The Plan (16 page)

Claire remembered the man's eyes from the flier. They were mesmerizing. A shocking blue that contrasted with his jet-black hair.

His eyes had seemed to speak to her, as if he had something to say and, for some reason, she needed to hear it.

Deciding to let her food cool for a moment, she bolted up the stairs, ignoring her head as it screamed for her to creep along.

If she was going to make it to his talk by six o'clock, she needed to get moving.

“Hold that baby closer to the camera,” Callum said into his tablet. “I can't see him well enough.”

“He's heavy!” the woman on the other end of Skype said. “I can barely lift him already!”

Callum laughed, a big, hearty laugh, much larger than one would expect from someone of his body mass. “Just wait until he's fifteen. He'll be lifting you.”

“Hush, you,” the woman scolded. “Don't wish away the years just yet. I'm enjoying every second of him being a baby. Seth and I waited a very long time for him to come into our lives.”

“And I'll bet he was worth the wait and all the struggles.” They were referring to the many years of infertility Seth and Terri had experienced. Callum and the other team members had held front-row seats to their friends' pain and sorrow. After many years of not being able to conceive, they'd then been dealt even more years of miscarriages. It had been heartbreaking for everyone, but no one more so than Terri.

“Every second of them. Good things come to those who wait, right?” Terri kissed the baby's head. “Would you like to know his name?”

“Frank told me it's Noah. A good strong name for a good, strong boy.”

“Noah Callum.”

“No way! That's fabulous! I am honored beyond belief.” He would've slapped his knee in delight if he had one.

“Seth and I wanted to honor you. We both know if it wasn't for you, we would've never met. You were so supportive of all we were going through. We both love you very much. We don't know a better man than you, Callum. We wanted our son to represent some of that strength.”

“Well, I'm touched. Truly. You nearly made this grown man cry. And, as you know, Irish bucks don't cry.” Callum made sure to strengthen his brogue at the end of the sentence, for emphasis.

The door of Callum's hotel room opened and a man anyone would refer to as a cowboy, sauntered in. Wearing faded jeans and his usual pearl-snap shirt, he plopped down in the seat across from the desk where Callum was seated. Kicking up his never-absent cowboy boots onto the desk, he leaned back in the chair.

“Guess who's dropping pieces of dirt on my desk?” Callum asked the screen in front of him.

“Tell Wyatt to take his feet down. That is disgusting. You don't know what he's stepped in.”

“Knowing Wyatt, nothing good.” Callum laughed.

“Laugh away, you Yankees. You wouldn't know a solid day's work if it kicked you in the arse,” Wyatt said, raising his voice so the woman on the tablet could hear.

“Oh, arse is the new term?” Terri laughed. “Are we cleaning up his language a bit?”

“There's a British woman he's hot on,” Callum said and then turned his attention onto Wyatt. “People from Ireland aren't Yankees.”

“Anyone not from Texas is a Yankee.”

“Well, there you have it,” Callum said back to the screen. “Clear as mud.”

A loud scream pierced the room and Callum's eardrum.

“Oh, no. I'd better go,” Terri said, lifting the baby to her shoulder and patting him on the back. “It's feeding time.”

“You go take care of that baby,
Mom.”
Callum stressed the last word, making Terri smile, just as he knew it would. “My namesake shouldn't be uncomfortable in any way.”

“Bye! It was great to talk to you! Let's do this again soon.”

“Whenever you get the chance,” Callum said with a smile. “I sense you're going to be very busy for the next eighteen or so years. Sing him some of your beautiful lullabies. We're all jealous he's the only one who gets to hear your voice from this point on.”

“Oh, you'll find my replacement soon. Bye, Wyatt!”

“See ya later, Terri! Good to catch you!”

The screen went black and Terri was gone.

“Now that Noah Callum is one handsome boy. As, of course, he'd have to be seeing as he bears my name.”

“I knew when Seth told me what they named him, it would go to your head. We're going to hear about it for the next month, aren't we?”

“At least. I do love a chubby baby.”

“You love any baby. You're such a girl.”

“Now there, don't go picking fights you can't win, Wyatt. I'd hate to have to take you out with my wicked left hook.”

Wyatt smirked. “Your phantom arm can't be any worse than the one you've actually got.” He shifted in his seat and tapped his shirt pocket.

“No cigarettes there, buddy,” Callum said.

“I know. I know. But I keep looking.”

“How long has it been now?”

“Three long months.”

“I'm proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wyatt grumbled, but Callum knew Wyatt was proud of himself, too. It was a habit he'd been trying to break for years now.

“Women don't like to kiss men who smell like nicotine.”

“Why do you think I'm going through this misery?” Wyatt muttered. “Not for my smooth skin.”

Callum laughed again. Wyatt had that effect on him. It was difficult not to wind up laughing in Wyatt's presence. He wasn't a jokester, by any means. But he was funny. Perhaps because he was so outrageous, so out of the box. At least no one in Callum's native Ireland had ever come in a box like the one Wyatt must have inhabited.

“So, what's the latest?” Callum asked. “Everything set up at the convention center?”

“Yep. They have a big crew getting the stage and everything else in place. It's busier over there than a funeral home fan in July.”

Callum gave Wyatt a quizzical look, but didn't say a word. He'd long ago learned it was pointless to question the colorful Texas sayings that flew out of Wyatt's mouth.

“Has Frank found us a new singer for the seminars?”

“Not that I've heard. He was holding auditions yesterday, but from his mood when he arrived at dinner, I'm thinking he didn't find anyone.”

“Anyone who could meet his unachievable standards?” Callum asked.

“You got it.”

“Did you remind him it won't be long before we're heading to Europe?” Callum asked.

“I waved my plane ticket at him.”

“And what did he say?”

“Wyatt Roy, why don't you go load some wheelchairs into the truck and keep your nose out of my musical business.”

“That sounds like Frank.”

“It wouldn't hurt for him to carry a few wheelchairs.”

Callum pondered on Frank's diminutive and slight build. The man couldn't be more than five feet six inches, but he held himself with such an elegant stature, Callum often felt Frank gained another inch or two by holding his chin so high. The man possessed self-confidence by the bucket load, yet never came across as arrogant or pompous.

Well, maybe he did seem a little pompous, Callum had to admit with a chuckle. But, that was okay. Each of them had their own issues and hangups. For Frank, it was his suits. The man had never found a three-piece suit he didn't adore. Callum often wondered what percentage of Frank's salary was spent on trips to the tailor.

Frank was constantly in his signature ensemble. Other than on very rare occasions, when Callum had unexpectedly shown up at Frank's hotel room door unannounced, Callum had never actually seen him in anything other than his wool threads.

“It's a little bit too hot for that in Uganda,” Callum would remind Frank, pointing at his suit, when they traveled to warmer climates.

“I can take off my jacket and roll up my sleeves,” Frank would say, and that would be that. Callum knew better than to argue with the man.

“He carries his music stand. What more do you want?” Callum said, winking at Wyatt.

Callum shifted his attention back to the screen of his tablet and began to type.

“I need to learn to type as quickly as you do,” Wyatt said. “I just peck away.”

“Which is pathetic, since you actually have two hands.”

Callum's five fingers flew across the screen as he completed his message and hit send.

“You know, they've invented computer voice recognition. You could say what you need to type directly into the computer and it'll type it for ya.”

“And waste all that time I spent, as a teenager, learning how to soar across the keyboard? No thanks. I needed to send an email to my folks. They get worried if they don't hear from me every few days. Not sure what they think is going to happen to me. It's not like I'm gonna lose a leg in a car crash or something.”

There was a knock at the door right before the key was inserted and it swung open.

“Ready, Callum?”

Callum glanced up at Mitch, just as he saw the words, “Message Sent,” pop up on his screen.

“You bet.” Pulling the joystick on the arm of his chair toward him, he backed away from the desk and then rolled toward Mitch. “You gonna stick around for the peep show, Wyatt, or are you gonna go clean yourself up?”

“I've seen you strip down more times than I care to think about,” Wyatt mumbled, dropping his feet to the ground and standing up. He was a big man, not only in height, but in sheer body mass. Wyatt said everything was bigger in Texas, and if his size was any indication, he was one hundred percent correct. “I'm gonna go see if there are any lovely ladies in the hotel bar.”

“Just don't forget we're heading back over to the convention center at five on the dot.”

“Wouldn't miss it.”

He strode out the door as Callum began to expertly unbutton his shirt with his one hand.

“One day, I'll have this shirt off and be completely dressed before you even get in the room.”

“That'll be the day. And, what are you trying to do? Put me out of a job?” Mitch said, a good-natured grin on his face as he walked to the closet, selecting Callum's clothes for that evening.

“No worries there. I have plenty more for you to do.” He hoisted himself out of his chair and onto the bed, lying back so he could begin to wiggle out of his cut-off jeans.

Mitch returned with a short-sleeved, button-up blue shirt and khaki shorts.

Callum slid into the shorts Mitch handed him. He buttoned and
zipped them himself. There were some things he couldn't do, but putting on his own pants was a task he'd mastered as a little kid. And though it would be easier to let Mitch help him—the pants' button could be tricky—he had a good deal of pride and maintained it whenever possible. When he finished, he put out his right, and only hand, so Mitch could help pull him back up into a sitting position.

Callum buttoned his shirt, his fingers working quickly to slide each one into its hole. Glancing up, he noticed Mitch staring at him.

“Didn't feel like brushing your hair at all today?”

“What are you talking about?”

“It looks like a wild mess.”

“If it makes you unhappy, feel free to fix it.”

“Want me to wipe your ass for you, too?”

“Nope. I got that covered,” Callum deadpanned.

“Come on then,” Mitch said. “Let's make you presentable.”

Callum rolled into the hotel bathroom. Most days, Callum let his curls have their own way. He always felt he looked a lot better when they won the battle. His team, however, did not seem to feel the same way.

“If you want to look like Mowgli from
The Jungle Book
on your days off, that's up to you. In the meantime, if you don't comb your hair, Mitch will be doing it for you,” his assistant, Alison, had said.

Mitch was such a lapdog, Callum thought, but never said aloud. If Alison said jump, Mitch said, “How high?” If she said brush, he said, “How hard?”

Callum had never been such an arse-kisser. Not with any woman. Not that there had been all that many in his past, but there had been a significant few. Despite his disabilities, he could always get a date, if he wanted one. But oftentimes, he didn't want one. The women he met seemed to fall into two categories: nursemaid or activist. They either felt it was their duty to take care of Callum—though he was
fully capable of taking care of himself—or else, they were out to change the world and Callum was just a part of that overall plan.

“Hey!” Callum said, as water trickled down his face and onto his dry and pressed shirt.

“If you'd just brush it after you shower, we wouldn't have to wet it to get it to lie down.”

“I have thick Irish hair, just like my mam.”

“Great. Remind me to have her style it next time she comes. When are your parents coming next?”

“In about two months.”

“Awesome. We love when your mom comes.”

“ 'Cause she always stays in a hotel room with a full kitchen and bakes you biscuits?” Callum remembered his surprise, when coming to America as a college student, he'd learned the biscuits here were actually small round buns of baked dough. In his mind, they would always be the delicious cookies of his youth.

“Yep. Those little lace things rock.”

Callum lifted the toothpaste, which was already missing its cap, off the counter and raised it to his lips. With a gentle squeeze, he squirted a dollop into his mouth and then placed the tube back down on the counter. He grabbed his toothbrush and began to brush.

“There's a full crowd this weekend.”

Callum nodded, his mouth full of toothpaste. Leaning over the sink, he spat into it. Then, after turning on the water, he picked up his cup and filled it. Once he'd rinsed his mouth out and replaced the cup on the sink, he turned the faucet off. Even after all these years of never being able to do it any other way, Callum still found it a bit annoying that simple things took twice as long as they did for other people.