unnecessary anxiety, not to mention what they do to me! But they think I’m at their beck and call, that I serve at their pleasure, when I’m the money-making commodity. Even when I very carefully explain exactly how they should manage the schedule, can they figure it out? I’m paying a PA, a very overqualified PA to schedule for me, my clinics and my surgeries, and the hospital brings in this high school graduate who took a six-week course and gives her authority over my schedule...”
Lauren listened absently and fixed him a bourbon, watered, because they had to go to that fund-raiser tonight. She poured herself a glass of burgundy. This was her job, to listen and let him rant, to nod and occasionally say, That must make you so angry. While she did that, he paced or sat at the breakfast bar and she unwrapped some cheese and crackers and grapes for him to snack on.
But while all this was going on she was thinking about the man with the easy smile, the tiny bit of gray, the dark blue eyes. And she fantasized how nice it would be to have someone come home and not be a complete asshole.
“We might think about getting ready for the dinner,” she said. “I’d like to look at the auction items.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “I bought a table. We shouldn’t be too late.”
Of course people would expect him to be late, to rush in at the last minute. “I’m ready. Do you need a shower?”
“I’ll be down in five minutes,” he said, leaving and taking his bourbon with him.
“Happy anniversary,” she said to his departing back.
“Hmph,” he said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. “Nice anniversary,” he grumbled. “My schedule is all fucked up.”
* * *
The charity event was for the local Andrew Emerson Foundation supporting underprivileged children. They came to be known as Andy’s kids. Tonight’s event would raise money to provide scholarships for the children of fallen heroes. Professional athletes, businesses, the Chamber of Commerce, hospitals, veterans’ groups and unions from San Francisco and Oakland supported the charity with fund-raising events such as this dinner and auction. Andy Emerson was a billionaire software developer in San Francisco; he was politically influential and admired by people like Brad. Brad never missed an event and claimed Andy as a friend. Brad was a fixture at the golf tournaments and donated generously. The children of military men and women and first responders disabled or killed in the line of duty could apply for the scholarships generated tonight. To be fair, Lauren had a great deal of respect for the foundation and all that it provided. She also happened to like Andy and Sylvie Emerson, though she was not so presumptuous as to claim them as friends. This event was a very popular, well-organized dinner that would raise tens of thousands of dollars.
Brad and Lauren attended this and many other similar events; Brad’s office and clinic staff were invited and he usually paid for a table. This was one of the few times during the year that Lauren visited with Brad’s colleagues. And while Brad might be primarily fond of Andy’s assets, Lauren thought the seventy-five-year-old Emerson and his wife of almost fifty years, Sylvie, were very nice people. It’s not as though Brad and Lauren were invited over to dinner or out for a spin on the yacht—the Emersons were very busy, involved people. However, it was not unusual for Brad to get a call from some member of the Emerson family or a family friend with questions about an upcoming medical procedure or maybe looking for a recommendation of a good doctor.
Just as she was thinking about them, Sylvie Emerson broke away from the men she was chatting with and moved over to Lauren. She gave her one of those cheek presses. “I’m so happy to see you,” Sylvie said. “I think it’s been a year.”
“I saw you at Christmastime in the city,” Lauren reminded her. “You’re looking wonderful, Sylvie. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Thank you. It took a lot of paste and paint. But you’re aglow. How are the girls?”
“Thriving. Lacey is doing her post-grad study at Stanford so we see her fairly often. Cassidy graduates in about six weeks.”
“UC Berkeley, isn’t it?” Sylvie asked. “What’s her field?”
Lauren chuckled. “Pre-law. She’s scored beautifully on the LSAT and is bound for Harvard.”
“Oh my God. Are you thrilled for her?”
“I don’t know yet,” Lauren said. “Don’t you have to be a real tiger to take on law? Cassie seems so gentle-natured to me.”
Sylvie patted her arm. “There is a special place within the legal system for someone like her. I don’t know where, but she’ll find it. And no one chose medicine?”
Lauren shook her head. “I’m a little surprised about that, since I have a science major as well. Though it’s been so long ago now that—”
She was distracted by a man who had been pressing his way through the crowd with two drinks and suddenly stopped. “Lauren?” he said. Then he smiled and those dark blue eyes twinkled. “I’ll be damned.”
“Beau?” she asked. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“Same as you, I suppose,” he said. Then he looked at Sylvie and said, “Hi, I’m Beau Magellan. I just recently ran into Lauren at church.”
Lauren laughed at that. “Not exactly, but close enough. Beau, this is Sylvie Emerson, your hostess tonight.”
“Oh!” he said, sloshing the drinks. “Oh jeez,” he mumbled. Finally, laughing, Lauren took his drinks so he could shake Sylvie’s hand...after wiping his hands on his trousers. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Emerson. I’m personally indebted to you!”
“How so, Mr. Magellan?”
“My sons have a friend whose dad was killed on the job, Oakland police, and she received a scholarship. Now I’m a big supporter of the cause.”
“Magellan,” Sylvie said. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“I have no idea,” he said, chuckling. “I’m sure our paths wouldn’t have crossed. Magellan Design is my company. It’s not a big company...”
She snapped her fingers. “You designed a rooftop garden for my friend, Lois Brumfield in Sausalito!”
He beamed. “I did. I’m very proud of that, too—it’s incredible.”
Sylvie looked at Lauren. “The Brumfields are getting up there... Aren’t we all... And they have a single-story home in Sausalito. They didn’t have any interest in a two-story anything, their knees are giving out. So they put the garden on the roof! And they have a lift! They sit up there any evening the weather will allow. It’s gorgeous! They have gardeners tend their roof!” Sylvie laughed. “They have a patio on the ground floor as well, nice pool and all that. But that rooftop garden is like their secret space. And the house is angled just right so it’s private. From there they have an amazing view.”
“There’s a hot tub,” Beau said. “And a few potted trees in just the right places.”
“Really, if the Brumfields had more friends, you’d be famous!”
“They have you,” Beau said.
“Oh,
