Here I Am (Arabesque) - By Rochelle Alers Page 0,40
punch line.
“Daddy,” Clarissa wailed, “please give it up. You’re never going to tell a joke without flubbing it.”
Fraser winked at his daughter. “I did it once without flubbing it. Ask your mother.”
Leona, resting a hand on her chest, shook her head. “I can’t believe you’d ask me to lie for you—especially in front of my children.”
“Your children are thirty-three, thirty-two, thirty and twenty-eight respectively,” Fraser countered. “So don’t talk about them as if they are little kids.”
Brandt stared at Fraser. “Dad, why is it when you and Mom talk about us we’re always her children and not yours?”
“Your mother and I agreed that when we had children I would leave the childrearing to her.”
“No, we didn’t, Fraser Wainwright.”
Pushing back his chair, Garth stood up. “I’m sorry to break up this warm, fuzzy gathering, but I have to fly to the West Coast tomorrow morning.”
“Who or what is on the West Coast?” Brandt asked.
“An actress, whom I’m not at liberty to name at this time, who wants me to design a small café off Puget Sound for her partner.”
Brandt raised his water goblet. “Good for you.”
“What would be good is if he’d come to work for Wainwright Developers,” Fraser mumbled under his breath.
“Dad, please don’t start with Garth,” Brandt retorted. “I thought we agreed after I decided to play football that you wouldn’t put pressure on your children to make them join the family business.”
A flush darkened Fraser’s face under his summer tan. “Your mother and I did agree.”
Brandt closed his eyes for several seconds, reliving the brouhaha that had ensued after he informed his parents that professional football had become his career choice. “If that’s true, then, please, let’s not talk about it. Not tonight.”
He didn’t want his father to ruin what had become the best night he’d had since Jordan’s wedding. And having Ciara sitting next to him had been an added bonus. She’d surreptitiously communicated to the waiter when to bring each course or refill wine and water glasses, and when she admitted to traveling abroad he wanted to hear all about the places she’d visited.
Garth rounded the table, kissed Leona and patted Fraser’s shoulder. “I’ll call you and we can get together after I come back.”
Fraser smiled. “No problem, son.”
“Are you coming, little brother?” Garth asked Sumner.
“I’m an inch taller and at least ten pounds heavier than you. So that makes you the little brother,” Sumner teased, rising to his feet.
Leona stood up. “I think it’s time we all leave so Brandt can rest.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, darling, for inviting us. And thank you, Ciara, for making the evening even more enjoyable.”
Ciara and Brandt waited as the Wainwrights filed into the elevator, the doors closing behind them. They shared a knowing smile. The food had been delicious, the company delightful and the conversation interesting.
She smothered a yawn, chiding herself for drinking two glasses of wine. One was enough to relax her, two usually made her sleepy. “Are you ready to go to bed?” she asked Brandt. It was after ten-thirty.
“Not yet. I’m going to wait until Angaraka finishes up in the kitchen, then I’ll go to bed.”
“That’s not necessary, Brandt,” Ciara argued softly. “I’ll stay and you go to bed.”
“Are you certain?”
“Very certain,” she confirmed. “You had physical therapy today, so I don’t want you to overdo it.”
“I’m not tired.”
“And I don’t want you to get tired.”
Grasping the handles, Ciara pushed the wheelchair into Brandt’s bedroom. She removed the casts, helped him undress and lowered the hospital bed to make it easier for him to transfer from the chair to the bed. She dimmed the lamp in the seating area and adjusted the thermostat while waiting for Brandt to emerge from the bathroom.
Brandt maneuvered the chair close to the bed, and with a minimum of effort, pushed off the chair and into the bed. “There’s an envelope on the desk in the library. Please give it to Angaraka.”
Ciara nodded, adjusting the sheet and lightweight blanket over her patient’s legs. She’d reverted to her nurse’s persona. “Good night, Brandt. I’ll come and check on you later.”
“I meant what I said earlier.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve really come to rely on you.”
“That’s why your mother hired me. To take care of you.”
Brandt tried making out Ciara’s face in the dimly lit room. Fatigue he hadn’t felt before now swept over him, making it difficult to keep his eyes open. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Ciara noticed Brandt was slurring his words, and she attributed it to