The Personal Assistant (7 page)

Caleb rubs his hands together, the glow of an excited child on his face. "I'll direct you where to go. I have the directions here."

“I though you hated these places?"

“Someone wise once told me that you can’t judge a place if you’ve never been. I should have listened to that person’s advice a long time ago.”

I smile – he did actually listen to me. I wasn’t just his evening entertainment.

"No way, you actually want to do this, don't you?

"Oh yeah." Taking my hand in his, he says, "You make even the most tedious social gathering spectacular. Don't you get it yet?"

My jaw drops into a gape, "What's gotten into you? You want five star luxury, not muddy shoes and screaming kids on rollercoasters."

"You are such a stubborn woman," he sniggers. "All the luxury and wealth in the world can't compare to what we have. This fool never realized he had the most precious commodity on earth until she walked out his door."

Is he talking about me?

Is he saying…?

He kisses my forehead so softly it feels like the flap of a butterfly wing against my brow. "If you give me another chance, if you let me back in, I won't lose you again, Em."

"I…" is the only word to leave this stubborn woman's mouth.

The severity of what's happening between us sinks in slowly, and I tremble under its weight.

"Come here," he tells me, pushing my hair behind my ear and pulling my face close to his. "Now tell me, will you let me in?"

This whole experience and the vivid memory of us making love overwhelm me. My top lip wobbles with the strain of trying not to cry. I grab his hand and hold it next to my cheek and the tears flow, "I never completely let you go, though I tried my damnedest."

He wipes tears from my cheek with his thumb, and exhales, "Is it me who's trembling or you?"

"Both?"

He raises his free shuddering hand, "You're my one weakness, my Achilles heel. A lot of extremely wealthy men and women would love to bottle whatever it is you do to me. You know I'm yours, right?"

I hold his trembling hand in mine and grin, gliding like the bird—at least in my heart. "Who knew you were so romantic?"

"I never was before. Now I can't help myself." His voice crackles, "Maybe I'm getting sick or something?" Softly laughing, he gazes at me through red-rimmed eyes. "Time to stop crying, Em. It's time for fun at the fairground."

Sniffing, I lean my head into his palm and laugh along with him. "You turned me into a cry-baby, sorry. It's just, in all my dreams of us, I never dared to dream this…"

"Of course, you always knew, didn't you?" he asks.

"What?" I sit up in my seat, eager to hear what I knew.

"That I would eventually grow up and see what was staring me in the face all along."

"I didn't know anything." How could I? "I did hope you would one day see me as a woman, not just Little Em. That you'd see we fit perfectly, in spite of the very different lives we live."

He reaches across and pecks my damp cheek. "You will always be my Little Em, woman and girl. You're right, only recently did I allow myself to really look at you. It always seemed inappropriate while you lived here with your parents. You were so much younger than me. When they moved out and you took charge, then I thought… hello." He smirks, blushing, "I couldn't stop thinking about you naked, and of all the things I'd like to do to you."

Oh, the hours I spent touching myself to fantasies of him.

"We got that in common."

Taking sharp sniffs against my tears, spurred on by this more invigorating conversation, I prepare to focus and drive.

He shakes his head, "Man, the time I wasted. I've always been so juvenile. Comes from my upbringing I guess. Consequences were few and I never had to struggle or work too hard for anything." He peers outside the car into the street at an elderly woman pushing her life in a cart. "You, on the other hand…" He smiles back at me. "Thanks for waiting," he says seriously. "For giving me another chance. I won't let you down again."

I wipe stray tears from my cheeks, wishing I had a hanky. "I know you won't."

Thank heavens for waterproof mascara and men who can admit their weaknesses.

I start the car as he sits back and relaxes. "Buckle up. Time for our first date to begin if you think we got all the mushy stuff out of the way?"

"Nothing wrong with the mushy stuff," he buckles up.

I pretend to yawn, thinking how much I'd like to hear what he'd like to do to me naked. "Although, I feel an early night coming on."

In around half an hour we reach the fairground.

The drive is fabulous in my new Fiat.

Once there, we both have the time of our lives doing normal things like eating too much candy and riding the rollercoaster.

Caleb wins me a giant cuddly toy of my choice by shooting several rows of plastic ducks, laughing triumphantly throughout. I choose a cuddly owl because it is beyond cute and reminds me of him, with its big blue eyes.

He admits he can see the attraction to fairgrounds now.

While we laugh on my favorite the Big Wheel, I see him brake away from the flock of flapping birds and join me, gliding through the clouds.

Twelve months later . . .

"Hey Betty, can you help me with the burgers?" I call her away from our pals on my way to the bathroom.

I've been back and forth all day, though I've tried to hide it as best I can.

I hate people making a fuss when I'm unwell – and I don’t feel that bad, just ill in the stomach.

"They'll be charcoal if they stay on the barbeque much longer and… oh crap," I cover my mouth, "I'm sick as a dog."

After running up to me wearing a pout, she whispers, "That's the third time this week you've been sick—that you've told me about—and you've been running to the toilet all day. You need to see a doctor, Em."

"No," I snap, making my way to the toilet with Betty hot on my heels.

When I go to close the door on her, she stops me and adds in a stern voice, "No arguments, you need a doctor."

"A doctor?" asks Caleb, appearing from nowhere, carrying a tray of empty glasses to refill for our guests.

He's taken to social gatherings of the less luxurious kind over the past twelve months.

Gone are the days of Gala Balls, thank heavens.

"You need a doctor, Em?" He winces, "You are pale come to think of it." Placing the back of his hands against my forehead for a temperature, he adds, "Too much sun? Do you need to lie down?"

"All I need is to…" I turn, run for the toilet.

After I wipe my mouth on tissue paper and turn to them both, hovering in the doorway. "Sorry, but please stop fussing. I'm sure it's just—"

Caleb raises his hand interrupting me, "I don't care what you're sure it is. I'm calling my doctor." Grabbing his cell from his back pocket, he punches in the numbers before holding it to his ear, "He'll come straight out if he ever answers."

"You got a doctor on-call?" Betty says to Caleb, clearly impressed. "Different worlds."

When I turn to see their eyes scrutinizing me, I try to appear composed and to enjoy the dissipation of nausea, hoping that's the last time I'll vomit tonight.

"No, please don't ruin this barbeque, Caleb. Everyone's enjoying themselves out there, and so were we until this. I promise to go to the doctors on Monday."

"No, what if it's bad?" He ignores my request and waits for his doctor to pick up, pacing.

I notice he's rested the tray of empty glasses on the table behind him and I wonder if it's leaning to the left, or whether that's me, feeling spaced. "What if it can't wait till Monday?"

Taking a deep cleansing breath, I turn and flush the toilet, when something dawns on me.

When was my last period? It must be…I must be.

I whisper, blood rushing to my head, "Oh. My. Gosh."

"Hey, what's up?" Caleb asks, fear in his eyes. "Damn it, pick up, won't you?" He hangs up the phone and kneels in front of me.

"I'll go get some water," Betty tells us, her top lip drawn back, against the acidity of my vomit, I imagine. "Don't let her move from there in case she gets dizzy and falls over."

"Okay, I know. I'm not entirely useless." He holds the hair away from my sweaty face. "Seems I'm destined to spend my life surrounded by bossy women."

Trying to smile past his concern, I feel awful for what I'm about to tell him.

"Sorry…" my voice is breaking up. The truth is so huge and arrives with an alarming fear. What will he want me to do about this if it's true? "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, Caleb."

He looks at me, eye to eye, "What is it? You're scaring me."

"I didn't plan this, I swear. I only just realized what's going on with me." I take his hand in mine, "Caleb, I think I'm being sick because I might be pregnant."

He is silent for a minute, while I watch how the news alters his facial features as it travels from his ears, spins around his mind, and finally blurts out from his mouth, "What, Em? Pregnant?"

He slumps to his butt, as though weighed down by the sheer magnitude of the news.

All I can do is nod and hold back tears, tears of exactly which type of emotion isn't clear—joy, anxiety, terror?

All of the above?

I mean, I'm twenty-two, finally studying to be a teacher at college and in love with the love of my life.

Am I too young, too busy for this?

Is Caleb ready for this?

Will a baby change us for the better or shatter the perfect relationship we've built?

"Yes, pregnant."

He wipes my tears away while his fall to the floor at my feet.

As the fear of losing him, of this ruining everything we have grabs my throat, his legendary grin swallows up his face and settles my anxieties, "Do you enjoy making me tremble? Look at my hands."

He holds one hand out to show me, and we watch it shudder for a moment before he kneels up and pulls me into his arms.

Softly he kisses my neck and works his way over my face, whispering, "I love you, I love you."

Deep gaze to deep gaze, we hold our breath for a silent time of thought before he asks, "Can't believe I'm saying this, but can we keep him? I mean, do you want to keep him?"

The expression on his face screams, 'I love you and the baby you're carrying.' If I weren't already sitting, this kind of expression would knock me off my feet.

I'll never forget it.

Propelled by an avalanche of emotion, the words shoot from my mouth in a sob, "You mean it?"

Resting one hand on my tummy, his eyes widen, "Of course I do. Let's do this, Em. We can do this."

I take some tissue from the roll and blow my nose, reality still trying to sink in, "What if he's a she?"

"All the better." He takes some tissue and does the same, "She'll be like you."

I allow myself to smile, but sigh audibly, and I'm not sure why. The emotion flying around inside me is almost oppressive, but not unwelcome, "Wow, this is…"

"Okay, look," he presses a finger to my lips. "I meant to do this later on today. Tonight actually, in front of all your friends. Good people should share in such an event. But hey, we're in the bathroom and the room smells of vomit, but who cares." He inhales, positively glowing, "It's not a problem and—"

I move his finger from my lips, "What are you talking about, Caleb? My head's already in a spin, I can't…I'm not sure what's going on here."

Is this baby brain?

"I'm not trying to confuse you." He wipes my hair from a tear and sweat sodden face. "Don't you get it? I'm trying to propose."

"Propose what?" Oh, he's…Almost swallowing my tongue, I blurt, "Freaking yikes!"

Nervously, he pulls out a small box from his back pocket and my heart takes up residence in the back of my throat.

"This was my mother's engagement ring from my father. If it doesn't fit, we can get it altered for you—if you'll do me the honor of becoming my wife, that is."

The ring is a platinum single solitaire surrounded by tiny white freshwater pearls. He slides it on my finger and although it's a fraction too big, it's perfect otherwise. "I don't know what to say."

"Oh?" His forehead forms the deepest frown I think I've ever seen, and the outer edges of his eyes droop. "So you don't—?"

"No, of course…but were you going to do this anyway, before the baby news? Were you going to ask me to…?"

"Marry me? Yes, as long as I didn't wimp out again, like last time."

"Last time?"

"Intended to do it in Paris last month, was so much more romantic than this, but I was scared you'd say no. I mean, you're so young."

Why didn't I realize?

"Ha, how ironic…"

"Ironic?"

My emotions steady at seeing such vulnerability in his dark blue stare. Resting my hand on my tummy over his, I say, "Because it's almost certainly where this little guy was conceived."

We remember how little time we spent cruising the sites, and the long sweaty afternoons in our hotel room.

Bliss.

"Oh yeah," he grins, looking at our hands overlapping on my stomach. "Please give me your answer…the ring is perfect on you, you're perfect for me, the timing is perfect in a weird kind of way—marry me, Emma."

Last year I longed to be his lover.

Now I'm going to be his wife, and the mother to his child.

If he were anyone else, I'd run screaming into the night.

But this is Caleb.

My throat swells, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, about to make two major life decisions as easily as I might decide what relish to slather on my burger.

"Because you can't be too young to live the life you choose, or the life fated for you, I say yes to both. I love you, and our family, Caleb. "

He carries me from the restroom, outside to our guests, kissing me and laughing intermittently on the way.

While he announces our news to our intimate party of close friends and family, I let my head fall back, inhale a great gulp of air, and gaze into the deep blue sky.

There, miles up ahead, I imagine a family of birds gliding through life, perfectly synchronized, weightless and free.