driving me insane and I want to snatch his phone and smash it so he will pay attention. “Becca would know what to do,” he repeats Steve’s words. Becca, she is fearless when the Foundation is involved… or was, semantics. This is one of the reasons why I thought about shutting it down when she left. The place is extremely important to her, but I didn’t do it, since thousands of people would be affected by my stupidity. “My input is hiring more than one social worker to be there at all times, they can do those visitations Becca used to do.”
My thoughts exactly.

“I’ll pay for as many as we need,” I tell Tyler and the architect who is working on the construction of our offices stares at us. We never discussed the blue prints and as I look at the time, we’ve been on the line with Steve for almost a half hour. “Sorry I didn’t mean to—“

“Get that beast out of my office,” Tyler says, and I look up to find a petite brunette holding a… my lost dog? He looks a lot like Rusty, the puppy Buddy lost. “My desk still has his mark.”

“I told you I was with him at the park,” Becca answers and I’m dumbfound because I didn’t expect to see her this soon. She bends down and pets the puppy whispering something to him. “And that on your desk was an accident. I had just rescued him, if you recall he had a traumatic experience—just like me. Remember, when Buddy gave him to me, he explained that Rusty’s original owner mistreated him.”

Chapter 23

“
N
o I didn’t,”
I say clearly having to defend myself. She turns her gaze toward the table and realizes she has company. “That’s my dog, Buddy just lost… though, I now realize he gave him away. The asshole. I left him with Rusty for a couple of days and it appears he felt entitled to give him away and of all people, to you.”

“Wow, that’s… interesting.” Becca scratches his ear. “Don’t worry, baby, there won’t be any puppy custody hearing, you’re staying with me. So…” She straightens her posture and approaches the table and Rusty walks next to her. “Sorry, usually we have better manners in this family. Becca Trent.” Miss Manners extends her hand toward Blaine Frank the architect.

“Shit, you called Becca?” Steve says on the other side of the line. “I’m fired.”

“No worries, my tribe has issues too.” Blaine stands up and extends his hand to her and shakes hers for one too many seconds. “I’m in charge of the remodeling of the buildings and—“

“Uhm,” Tyler interrupts the meet and greet between the two. I’m glad, if I continue watching this exchange well… I’ll beat the hell out of him.

Tyler explains to Becca what we know so far, and what we’re planning for the future. I’m surprised she only flinches when we tell her about the boy, when Steve tells her the name, she comments that the family was on a watch. She then explains to him where the watch files are and to visit all of those children within the next couple of days to make sure they are fine.

“We’ll hire the social workers under Brightmore Limited so we can offer a better salary and benefits,” I add. “Obviously I suggest we revamp the entire Boston operation. And while we’re making changes, why not open new shelters? Maybe in San Francisco or here, in San Jose, what do you think?”

Becca is beaming with what I proposed and nods.

“Are you willing to come back to the Foundation?” Tyler asks Becca, her eyes immediately move to mine.

“It’s your Foundation and we need you,” I tell her. “Neither fact has changed, Becca. Everyone is waiting for you to come out of your hiatus. Are you willing to stop that ridiculous sabbatical?”

“Yes, as soon as I move into my new place, which fortunately is here in San Jose.” The statement surprises me, I had no idea she plans to move from San Francisco to San Jose. It’s not like they are too far away from each other. However, I expected her to stay close to Tyler. Becca bites the inside of her lip while gazing at me and I have no idea what it means. Then she looks at Tyler. “Do you have space in your new offices, Ty?”

“There’s no need,” I interrupt her. “The way we set up the offices when I decided to relocate will work for the Foundation,” I explain to Becca, pulling up the file of the buildings before turning my iPad toward her. “You’re here, to your right is the six story building. That’s where I have my offices, on the top floor. If you pass the conference room, that’s where the Foundation goes. This was planned before, when the idea of relocating—“

“Can he come with me to work?” Becca asks, not giving me any kind of shit about being close or begging Tyler to let her work in the corner of his office. “He has separation anxiety. I can’t leave him at home alone for long, or my neighbors are going to kick me out of my new place before I settle in.” I nod. “Do you want me to contact Human Resources, or do you want to do it?”

“Do I still have a job?” Steve’s voice comes over the speaker, reminding us he is still on the other side of the line and waiting to be beheaded. But that isn’t the case. “Do you need me to pack?”

“No packing allowed,” Becca says. “Go and check on the other children, I might try to swing by next week. I’m not positive though,” she clarifies. “Moving forward, make sure everything is working perfectly. Call any one of us if you have any questions or need help.” She looks at both of us, Tyler and I, and waits for a nod to confirm what she just said is accurate.

Not asking, or maybe it’s because I had already handed it to her, Becca begins to use my tablet with one hand as she pets rusty who sits right next to her with the other.

*

Dan,

Sorry about Rusty, Buddy gave me this sob story about the little guy and believable or not, it didn’t matter. It had been the second day after I arrived from North Carolina and there was an instant connection between the two of us. He responded to me within minutes and I think on some level I needed him.

Thank you for letting me come back on board, the Foundation is important to me. That’s my thing, I like what I do. When the interview process starts, I’d like to be involved. That includes the background checks Randy frequently, if not always, runs. The ins and outs sometimes are important and you usually don’t share those details. Before you disregard a candidate, send me their four-one-one.

Becca

*

“You’re leaving?” Becca turns her head and smiles as she sees me. We haven’t spoken much since she started working a couple of days ago. Rusty wags his tale and looks at me, as if asking for a pet. “You think I can have visitations? I was teaching him how to catch a ball.”

“What do you think, Rust?” she asks the pup and I walk to where they stand and bend, letting him sniff my hand. Rusty licks my hand and I begin to pet him. “It appears he likes you.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” I pat his head before getting back up and leaning against the wall with my arms crossed. The conversation could go somehow within the lines of:
of course he likes me, he was my dog first
, but I refrain, instead I take a different approach. “I can watch him when you’re busy. You mentioned he has separation issues.”

“Separation anxiety.” I want to laugh at her terms, as if it makes any difference. I bet she’s the one who has the anxiety and needs to be next to him. “Sure, actually, Tyler isn’t very fond of him. Rusty doesn’t like him much either. They like to fight for the same toys—or shoes. The Sanders’ dog isn’t sociable, or as I like to tell Tyler, he envies my puppy because I care for him. Not that I take pleasure in getting into that debacle. There’s this thing about me not having a family and children therefore I don’t have the right to judge—which I don’t. His take. Friday I’m babysitting for them, you can keep him for a couple of hours. Leave me a note on my desk with your address and I can drop him off.”

“Perhaps,” I dare to ask, “we can work some kind of sharing system?”

“Oops, I need to go.” She starts walking away. “My furniture is being delivered within the next two to four hours. Talk soon?”