“So, Mrs. Bell…” Brant had never felt so awkward in his life. Even the time he’d walked in on his parents—well, the less remembered about that, the better. At least that time had been brief, over in the space of time it took to slam a door. Meeting his soon-to-be-mother-in-law, on the other hand, was turning into a drawn- out staring contest that could have challenged Carmen’s capabilities.
Brant brainstormed for a topic of conversation that wasn’t already exhausted. They’d already covered her awesome daughter, the wedding, the weather, and what she thought of L.A. He cleared his throat. “Mel tells me her father stayed in Kansas? I don’t think she mentioned what he does for a living.”
“He’s an elevator operator,” she said sweetly and waited, then laughed and pointed at him as Brant sat there, completely unable to think of a thing to say to that. “Gotcha!” She smiled, and Brant saw an echo of Mel in the smile. “He manages several towers for a large food company.” She dimpled. “They’re called ‘elevators,’ you know.”
“I didn’t know that,” Brant confessed, not really listening. He shot a quick look at the door, wondering if he should go upstairs and find Mel. His mother had told him to stay put, but the more time passed the less he was inclined to stay. They needed to talk, to sort this whole mess out. He still wasn’t exactly sure what he’d done wrong, though she’d made it perfectly clear that he’d screwed up somehow. And shouldn’t her own mother talk to her, not his?
“So tell me what has Lark so upset.”
“Lark?”
Elisabeth leaned back in her chair, her face wreathed in smiles. “When Mel was a little girl, she used to love going out with her father in the mornings. We lived in the country and there was this ridge out behind the house which they’d climb every morning in the summertime. They’d watch the sun rise and wouldn’t come home until the meadowlarks were singing. She’d sing right along with them, until her father started calling her ‘Lark’ and teasing that some morning she was going to up and fly away with them and he’d never see her again.” She wiped at her eyes. “Ah, but that was a long time ago. I’m more interested in what’s going on right now with her. Don’t think I didn’t notice your attempt to change the subject. What’s going on with my little girl?”
Brant shot a look at the older woman and saw only infinite patience in her eyes. No judgment, no condemnations, just a concern for her daughter. “I created a foundation,” he said finally, “to help fill the gap where Doctors International floundered.”
She nodded slightly and smiled brightly. “I grew up in Kansas, Brent. I knew what a grain elevator is from the time I was a child. But I did not grow up in a city, nor did I grow up wealthy, so I think I don’t know what you mean by a ‘foundation.’ Maybe you can explain it to me.”
“Well…” Brant took a breath, and gathered his thoughts. “Doctors International is—was a kind of foundation,” he said, looking again at the hall Mel had fled down half an hour ago. “A foundation is usually a non-profit organization that raises money to support various charitable causes.”
“Through donations?”
“Yes…” Brant began warming to his topic. “But not exclusively. Some use seed money and then reinvest that, using the interest to do their works; some are sponsored through corporations to act as their “charity arm.” Some…”
“Corporations?” Her eyes widened. “How much does all that cost?”
“Well, the initial investment isn’t really the point. Once it gets started it should be self-sustaining.”
“All right then.” Mel’s mother smiled the indulgent smile of mothers everywhere. “How much will your ‘foundation’ have to earn to replace Doctors International?”
“DI was responsible for $1.5 million…”
“Each year?!”
“Each month.”
She stared at him. “So, you created this… thing that’s going to bring in $24million every year?”
“More than that.” Brant went to the desk and pulled out several papers and advertisements and set them out in a cascade on the coffee table in front of her. “Remember that an initial investment created the interest, but you also need to keep re-investing and that means more donations and trusts. All in all, it’s probably a $40-million-a-year investment.”
Linda picked up papers and paged through them, frowning in concentration. “I’ve done the bookkeeping for the church, but this is well beyond me. What does any of this have to do with Mel?”
“What do you mean?”
“Brant, this is all well and good, but Mel is a country doctor. I remember when she got her license, we were all so proud of her. First doctor in the family. It was a shame to let her go halfway around the world when there were folks at home that needed her special touch. But, she felt strong about it, and her father said that ‘Larks gotta fly,’ so we kissed her good-bye and she left. On a bus.”
She set the papers down, tapping the edges of the pile to neaten it before looking up at him frankly. Honestly. “Brant, you’re a nice man, but you can’t just dump that kind of responsibility on someone. It’s not right. Especially without asking.”
How did she know he hadn’t asked? “But it would save her clinic,” Brant protested, feeling the blood rush to his face, not liking where this was going. The words sounded familiar but this time they were making sense.
He didn’t want them to make sense.
Elisabeth nodded. “That it would, I suppose.” She thought for a bit. “Olen… that’s Mel’s father, was a student when we met. He was studying engineering. Was good at it, too.”
“So why didn’t he pursue it?”
“Well, he had a wife, a child.” Elisabeth smiled, but there was pain in her eyes that told him there was a longer story that was quite clearly none of his business. “He decided that a small life could still be an important life. Mel’s got a lot of her father in her. You’re seeing the way to replace Doctors International. Mel only sees the people that depend on her. Or used to. That would be my guess.”
Brant sat down heavily in the chair opposite her and stared at all the glossy brochures he’d had designed by a top marketing firm to attract investors. “But this would save the clinic.”
“I have no doubt, Brant. And I’m sure your heart is in the right place. But Mel needs what’s in front of her. You, for one thing. To suddenly be head of a foundation? Brant, you love her. That’s easy to see, but you don’t know her very well.” Elisabeth shook her head and rose, and placing her hand on Brant’s shoulder. “Brant…”
Whatever she was about to say was lost. Mel came quietly through the doorway from the living room, Linda trailing close behind. Mel looked as though she was carrying a heavy weight.
Brant rose to greet her and she moved into his arms as fluidly as water, wrapping her arms around him as slow and as firm as a mourner at a wake.
“I love you, Brant,” she whispered, each word sending shards into his heart like shrapnel. “I do. I don’t understand your world; it’s as confusing and scary to me as the jungle was to you. I don’t know where the land mines are here, I don’t know what to trip and what will blow up in my face. I do know that if I do something stupid, you’re the one who gets blamed, you’re the one it’s reflected on.”
“No…” Brant whispered. It wasn’t in reaction to what she’d said. It was the chill of the words yet unspoken, the words that were coming, the words he couldn’t stop or accept. “No.”
She held his hands in hers and looked up at him. The glistening in her eyes spoke volumes and Brant stood like a stunned ox, waiting for the final hammer blow. “I do love you,” Mel said, and released his hand. She walked quietly to the front door, pausing on the threshold. She looked back, her hair falling in a gentle cascade down her back, the first tear making a lonely trek down her cheek. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “I’ll send for the boxes.”
Through the open door, Brant saw a cab pull into view, a proper cab this time, and a small part of him wondered how he managed to keep breathing without a heartbeat. He became dimly aware of Elisabeth passing him, a gentle hand on his arm, a squeeze and a murmured apology. The door opened and closed again, this time for keeps.
He looked into his palm. Glistening like a lost treasure, the engagement ring he’d given her rested there.
He stared at the door, at the closed door that separated him from a world he knew nothing about and never would.
“What did I do wrong?” he asked the door.
“Son…” Linda said from somewhere behind him. Her voice seemed to be coming from a million miles away. “You stopped listening.”
Brant clenched his fist, felt the unyielding diamond cut into the flesh of his palm. “I didn’t! I was trying to help. All I did was… I’ve been doing everything I can to help her settle. I’ve... This is ridiculous! She can’t leave me.”
But he was alone.