Chapter 4

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Sandra looked at me with something almost resembling sympathy. “Mr. Goodwin, you are walking into a very delicate situation, being given extraordinary power to hurt the Washburns and being asked to set aside everything to ensure that no one finds out about Miss Washburn’s mistake. Do not make us regret it,”

Apparently, she was done briefing me, because Sandra packed up her briefcase and walked to the door. When she realized I wasn’t following her, she stopped, turned, and asked, “Well? Are you coming? I’ve signed you out, and paid your rehabilitation bills. You are officially done here.”

I looked at my ensemble and logically answered, “Not dressed like this I’m not. Give me a minute to see if I can find something decent to wear.” I knew I had the clothes I was wearing when I was injured but didn’t know where to look for them. The rehabilitation center provided me with scrubs for my therapy, but I wasn’t sure where to look for my own things.

Sandra sort of half-chuckled. “As I said, Mr. Goodwin, Mrs. Washburn has your wardrobe sorted. We’ll take care of your appearance straight away. Have no fear.” Having said that, she motioned me to follow. We walked to a limousine parked by the nearest exit door, where a uniformed chauffeur waited for us. He opened the rear door and stepped aside for us to enter. I was just curious enough to go along for the ride and see what developed.

Sandra took me to my tiny apartment, where I found my little closet virtually empty, as well as the rest of my little, airless, apartment. There was one set of clothes left out on the beat-up dresser, obviously left there for me. Once I was dressed to go out in public, Sandra took me to a hairstylist who completely remade my ragged hairdo. She kept clucking about how poorly I treated my hair while she worked, but I did my best to ignore her incessant barbs. Eventually, Sandra shut her down with a caustic comment and her murderous glare.

I was quite ok with that.

My first time out of a hospital, or rehab center, following my injury tired me out extremely quickly. Sandra made sure I was fed before taking me, not back to my tiny, airless, apartment, but to a lovely four-bedroom, three-bath, one-story, ranch-style home, on four and a half acres. It sat not far from the airport, where I would be starting flight training in a few days. As soon as I was cleared by the company doctors, and the FAA.

She was in a bit of a hurry to hit the road, and said her goodbyes in the driveway, after handing me the keys.

“According to the schedule sent to me by the company Flight Operations Center, you report this coming Monday at nine A.M. sharp for a pilot physical. Your medical records, medication history and physical rehab reports have been delivered to the Aviation Medical Examiner, and he has precleared you pending an in-person exam.

“As for your ‘other’ situation, Mrs. Washburn will be in touch to brief you on that. In the meantime, you will receive a company phone. Always keep it with you, so that your trainers and the Washburns can reach you in case things change.

“We will probably not be seeing each other again. Please remember whose reputation and business you are protecting. Keep your opinions and thoughts about this to yourself and things should work out fine.” She abruptly walked away, got in the limo, and disappeared from my life. She left me with a set of keys to a wonderful-looking home. She was gone without a backward glance, leaving me alone again, which seemed to be the story of my life.

Before I could really get in a stew about needing new clothes, a small box truck pulled up in the drive and two men got out and started unloading clothing boxes and other things.

I should have known that the Washburn staff were would outthink me. I decided to enjoy their thoughtfulness, instead of questioning their logic. The men made short work of not only unloading but outfitting my closets with all the things left from my garage apartment. I reached in my pocket for my wallet to tip them and remembered that my wallet wasn’t among my things at the rehab center.

Before I could apologize and promise to make it up to them as soon as I got myself organized, Mrs. Washburn’s driver pulled in right beside the box truck and got out with a small package. He smiled, handed me the box, and left immediately. By that time, the men with the box truck were already leaving, which left me alone – again - to deal with whatever was going to be the rest of my life.

Before making any decisions about what to do first, I silently examined my new home from the outside. The brick exterior was highlighted with stone enhancements that gave it an elegant, old look. The roof was cleverly designed so that no exposure faced directly forward, giving it a bit of a contemporary feel. The windows all looked like they were high-end, energy efficient, and hurricane glazed for safety, which meant far less difficulty with heating and air conditioning, as there would be very little loss thru the glass.

The two-car garage seemed oversized but confirming that would have to wait until I checked out the inside. From what I saw at a quick glance, the landscaping had been professionally done. It looked like a show home from the driveway. The four and a half acres attracted me enough to slowly walk back through the property to a fence that clearly marked the rear property line. The lot was quite wide, and the setting gave the house real privacy because of the trees and topography.

Inside, the home gave off a masculine, man-cave, aura. It was tastefully but manfully decorated, which I deeply appreciated. The front door opened into a foyer, that gave way to a formal living room, which flowed into the dining room, and eventually surrendered to the kitchen, which was fully equipped with beautiful, stainless-steel appliances.

On a hunch, I opened various doors and drawers to discover everything was carefully stocked and ready for me. When I pulled open the double-door fridge, I was stunned to find it also stocked with all kinds of things that a young man might like. A bonus was discovering that everything seemed to be easy to fix. In truth, it was a bit unnerving to discover how hard someone worked to see to it that I could walk in and simply live without having to shop, order, buy and unpack anything.

On the kitchen counter, I found a note.

After reading her note I decided to do exactly as she suggested and let them tell me exactly what it was that I’d agreed to. Everything about my life was still a puzzle, a question, and a problem, especially with my physical limitations. But things were looking up in the social development area. It seemed like my first social visitors would be a billionaire and his wife.

Not bad for a nobody from nowhere.

If the Washburns really did mean to help, I was going to let them. The box handed me by their driver was still in my hand, and when I opened it, I discovered my wallet full of cash, and several credit cards. Alongside my wallet was a brand new, top-of-the-line mobile phone. At the time of the injuries, my wallet might have contained twenty dollars, probably less. I’d never been able to afford even one of those cheap pay-by-the-minute, burner phones, so having a high-quality phone given to me was an enormous treat.

It would have been even better if I had someone to call.

The afternoon raced away as I acquainted myself with my new digs. They were remarkably pleasing to me and seemed to reflect my personality while elevating who I was at the same time. Someone exercised a great deal of forethought when they picked it out and got it ready for me.

The Washburns rang the doorbell precisely at six-thirty. Leave it to them to be perfectly punctual. After the activities and disclosures of the day, I was resting in the living room on a very comfortable recliner. Since my eyes were closed at the time, I didn’t see their car pull in.

“Hello! Hello!” I was thrilled to invite my first guests into the house. “I LOVE this house. Thank you. It is impossible for me to properly communicate how wonderful this all is.”

Maeve beamed as I stood aside to let them in.

‘Them’ consisted of Zachary and Maeve, Rosemary and little Heather Anne, who looked like a princess in her pretty pink dress, white shoes and matching gloves. I stooped low to welcome her to my home, the pain caused by bending was bad but manageable. I glanced up at Maeve as Heather Anne shook my hand solemnly and could see that she did not miss my flinching in pain. She smiled as I charmed her grandchild so easily on our first meeting. Rosemary trailed a little behind Heather Anne, and she was followed by a man and woman carrying in what had to be dinner. They set everything up in the dining room and quickly departed.

Rosemary barely acknowledged me, which was understandable with her being forced to marry a recently crippled, nobody, who was also penniless. Her contempt for the house, her parents, and me was unmistakable. There was nothing I could do about her attitude, but since I promised her mother that I’d go along with their plan, I was going to have to deal with her disdain for me ... somehow.

I suspected that that was going to be a problem she would have to work out. My part was easy. My job was to stand up and say, ‘I do.’ Then try to be as invisible as possible until Rosemary could have her baby and find a way to get a very quiet divorce. What could possibly go wrong with such an easy plan?

“THIS? This is the house you want me to live in, with HIM??? I wouldn’t be caught going to the store with him, much less getting married.” Rosemary chose that moment to let us all have it. Her fury was epic, as was her temper tantrum.

It seemed that my intended, who had barely walked through the front door, had already declared her toxic opinion of me and the beautiful house her folks had bought me – us – her – me – we – well ... someone. The look of pain on Maeve’s face and frustration on Zachary’s caused me to suspect that this confrontation was intentional. Unless I missed my guess, Zachary and Maeve wanted Rosemary to throw a fit so they could drive home the point of all of this.

And I was right.

“You stop right there, young lady,” Maeve was spitting fire as she spun around to take Rosemary down a peg, or two. “This young man saved your life and very nearly died doing it. He has more character in his pinky than that loser that knocked you up will ever have, and unless you missed it, he left you the instant he found out about your little problem...”

She started to object, but Zachary had to have heard it all before and had zero intention of listening to it, again. “Rosemary Washburn!” His voice was like thunder. “You will stop this behavior once and for all.” He looked around at the house he paid for, and said, “Do you have any idea how many people live their entire lives and never get to live in a place even close to this nice? Do you ever stop your whining long enough to thank God that He gave you parents who loved you enough to give you EVERYTHING?

“YOU chose to allow Charles McInnis to put you in this position. YOU are the one that is going to fix it. Do YOU Understand Me?”

I sure did, even if she didn’t.

Sometimes you should just shut up and listen.

That girl should have shut up and listened.

But she was not of that mind. “I hate you! I hate this house. AND I hate HIM!!!” She punctuated that by grabbing a small vase off the table just inside the front door and hurling it at the wall. Her aim was off just enough for the vase to hit me square in the face before it bounced off and shattered across the brand-new, ceramic tile flooring.

In the sudden silence that followed Rosemary’s outburst, I slid to the floor, among the ruined flowers and broken glass, not to mention the water that went everywhere, with blood streaming down my forehead. Maeve gasped and grabbed a tissue out of her purse and tried holding it to my cut to staunch the flow. Zachary dashed past the still-as-a-stone Rosemary and assisted Maeve with my cut.

The impact of the vase more than the blood loss was my biggest challenge. All at once, I felt like I would pass out and throw up at the same time. Maeve held my head while Zachary used a soft washcloth that Rosemary brought out of the nearest bathroom and used pressure to try and stop the bleeding so he could see how badly I was injured. Maeve talked non-stop while Zachary worked. Heather Anne clung to Rosemary and cried while they worked. Being four, she must have been frightened by the raised voices and sudden appearance of so much blood.

Eventually, the cut stopped pumping blood, I started to feel somewhat normal again, and the Washburns stopped worrying about my head. It really wasn’t a bad injury. It was just a bloody one. An oversized band-aid preceded by the application of a wet washcloth filled with ice solved the bleeding problem and once my injured forehead stopped bleeding, it was apparent that the wound was not very deep.

Once the crisis was over, Zachary sat Rosemary down between him and Maeve, then turned to me. “Cal. I totally understand if you want to call this whole thing off. There is no reason for you to continue to want to help Rosemary resolve the problem of her ruined reputation after she attacked you.”

I was still too new to the dynamics of the Washburn family to decide if this was his way of negotiating, or if he was done worrying about Rosemary’s future. “We will leave the house in your name and the company will pick up all costs, including upkeep and improvements. Live here for the rest of your life if you like. We are thrilled to give you this gift.

“If for some insane reason, you are still willing to marry our daughter and keep her secret, she is going to have to learn to live here with you and behave like a perfect wife.”

He calmly turned to Maeve, “If Rosemary is going to act out like this, and if Cal doesn’t wish to risk his life, living with her, then I see no alternative but to cut her off from the funds and toss her out of the house. We can’t risk another violent outburst that might result in injuries to Heather Anne.

“We can’t ... Cal can’t ... And we will not allow this type of behavior where it could affect Heather Anne.

“We can’t and we won’t.”

Having said his peace, Zachary turned to Rosemary It was clear that he had issued his final words on the subject. He looked at me for an answer, and I realized what was going on. His version of tough love was to go all-in, with no second option. Rosemary had been given her ultimatum, and now the only thing standing between her and a new station in life that included poverty and homelessness was my response.

Rosemary looked from her father to her mother with utter confusion on her face. It felt right to let her dangle in fear for a little while, which I did while I considered how to answer the great man, and how he would want me to answer, for Rosemary’s sake.

When I felt like I had a tenuous understanding of the situation, I spoke. “Mr. Washburn, I gave my word that I would participate in this charade for Rosemary’s sake, and I will, provided she drops the spoiled debutante act, and behaves like a young lady, starting right now. I’m far too damaged to live in constant fear that she will make my situation worse because she has no control over her childish tantrums. I’m sorry if that disappoints you, Sir.”

Zachary smiled with just a hint of evil. I’d gotten it right. He wanted Rosemary to have no choice but to grow up and comport herself or face complete ruin. By forcing me to be the white knight, he thought she would change her tune knowing I was the key to her continued happiness.