Here I Am (Arabesque) - By Rochelle Alers Page 0,74
her Pullman. “Yes, Mom, I know what I’m doing. My patient is going on vacation, and I’m accompanying him.”
“You know I’ve never interfered in your business, Cee, but something tells me this man is more than your patient,” said Phyllis Dennison.
“And what would the more be, Mom?”
“I can’t put my finger on it, but something in your voice is different. You sound happy.”
Ciara picked up the top to a hot-pink-and-red-striped bikini, folded it neatly and placed it in the bag. “That’s because I am happy. Private-duty nursing is less stressful than working at the hospital, and I get to select my cases.”
“Are you dating anyone?”
“No, Mom.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have the time. What about you? Are you still seeing your history professor?”
Phyllis’s distinctive laugh came through the speaker. “Yes. He’d been planning to go to several countries in Africa to do some research for a book he plans to write after he retires at the end of this semester.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Mother?” Her mother only laughed like that when she was nervous.
“He asked me to go along with him as his wife.”
Ciara screamed like an adolescent girl. “What did you say?”
“I told him yes.”
Covering her mouth with a trembling hand, Ciara sat down on the chair beside her bed. It had taken twenty-three years, but her mother had found a man who made her happy and secure enough to try marriage again.
“Oh, Mom. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you, baby.”
“When are you getting married?”
“Probably after the new year.”
The tears Ciara had tried to keep in check overflowed. “As soon as I’m finished with this assignment I’m coming up to see you.”
“James has been talking about driving to New York City to visit some of the museums and libraries, but he has to wait until the end of the year.”
“I’ll be up to visit you before then. But when you guys come down I’ll make certain not to accept another assignment so I can act as your guide.”
“I’ll let James know.”
Ciara talked to her mother for another ten minutes before ending the call. She couldn’t believe it. Her mother was going to marry the widowed history professor who’d waited patiently for Phyllis Dennison to come around and take a second chance on love.
Closing a dresser drawer, Ciara glanced around the bedroom where she hadn’t slept in weeks. She’d come to the apartment to pick up her passport and pack a bag with clothes better suited for the tropics. They were scheduled to leave Monday morning at eight from the West Side pier and arrive at the port of Miami Wednesday afternoon.
She zipped the bag, setting it on the floor. Ibrahim was waiting downstairs to drive her downtown, where they would pick up Brandt, then head to New Jersey for the game. Activating the security alarm, she locked the door behind her.
Ibrahim straightened from his leaning position against the bumper of the gleaming black Town Car and met Ciara and took her bag from her loose grip. He seated her before placing her luggage in the trunk. His day had begun early and would end late.
Brandt had called to instruct him to drive Ciara uptown, wait for her, then bring her back and pick him up for the drive to the New Meadowlands Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey. He’d been informed that Ciara was his employer’s nurse, but instinct indicated she was more—much more to the MVP quarterback. He was paid well for his services and his discretion.
Ciara, awed by the size of the stadium, the thousands filing into the open-air structure and the tangible anticipation of the coin toss and kick-off, was overwhelmed when reporters, photographers and adoring fans surrounded Brandt. She managed to disengage herself from the crowd while he fielded questions, posed for photos and scrawled his name on bare arms, T-shirts and scraps of paper.
She didn’t feel sorry for rich people, because all money did was give them a more comfortable lifestyle—it couldn’t buy happiness. However, with Brandt there was another factor—fame—and that made his life a bit more complicated. As a public figure he had to put up with being stalked by paparazzi shoving cameras in his face. He had to try to protect his personal space from the crazed or demented person with an ulterior motive.
Ciara attempted to mentally detach herself from her involvement with Brandt, to see him as a superstar athlete and not as her lover. She noticed the way he held his head when listening to someone, the manner in