Change of Heart (Edilean 9)

“So we won’t go.”

“That’s a concession, but how else are you willing to change your life? Are you going to put her in a house in Connecticut and leave her there? Do you plan to go home at six every evening?”

“Miranda is an understanding woman.”

“Yeah, well, so were most of your women. I don’t want to see Miranda hurt. I don’t want to call her six nights in a row to tell her that her husband is staying in the city because he has to go to Tokyo, or that he has to attend some charity event that she would hate. Miranda doesn’t deserve that. She doesn’t deserve you. The real you. Not the woodchopper, but the Frank Taggert who focuses on work—and everyone and everything else be damned.”

He turned to look at Frank. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to have to try to explain you to Miranda. I don’t want to be sent to her to dry her tears with a box full of emeralds.” He paused. “In fact, I don’t want to do any of this anymore.”

Julian gave Frank time to reply, but when he was silent, Julian stood up straighter. “I’ve worked with you for ten years. I’ve admired and respected you and at times envied you. But at this moment I feel nothing but pity for you.” As he turned away, he halted. “Seeing you and Miranda together has made me remember what I’m missing. Unlike you, I’m willing to make some changes. This weekend I was supposed to go on a date with a wonderful woman, then you called and told me to bring you the papers. You didn’t ask; you just told. So I left a message on her machine and came here. I doubt now that she’ll ever speak to me again.”

Overhead was the sound of an approaching helicopter. As Julian started back into the cabin, he halted. “You will have my resignation on Monday. I left the papers about that kid, Eli, on the kitchen countertop.”

For a moment he hesitated, waiting for Frank to call him back, but Frank said nothing, so Julian kept walking.

As soon as he stepped inside the cabin, Frank saw that Miranda knew. She was at the counter reading the papers about her son. When she spoke, she couldn’t keep her voice from rising. “What do you want with my son?”

“Not what your tone is implying,” he said stiffly.

As she began to figure out what was going on, her eyes widened. “I’m not sure what these documents are saying about my son using your company’s letterhead, but I think maybe he and his friend Chelsea planned all this.” She waved her hand to include the cabin. “And you knew about it—even though you’ve pretended that you don’t know my son. Did you and those children decide to take care of dumpy little Miranda? Give her a weekend like one of those silly books she reads? Big, strong billionaire makes love to her in a cabin? Is the payoff that my son does something with your computers?”

With every word she spoke, Frank’s shoulders went farther back. The softness she’d seen in his face was leaving. This was the man the business world saw.

As for Frank, everything Julian had said was ringing in his head. If he did this wildly romantic thing and took on this woman and her child, was he willing to change every aspect of his life? Give up everything he knew to live in suburbia and invite the neighbors to Sunday barbeques? No matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t imagine doing what it would require if he were to stay with this woman.

Or was she to change? Would she set aside her pie baking to walk down a red carpet?

All in all, the two of them were almost different species.

He had to end this. He had to be the villain. He gave her a little smile. “I’ve had a great time these last few days. Please tell your son thanks from me.”

It took Miranda a moment to understand what he was saying, then it was as if all the blood left her body, along with thoughts and feelings. “Me too,” she said. “Truly great.” Turning, she went to the front door. When she’d arrived, she’d dropped her handbag onto a little table. She picked it up, draped it cross body about her, and ran to catch the helicopter before it took off.

5

The outside offices were decorated for Christmas, and in the distance was the sound of laughter and glasses clinking at the annual party at the Montgomery-Taggert offices. But inside Frank Taggert’s office there were no decorations, no lights, just Frank sitting alone, staring unseeing at the papers on his desk.

In the weeks since he’d been at the cabin and met Miranda, he’d lost weight and there were dark circles under his eyes. During that time, his life had changed. Not that he’d wanted it to, but he seemed to have lost his edge in the business world. He’d certainly lost his hunger to achieve more and more.

“Hello,” said a tentative voice from his doorway, and he looked up to see young Eli Harcourt. They hadn’t seen each other since that first meeting two years before. Their entire friendship had been conducted solely by letters, all correspondence going through a PO box in Denver. Eli was taller now and he looked less like a child. There was an adult look in his eyes that Frank thought shouldn’t be there.

“Eli” was all that Frank could say, and the first hint of a smile in a long time appeared on his face. “Come here,” he said, standing up and holding out his hands.

Closing the door behind him, shutting out the sounds of the other people, Eli walked over to stand in front of his friend.

“You look as bad as I feel,” Frank said, and opened his arms to the boy.

Eli would have died before he admitted it, but part of his anger at his father was defiance, telling himself that he didn’t need a dad. He threw his arms around Frank and the man held him close, and Eli found how much he’d missed the solid touch of another male.

Much to his horror, Eli found himself crying. Frank didn’t say a word, just led him to a small leather couch and sat down with him. When Frank offered him a clean white handkerchief, Eli blew his nose.

“You want to tell me about it?” Frank asked.

“My mother is unhappy and so am I. Everything has changed and I don’t like it. Chelsea and I—”

“Do you need money? I can—”

“No!” Eli said sharply. “I don’t want you to give me money.”