Mirror, Mirror Page 11

  “I’d like you to meet my son’s tutor, Quinn Hunter,” he said a number of times, introducing me with such pride and satisfaction that my cheeks grew rosy with pleasure. One of Jack’s skills is to make anyone feel like a VIP. Occasionally he would absently rest his hand on my shoulder.

  That, in itself, wasn’t unusual. The congestion around the tables made him graze my arm more than once. What was curious was my response to his touch. A pleasant shiver zippered through me each time our bodies brushed.

  It was almost a relief, when, after dinner, Jack rose and moved to the stage. The ballroom darkened and large screens dropped silently from the ceiling. A video began to play as Jack spoke.

  “I want you to see what your contributions have done in the past year. Because of your generosity, hundreds of disabled children have had experiences that normal children take for granted.”

  The next fifteen minutes were a revelation to me and to many in the room. There were photos of startup facilities for athletic camps for disabled children. They were directed at those with diabetes, emotional, learning or behavioral disabilities, speech and hearing impairments…and the list went on. In addition, many camping weeks, counselors, physicians and therapists were added to already existing camps so that more children could be accommodated. Photos of laughing children filled the screen.

  “I have to admit that this year I have an ulterior motive for this fund-raiser,” Jack said. “It’s purely self-serving on my part, but I believe that ultimately it will be a gift and a blessing to untold numbers of children and their families.

  “Funds for Kids has considered sponsoring several weeks of camp to a group we haven’t served before. I have personally campaigned long and hard for our committee to open a camp for children with juvenile arthritis.” He paused, gathering his thoughts.

  “As some of you may know, I have a ten-year-old son who suffers from JA. I’ve watched firsthand how much he’s suffered and how brave he is. Ben is my hero. I aspire to be as courageous, as cheerful and as uncomplaining as he and I’m not sure I’ll ever make it.”

  The large room grew more silent still, the crowd holding its collective breath, waiting to hear what Jack would say next.

  “The things I’ve found Ben resists doing most—exercising his joints, taking medication, resting—are the things he doesn’t see his friends doing. There are times he simply can’t keep up with them or he has to sit on the sidelines and watch them play a game. He desperately wants to feel normal.” Jack looked into the crowd and it was as if he were trying to make eye contact with each and every person. “Don’t we all?”

  A rustle of recognition spread through the room.

  “That’s why I feel so passionately about sending Ben to a JA camp. It is one place he gets to fit in. One place he is normal. Everyone there has medication to take and exercises to do. Kids wear out and need to rest. No one is left on the sidelines.” Emotion crackled in his voice.

  “I want my child to feel typical, acceptable, ordinary. I don’t ask that he be happy twenty-four hours a day, but I do ask that there be a place for him to go where ‘keeping up’ isn’t a full-time job. I want him to play with his peers, to laugh, to act like a kid and not feel that he’s different from everyone else.”

  Jack’s eyes blazed with passion and I felt swept into his vision. “I’ve talked to the kids who go to our camps. Many of them say it is the best time of their lives. Now, for purely selfish reasons, I want that for my son—and for all the children just like him.”

  I felt tears scratching at my eyes.

  “One day at school, Ben was too stiff to sit down on the floor cross-legged for his reading circle. When his teacher brought him a chair to sit on, some of his classmates started to laugh at him. Can you imagine how that felt? And can you imagine being in a place where everyone understands, where they can laugh at the situation and exchange ideas about how to handle an incident like this?”

  A little ripple spread through the room as people shifted uncomfortably, trying to imagine it for themselves.

  “That’s why our work, your work, is so important. Give a child a week or two of relief from the stress of having to keep up with his peers.

  “I want a place for my son to go for a week each summer that is adapted to his needs. A place he can have a safe, educational and recreational experience that provides him with normalcy and fun. I would like him to meet with other children who understand what it is like to live with pain and to see how they cope. I want him to escape for just a little while, to be a kid and to feel normal and free.

  “As a parent of a child with juvenile arthritis, I can’t tell you how important it is for these children to feel a sense of accomplishment, to build their self-worth and self-esteem. Ben needs to be treated like any other kid. It’s hard, sometimes, to teach him self-discipline and persistence when he is not feeling well, yet it is even more important for him. He has to live for the rest of his life with his physical issues. I want to give him every tool and every opportunity to become the man he’s destined to be.”

  There wasn’t a dry eye in the place, I realized. Mine certainly weren’t.

  “The committee has graciously agreed with me. This year our fund-raiser is dedicated to earning monies to provide camping experiences for children with juvenile arthritis. You know that all our camps in the past have been successful and you have my personal promise that this one will meet and exceed our already high standards.”

  As I watched him, I couldn’t help but feel delight and admiration for this man I’d just come to know. Although Ben had had a series of hard knocks, he had one big blessing—his father.

  “Our closing activity tonight will be an auction. All funds will go directly into the JA fund, and your generosity will determine how many weeks of JA camp we will sponsor, the quality of the staff and the scope of activities we offer.”

  Jack gestured toward the man sitting directly across from me. “We have an auctioneer here to take your bids on a new hybrid car generously donated by one of our sponsors.”

  He was drowned out by clapping, which continued for several minutes, as Jack relinquished the microphone while someone drove a bright green hybrid car onto the stage.

  When Jack slipped off the stage to sit beside me again, I could see beads of sweat on his forehead. That speech had not been easy for him.

  He leaned closer and I smelled the fresh scent of his aftershave. “I hope somebody bids on it. I’d hate for this car to go for less than sticker price.”

  “Surely that won’t happen, not after what you said about the new camp.”

  “I want this so desperately for Ben. Maybe I sounded selfish promoting this particular camp, but if people knew kids like Ben and the upward climb they have…”

  He didn’t have to worry.

  One by one, bidders waved their placards in the air and the bid rocketed. Twenty thousand, thirty, then forty. By the time the car sold, someone had donated nearly sixty-five thousand dollars to the cause, double what the car was worth.

  My head was spinning as I mentally tallied the money this evening had raised. The success was obvious by the number of people who wanted to talk to Jack and to congratulate him.

  It took forty five minutes for us to work our way from the front of the room to the back as Jack was inundated with well-wishers. People stuffed checks made out to the cause into his pockets. Much to my delight, people quit staring at me to focus completely on Jack.

  We met Eddie, Pete and Kristy outside the banquet-room doors.

  “That went well,” Eddie said drily. “You collected more than four hundred thousand dollars tonight.”

  “For a good cause,” Pete chimed in.

  “For a great cause.” Eddie whipped a check out of his breast pocket. “Here’s my meager contribution.”

  Eddie had his thumb over part of the dollar amount for which the check was written, but I did see at least three zeros in front of the decimal point. Not bad. Not bad at all.

 
Jack’s emotions lay on the surface for all to see as he took the check. His vulnerability and sincerity had inspired generosity as much as anything else on the program tonight.

  “I promised you coffee.”

  “Listen, about that…” Pete shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. “I know this sounds really rude, but Kristy wants to get back to the hotel and Eddie ran into some fellows he’d like to visit with. I told Kristy I could run her home, but that would leave Quinn without a ride.”

  “It’s fine, Pete. You don’t have to do that,” Kristy protested, but Pete shushed her. The rat had no intention of driving me home when he could have her.

  Jack, whose attention had been drawn away by someone walking past, turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. “No problem, I’ll drop her off.”

  Pete winked at me. “Great. We’ll see you later then. Thanks for a fabulous evening.” Then he and his friends melted into the crowd as if they’d never even existed, leaving me dependent on Jack to find my way home.

  Touché. I’d dumped Pete in the lap of a former lady-love and now he was returning the favor. He’d shot Cupid’s arrow right back at me—whether I wanted it or not.

  We sat in front of the fireplace at a little coffee shop not far from my home. I kicked off my shoes and propped my feet on the hearth while Jack loosened his tie. His jacket was draped over the back of the wing chair in which he sat.

  “Where’s Ben tonight?”

  “Having an overnight with Nathan. He was one excited little boy.”

  “I had no idea,” I admitted ruefully. “that I was roaming the Science Museum with a celebrity.”

  “Quasi-celebrity,” he corrected. “By the way, what’s the deal with your friend Pete and that woman you sent him off with tonight? I detected a little matchmaking going on.”

  “A former girlfriend. I didn’t even know about her until I met her brother. They are in town because he is the producer of Chrysalis and they are filming here. Pete kept his mouth shut about her all these years, which tells me that something pretty serious went on between them.

  “Pete tells Maggie and me everything. Not mentioning this woman probably means he’d considered marrying her.”

  “You know him best,” Jack commented, looking amused. “Mind reading has never been one of my strong suits.”

  “Perhaps you haven’t known anyone as long or as well as I have known Pete. We grew up in houses on the same street, shared a dentist, a pediatrician and a trampoline. He broke his arm and I cried. Except for the few years he lived in California, we were never apart. Pete’s a brother to me.”

  “So you never thought about him romantically?”

  “Eww. Best way ever to ruin a good friendship.”

  “That’s true. When it gets romantic you either end up estranged or married, don’t you? How about you? Any loves in your life?”

  “I’m between relationships right now. Perhaps I’m waiting for love at first sight. It’s nice to know it really exists.”

  Jack picked up my hand as it lay on the arm of my wing chair. “Don’t marry just anyone. You are very special woman, Quinn. Wait for the perfect one. I did and I’ve never regretted it. Emily is all I ever wanted and needed—or ever will.”

  Ever? That makes it clear. Jack has been to the mountaintop and that is that. Too bad. He’s the kind of man I could love, but I’d never want a man who couldn’t love me back.

  “I know a great little place that makes the best malts in three states. It’s not just everyone who knows how much malt powder to use. And their fries are out of this world. Oh, yes, and there’s this half-pound burger with guacamole and olives.”

  “I’d love to.”

  He looked so delighted that I nearly laughed out loud. Jack doesn’t know me well enough, yet. I’d have no trouble outeating him and enjoying every minute of it. Granted, I’m not a cheap date—appetizers, entrees and dessert—but I’m wonderful company.

  “Let’s go then. It’s only fifteen minutes from here.”

  The place looked like a dive, but what it lacked in ambience it made up for in flavor.

  Over a haystack of French fries, Jack smiled at me. “Thank you for joining me this evening. You made it much more pleasurable for me. Sometimes after an event like this I’m restless and going straight home seems anticlimactic. This is nice.”

  It’s sad to think that a vibrant man like this one had so isolated himself. Still, if he was determined never to allow another woman into his life, what choice did he have?

  I pushed away the melancholy thought and reached for the dessert menu. Jack, watching me, burst out laughing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Maggie, Pete and I sat in the vast open space of Pete’s loft above his studio. Sunshine streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I, much to Pete’s annoyance, wore sunglasses.

  “You’re inside my house, Quinn. You take off your hat and mittens when you come in the winter. Now it’s time to take off your sunglasses.”

  “Pull the drapes then. I’ll go blind in here.” Pete’s place is decorated with glossy wood floors, glimmering stainless steel and shining reflective pieces made of bits of mirror.

  “You are supposed to enjoy sunshine. It’s a glorious day.”

  “How can I if I can’t open my eyes long enough to see it?”

  We bickered contentedly just as we always have. Today our familiar pattern was particularly comforting. Pete and I are not victims of the “familiarity breeds contempt” school of thought. In our case, familiarity just breeds more familiarity. Not that it’s always a good thing, mind you, but it explains a lot about the way Pete, Maggie and I interact.

  “Why didn’t you ever mention Kristy Bessett before recently, Pete? I thought we agreed to tell each other everything.” Maggie’s tone was accusing.

  “Ha. There’s no way I’d agree to that. I don’t want to know everything about you. That’s way too much information.”

  “He was out in California then. Maybe she was just one of many—”

  “She was not!” Then his face turned red as he realized he’d been caught. “Quinn, you tricked me.”

  “Like catching trout in a bathtub, Pete. You’re too easy.”

  Resigned, he began his story. “Kristy and I met at a gathering of some mutual friends, that’s all. We had fun together. She’s a very nice girl.”

  “Come off it, Pete. What happened? Why’d you break up?”

  He sat quietly, twirling his cup, splashing coffee up and out over the rim. “Because I’m a fool, an idiot, an imbecile and a clod.”

  “Oh, just that. You’ve always been that.” Maggie yawned and stretched, catlike, on the couch.

  He glared at her. “Because I had this idea that I was going to make it to the big time and I didn’t want to have a wife and kids holding me back.”

  That bit of information hovered in our midst like a thundercloud.

  “So I dumped her.”

  “You are right. You were an imbecile. She’s wonderful.” I stroked Flash’s warm fur as he lay immobilized in the sunlight.

  “I talked myself into thinking that I’d put her on a pedestal and that she wasn’t nearly so desirable as I imagined.”

  “But after seeing her again you’ve realized that she actually was all you’d believed?”

  “And more. I really blew it, didn’t I?”

  “Eddie said she isn’t married.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. I didn’t realize at first how much I’d hurt her. She’s scared of me now. She no longer trusts me not to disappoint her.”

  “Can you blame her?”

  “Not a bit. The responsibility for being a louse falls on me.”

  He held out a plate of foil-wrapped dark espresso chocolates, an obvious ploy to change the subject. “Candy?”

  It looked a little squishy to me. “May I put it the refrigerator first so it doesn’t get all over my hands?”

  “It’s
not that hot in here, it’s…” His voice trailed away as Maggie stood up and headed for the coffee table.

  “I’ll take chocolate.” She picked up the dish and strolled back to her chair at the kitchen table. “I don’t care if it is messy.”

  She opened a piece and began to lick the liquefied chocolate off the foil wrapper.

  Maggie hadn’t done anything but eat since we’d arrived. First the grilled salmon and mixed-green salad Pete had provided, three buns from Wuollet’s bakery slathered with butter, two dishes of Rocky Road ice cream smothered in caramel and chocolate sauces, a Godiva truffle she found on Pete’s counter and now this.

  Randy’s leaving may have triggered her downward spiral, but losing the health-club job was corkscrewing her further into her depths. If there is an abyss, Maggie is poised on its rim.

  We know the signs, of course. Whenever I get down in the dumps, I turn to exercise. I jog on the treadmill until sweat is flying off me like water off a wet dog. Then I stand in the hottest shower I can tolerate and mutter to myself. After that I go to bed with a Bible and a cozy pillow and sleep it off.

  Pete retreats into music, usually soaring church hymns from the late 1700s or 1800s or, paradoxically, show tunes. He downloads the score from Oklahoma! or South Pacific into his iPod and moves his hands in time with the music until his frustration passes.

  Maggie tries to drown her sorrows in food.

  Finally I walked to the table and took the candy dish away. She stared at the spot where it had been. “What did you do that for?”

  “Because you always tell me to stop you when you get down. Because no matter how much you think you want to do something, you always regret it later. You hired me to be the gatekeeper that keeps junk out of your mouth.”

  “We were in eighth grade and I thought I had a pouch for a belly. The diet was supposed to last a week, not fifteen years. You can quit anytime now.”