The Plan (22 page)

There was a knock at the door right as she applied the last of the lip gloss.

“Coming!” she called out. She knew it would be Alison. They'd become fast friends.

“Wow!” Alison said as Claire threw open the door. “You look hot!”

“You think?” Claire said, looking down at her body. “I don't look too dressed up, do I? I'm worried I'll look out of place. I know Callum dresses casually.”

“You're not dressed up as much as Frank, if that's what you're worried about.”

“No one is ever dressed up as much as Frank!”

“You look great. It's the perfect outfit.”

Claire was relieved. She'd tried on no less than five different options. Jeans were too casual. A dress was definitely too formal. She'd finally settled on a pair of black slacks that fit a bit more like skinny jeans, a light-blue chambray shirt, and champagne-toned heels. She thought the short, tan blazer she wore over it all completed the look.

She grabbed her purse, a brown leather hobo one she and Alison had found when they went on a girls' shopping trip earlier in the week.

“Okay. Let's go.”

“Nervous?”

“Of course,” Claire said as they walked down the hall.

“You have no reason to be.”

“Whether I do or not, I still am! But that's okay. Sometimes I think nerves are good. They don't let us get too complacent.”

“That's the spirit!”

There was a cab waiting for them by the curb.

“I called in advance,” Alison explained. Wyatt and the guys had all gone over earlier, taking the van. Claire was grateful for the waiting car. Her heels were high and she wasn't sure she could stand in them for longer than necessary. She really should've worn them a bit more before going out in them today.

Oh, well.
Live and learn.

Seated in the back of the cab, Claire twirled the wedding band she now wore on a chain around her neck. Alison had asked her about it on their shopping trip, as they took a break to eat BLTs and drink sweet tea.

“I used to be married, but now I'm not.” She'd offered no more in terms of an explanation and though she was certain Alison had wanted to know more, the woman hadn't followed up with any further digging.

“Here we are!” Alison said enthusiastically, no more than ten minutes
later. Claire looked up at the auditorium. Though she'd rehearsed here this morning, it seemed larger than she remembered.

“Come on. Get out,” Alison said as she hopped out of the car. “Or Wyatt will come out here to drag you inside.”

“I'm coming!” Claire said, as she carefully balanced her weight onto her shoes. She didn't want to break her ankle on the way in.

She walked carefully into the building, behind Alison, who was practically running.

She's anxious to see Mitch,
Claire thought and smiled. Young love was so sweet. So innocent. All you could see ahead of you were your dreams, not the hardships and sadness that would, inevitably, come. She and Jack had been like that once, bright with possibility. She'd missed those days, later in their marriage, even before he died. Their marriage had been wonderful in so many ways, but no relationship can maintain that initial spark and passion. Frank was waiting for her by the back door of the auditorium.

“Ready?” he asked.

“That seems to be the question of the day.”

“You'll be great.”

Claire nodded in thanks. Everyone had such confidence in her. She hoped she didn't let them down.

Claire walked backstage and peeked around the corner so she could see the inside of the auditorium. To say it was packed would be an understatement. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen so many people in one location. A professional sporting event, maybe. A rock concert?

But these people weren't here to see their favorite team play or listen to their favorite band. This was a room full of people who'd come to hear a man best known in the world of inspirational speakers for missing three-quarters of his limbs. Why did
that
draw a crowd?

Because these people were hurting, too. They weren't all physically
disabled, though Claire could see some of them were. They hadn't all been in accidents or had serious illnesses. Yet they were hurting nonetheless. They'd lost family members or jobs or friends. They'd made mistakes. They'd drunk too many beers. They'd spent too much time with the wrong people. They'd been abused. They'd abused. They didn't know how to fit in. They were from every walk of life. Every race. But they were all the same. Every person in this room needed hope. They needed to know how this one man, who'd clearly suffered so much, could have the strength to carry on day by day, and they wanted some of that strength, too.

Claire had been one of those people just a very short time ago. She wasn't “cured,” by any means and doubted she ever would be. Every day was still a struggle. But Callum had provided her with something no one else had yet been able to give her. Hope. Hope that life could go on,
would
go on. Hope she'd survive. And the faith that nothing she'd experienced was in vain.

At least, that was the philosophy she was going with these days.

Looking at these people, she knew they all needed that philosophy, too.

Fake it till you make it.

Claire wasn't exactly faking it, but sometimes she felt like she was putting one foot in front of the other, not exactly sure where she was going, but wherever it was would be better than remaining stagnant. And sad.

“It's time,” Frank said, heading out onto the stage.

Claire was startled. She didn't realize she'd been staring at the crowd, lost in thought, for so long. She saw him sit down at the baby grand. He held his fingers above the keys, for the briefest of moments, and then quietly began to play.

The crowd, slowly, upon hearing the soft music, began to settle down. People found their seats. Conversations lessened. The audience began to cast their eyes on the stage.

Claire could feel her palms begin to sweat and she nervously wiped them on her new pants. In a moment, Frank would look her way and nod. He'd expect her to step out, from behind that curtain, and head toward him. He was going to expect her to sing.

Sing?
She looked at the crowd, which somehow seemed to have grown even larger in the past minute.

This had been a terrible idea.
An awful one.
Why had she ever agreed to this? She wanted to throw up. She looked down at her heels and prayed she didn't tumble off them in a moment of nausea. A train was steaming its way through her ear canal, gaining speed and volume with each passing second.

How did Callum do this on a regular basis?

Callum.

Claire lifted her eyes from the floor and looked across the stage. He was just where he'd said he'd be and his eyes were boring into her. She knew, instantly, he'd been staring at her for a very long time.

She wanted to smile at him. She wanted to give him a “thumbs-up,” but she couldn't. She wanted to cry. She wanted to leave the auditorium, get in a cab and cry as it drove her home.

But to what home?
She no longer had a home. At least, nothing more than mortar and bricks.

She wanted more than mortar and bricks.

This was the first step to building that home.

If she could just take the first step.

“Just by doing that, you'll be doing more than I can do,”
Callum had said.

Callum's eyes smiled at her. Not his whole face, just his eyes, as if he was reading her mind. Claire and Callum stared silently at each other. Frank's playing faded into the distance as if there was no one in the entire auditorium but the two of them.

Frank!

Claire's head jerked back at the pianist. He, too, was staring at her
and there was no smile in his eyes. He nodded and she realized he must've been nodding for a while.

She glanced back at Callum. This time his mouth was smiling as brightly as his eyes.

And then, just as he'd promised, he winked.

Claire's heart leapt and then calmed. She took one more deep breath, releasing it slowly as she stepped out onto the stage.

The roaring in her ears ceased as the crowd quieted. She walked across the stage calmly, as if she weren't teetering on stilts, but rather, gliding barefoot through sand. She smiled at Frank. He smiled back.

Taking her place in the center of the stage, Claire put her mouth close to the microphone. Then, resting her hands delicately on the base, and smiling to the crowd as if she did this every night, she opened her mouth and began to sing.

“Hey, guys.”

Wyatt and Mitch looked toward the door as Callum rolled inside the bed and breakfast's sitting room. His chair cleared the door, but barely. It was Alison's job to locate and book sleeping accommodations. She did an excellent job, considering all the restrictions and requirements placed upon her by everyone involved. The hotel needed to be close to the venue, come with a good group rate, have enough rooms, but not too many, so there weren't a lot of other guests. Handicap-accessible. A dining room, on premises, that provided home- cooked meals when possible. Free Wifi. The list went on and on.

But, most important to Callum and the team, it needed to feel like home.

Maybe not their own homes, which none of them seemed to see very often these days, but they all hated having to spend too many nights in typical hotel rooms. They begged Alison to find them the cutest, quaintest, friendliest place in town.

Most towns had these gems—bed and breakfasts, cottages, old castles and plantations that had been renovated over time. The whole team loved finding new buildings and homes to explore.

The handicap-accessible part, though, was the pricker in the bush. Many of these locations existed, in every city, town and country, but not all were wheelchair accessible. Castles rarely had elevators, ramps, wide doors and handicap showers.

Callum knew Alison struggled with each event, trying to find a place that suited the team, but would also be manageable for Callum and, ultimately, Mitch, who would be doing the legwork. She pulled rabbits out of hats.

The current rabbit was an old Victorian home with a huge wraparound porch, situated on a private lake. It had a large handicapped suite on the main floor. Not only was the building wheelchair-friendly, but so were the grounds. The porch had ramps on all four sides of the house and the paths that led around the gardens and the lake were not only extra-wide, but level enough that Callum could glide his chair along easily.

Alison said the owner's mother had been in a wheelchair and so he'd done the remodel with her needs in mind.

It all suited Callum perfectly. The door frames might have been a bit tight, but considering the old-fashioned frame of the house, it was amazing the builders had been able to make the house work as well as it did.

As they were all saying good night, Callum said, “So, I think things went well with Claire tonight, don't you?”

“She's amazing,” Alison said.

“We really lucked out getting her,” Wyatt added. “Almost like it was meant to be.”

“I think it was,” Callum said. “Hey, Mitch, I'm gonna stay up for a bit more. When I'm ready to hit the hay, if I need help navigating anything in the room, I'll call you; okay?”

“Sure,” Mitch called out as Callum rolled out the door.

•  •  •

The pebble skipped three times. Not bad, but she could do better.

Claire leaned back on the log and slid her hand along the ground until her fingers found the perfect-sized one. With a lift of her arm and a swipe through the air, the pebble flew across the water.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Dang it. She used to be able to do six.

“Not bad.”

Claire jumped off the log in surprise.

“Beautiful night, isn't it?” Callum asked from behind her.

“Oh! You startled me! I didn't hear you coming.”

“My chair and I are like a stealth bomber,” Callum said, chuckling. “I'm good at sneaking up on poor, unsuspecting souls.”

“Well,” Claire said, taking her seat on the log once again. “You took me by surprise.”

She threw another pebble into the water. Three skips. She was getting worse.

“Were you okay with how tonight went?” Claire asked. She hoped he hadn't come all the way down to the lake to give her a critique. She knew she probably needed one, and no doubt Frank would give it to her, tomorrow, but for tonight, she just wanted to revel in the fact she'd done it. She'd gotten up in front of all those people, sung, and survived. “My singing, I mean. I know I'm a bit rusty.”

“I was coming down to tell you how much I enjoyed it. You have a great voice.”

“Really?” Claire looked away from the lake and up at him.

“Of course, really.” He seemed startled by her question. “It's pure and calming. I'm going to be very happy to have you precede me the next time we fill a football stadium.”

Claire picked up another pebble and rolled it around between her fingers. “The crowds you draw are amazing. You've gotta feel like a rock star.”

“Oh, they're not coming because of me. They're coming to hear about hope. I'm just the messenger.” Callum shrugged. “Perhaps a funny-looking messenger, but the messenger nonetheless.”

“Funny-looking?” Claire's eyes filled with surprise. “I'd hardly say that.”

“Well, that's very kind of you.”

“No, I mean it. Your eyes are striking.”

Callum laughed and shook his head. “Is that like saying a girl has a good personality?”

“No!” Claire was mortified. She hadn't meant for her comment to come across that way. “It's nothing like that! I'm serious. You have the kind of eyes a girl could get lost in.”