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August 7, 2004
Marks - Chapter 14
By QBlog in
Due to the recent server crash, Marks is being published today instead of Friday. I apologize for the delay.
Marks is a novel that tells the story of a young married couple, two college roommates and a successful businessman whose lives ultimately intertwine as the result of a business opportunity — and a dream. Quixtar BLOG is publishing Marks as a serial, making a new installment available every Friday. All previous chapters are archived here on the blog so if you missed any just search for "Marks" and you should be caught up in no time.
Disclaimer: This book has not been through a final edit. There may be some misspelled words and grammatical errors. Please understand that as you read through the novel.
» Chapter 14
“How are you feeling, Mrs. Remly?”
Teri forced her eyes open. After two tries, she focused on the source of the voice — a woman dressed in floral hospital scrubs.
“Fine,” she answered automatically. When she tried to sit up, though, she realized that she was anything but.
“What happened to me?” Teri asked. Her voice was weak and her throat dry.
“You were in a car accident,” the woman answered. “You broke both legs, right under the kneecap, and scratched yourself up quite a bit but you are going to be fine.”
Teri managed to lift her head slightly and survey her two plastered legs. She looked back up at the woman. First she studied her name badge — Cathy Morgan, RN — then she lifted her eyes and searched the kind face.
“The baby?”
The nurse pursed her lips and slowly shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” Cathy began. “We did everything we could, but there was too much trauma. You miscarried before the ambulance arrived.”
Teri turned away. She was surprised that she didn’t feel sad or disappointed. She just felt empty.
“Your husband is here,” Cathy continued. “Would you like for me to send him in?”
“Does he know about the — ” Teri tongue felt very thick and clumsy as she tried to say the word. “Miscarriage?”
“No. He didn’t ask and it’s hospital policy not to volunteer that information.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want me to tell him? Sometimes it’s easy coming from a nurse.”
Teri turned back around and searched the nurse’s eyes. She wondered how much she should say and how much the woman would understand.
“No. He didn’t know I was pregnant so there’s no use telling him that I lost the baby.”
If Cathy was surprised, her face never showed it. Instead she simply nodded.
“I’ll tell the staff. I know he’s very worried about you and would like to see you.”
“All right.”
The nurse walked to the door but turned back around before she turned the handle.
“If you want to talk, Mrs. Remly. I’ll be here.”
“Thank you.” Teri choked back a sob. “Thank you so much.”
Teri had regained her composure by the time Tom walked in. She couldn’t bring herself to harbor thoughts that maybe the situation was for the best or that the time just wasn’t right, but she could force the overwhelming sense of loss out of the forefront of her mind. She just managed to replace her pain with a veneer of normalcy and she hoped she could keep it in place for a few minutes.
“Honey,” Tom murmured. He looked so handsome and happy when he walked into the room, wearing his freshly pressed Sheik Chic khakis and coordinating red polo, that Teri wanted to throw up her fists and beat him until he was as miserable as she.
He didn’t know, she reminded herself. He didn’t know.
But she still felt angry.
“You look awful,” Tom continued. “Are you in much pain?”
Teri shrugged.
“I think I’m pretty drugged up.”
Tom pulled a chair up to her bed and sat beside her. He reached out and grabbed her hand.
“I’m just happy you’re alive.”
“The car?” Teri didn’t know why she asked. Judging from her condition, the sleek black luxury vehicle that Tom kept immaculate and polished couldn’t be anything but totaled.
“Don’t worry about that.” Tom spoke in the same tone that a father might use to hush a fussy baby. Teri felt her eyes prickle with tears.
“I destroyed it, didn’t I?”
“We have insurance. The important thing is that you are going to be okay.”
Tears streamed from Teri’s eyes and her chest heaved with sobs.
Tom pulled a wad of tissue from the box on the side table and stroked his wife’s face.
“None of that now,” he whispered. “Everything will be fine. We’ll buy another car, even bigger and better than that one. I talked to the doctor and your legs will mend. You’ll be as good as new.”
Teri studied his smile and tried to give one back.
“And listen,” Tom continued. “I was talking to an orderly in the waiting room, and I think he’s really interested. We’re going to have coffee after his shift and I’ll show him the plan. I have a very good feeling about this — I think I can get him signed up before dinner time. This could really be what we need, Teri. I think he will be a terrific addition to our downline.”
Tom’s grin broadened, lighting his entire golden and beautiful face. His straight, white teeth gleamed and his blue eyes sparkled.
Teri watched him carefully and tried to let the enthusiasm that radiated from his body infect her, too.
In that hospital room that reeked of disinfectant, where she lay covered in plaster, Teri realized that she hated him.
Mr. Brand;
Thank you for coming to me with your concerns. I assure you that Bill Lewis is not my ‘boss’ in any sense of the word. In fact, it would be more realistic to call him a competitor. Our only link is that we share a common distributor. I am appalled that he tried to convince you otherwise and surprised that he even knows that we have been negotiating a business relationship. I assume that he learned about you through his wife, who is friendly with my Teri. Although she is a wonderful and supportive mate, Teri is like most women and doesn’t understand the competitive nature of business.
As you can see, Bill Lewis is not a particularly trustworthy person and in this business (particularly since we will be working on different continents), trust is the most important ingredient. Unlike Bill, I have been honest with you from the start and I hope that you will keep that in mind. Please don’t let his lies stop you from joining our organization. I am completely psyched about the opportunity of spreading into Africa! I see a big and prosperous future for us both!
As a gesture of my goodwill and commitment to helping you grow your business, I have waived the franchise fee. Attached to this email are all the forms needed to officially open your branch of Remly International! You can mail or fax them back to me and I will file the papers here in the States. As soon as I get your official ‘OK’, I’ll send you a complete information pack to start you off. Are you ready to make some money? Are you ready to reach goals that you haven’t even dared to dream, yet?
Let’s get started, Marco. Honest, dependable and motivated entrepreneurs like ourselves don’t need Bill Lewis’s tricks.
Looking forward to hearing from you,
Tom
Tom didn’t bother to review the email before clicking on “send”. He was in too much of a hurry. Marco Brand’s report that Bill Lewis was trying to steal him away – pull him right out of Tom’s downline – scared him. He wanted to get Marco’s signature fast, even if it did mean spotting the kid a couple hundred dollars.
Tom watched the monitor flash that the message had been successfully sent before he began to clear the dining room table. He gently closed his favorite Cory Jackson book. He had used it to compose the email. Most of the more inspirational phrases came directly from the chapter on landing new recruits, but Tom was sure Cory wouldn’t mind. It was for a good cause.
He stacked his papers and slipped the laptop back in its bag. He had worked longer than he wanted to, but visiting hours at the hospital wouldn’t end for another hour and a half. There was still plenty of time to check up on Teri.
Tom grabbed his gas and mileage log on his way out the door. He was driving a rental, but the cost of the gas should still be tax-deductible. He would have to make sure to talk to the orderly he was trying to recruit and to find at least one more potential while he was there. That way, it was definitely a business trip.
That was just one of the things Tom loved about Sheik Chic. With a little planning, anything could be written off as a business expense.
Teri twisted in the hospital bed and tried to find a comfortable position. Everyway she turned there was some new ache or a sharp, painful reminder that her legs were in pieces and she was being weaned off of pain medication. Even her arm throbbed from the I.V. needle that had to be shoved into her bruised skin everyday after a new vein collapsed.
There was nothing on television, nothing to read, no one to talk to. She assumed Tom had not told her parents about the accident since they hadn’t called to check on her yet. The hospital telephone service did not allow long-distance calls, so she couldn’t ring them herself.
In a way, that was a relief. Her mother did not know about the baby and there was no use explaining now. Her father would only cry with her over the miscarriage, and Teri was determined not to cry.
She wondered if the pregnancy would have felt more real to her if she had heard the heartbeat or seen an ultrasound. As it was, the experience was fading away like a dream. She could barely remember what the slight heaviness or the occasional light flutter, low in her abdomen, felt like. The memories were deadened, but the sense of loss was still very real. Dealing with the constant physical pain was nothing compared to the sorrow.
“Mrs. Remly?” Cathy gave the door a cursory knock but did not wait for an answer before stepping into the room. “Time for your medicine.”
Teri liked the plump, dark-haired nurse. She wasn’t falsely and perpetually cheerful like many of the others. She always answered questions truthfully, even when she didn’t know the answer like that morning when Teri asked when she would be walking again.
Most of all, Cathy hadn’t made a big deal over her request to keep the miscarriage a secret from Tom.
“Hurray for the happy pills.” Teri tried to force a light tone and a laugh.
“Yep,” Cathy agreed. “There’s nothing like a good, old-fashioned, highly addictive sleeping pill.”
She passed Cathy a plastic cup of pills and a small glass of water.
Since meeting Muriel, Jacob had come to know corners of Abuja that he had never dreamed existed. Together, they explored the exotic offerings of the city’s plant nursery. Hand in hand they visited the museums and gazed at artifacts from civilizations of past millennia. He joined her in an excursion to a wildlife park, and they kissed on a hill overlooking a pride of lions.
Now they were on a park bench near the towering city gate, eating a lunch of yams pounded into a thick paste and spread over slabs of dark, pan fried bread provided by Muriel’s host family.
“Whatcha thinking?” Muriel asked. She leaned against Jacob’s shoulder and looked up at him with her bright green eyes.
“I was thinking about my parents,” Jacob answered. “And how they will never see anything like this.”
“You should bring them back a souvenir — something completely Nigerian.”
Jacob looked at her closely. Bethany would never have said that. She would have laughed at him, maybe made a comment that they weren’t missing much, and brought his concentration completely back to Bethany.
“Do you have any suggestions?”
Muriel pursed her lips. Jacob could tell she was giving the question serious thought.
“There are two pottery markets nearby. Ladi Kwali and Giri.” She said the names with a native accent. “Maybe you could find something small, that wouldn’t take up much room in your luggage, but beautiful. Something that they could keep on the mantle and think of you when you’re gone. Something that stirs their imagination and inspires dreams about what amazing adventures their wonderful son experienced.”
“That’s a big job for a little piece of clay.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find the perfect thing.”
Jacob took another bite of his lunch.
“Anyone else you want to buy a souvenir for?” Muriel asked while he chewed. “Friends? Fraternity brothers?”
Jacob snorted.
“Nothing I can get at the pottery market. If I picked up a case of beer at the convenience store, they would appreciate that more than a priceless Nigerian sculpture.”
“What about Bethany?” Muriel’s voice was just louder than a whisper. “Just because you broke up doesn’t mean you can’t still be friends.”
Jacob twisted his head and took a long look into Muriel’s eyes.
“I’ll never understand women,” he said finally. “And I’m not sure what is the right way to respond to that.”
“You’ll see her when you get back. I know that. You need to start thinking about what kind of relationship you will have.”
“Relationship? I don’t think we’ll be pals, if that’s what you mean. I doubt she’ll even look my way.”
“Why can’t you be friends with her?” Muriel sat up and stared across the patch of grass in front of them. “Why is it always everything or nothing with men? Why do you have to be dating a girl or oblivious to her?”
“When did this turn into a rant against men? I have girls that are friends.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Ugly ones that sit next to you in class — not someone beautiful like Bethany.”
Jacob watched Muriel stroke the end of her long, brown ponytail. She always seemed so sure of herself and secure in the knowledge that she could do anything: navigate foreign streets, cook a gourmet dinner, change the world. He had never seen her look so insecure.
“Bethany and I were never friends to begin with. I’m not sure she even has friends. I mean, she knows a lot of people and everyone seems to like her because she is cute and bubbly, but she never opens up to people. Men or women, she is always looking for what she can get out of them.”
Jacob bit his lip and wiped away the tear that had grown in the corner of his eye. He had not realized that was the situation until he said the words. What he and Bethany had was not a relationship. They never shared any real part of themselves. He was simply Bethany’s admission ticket to fraternity parties.
“My mother always told me to be wary when a man blamed a failed romance completely on the woman,” Muriel said.
Jacob thought for a moment.
“Bethany and I used each other,” he said finally. “I was in the right major and the right organizations. She was beautiful. I had always looked up to the kind of guys that had girls like Bethany. With her on my arm, I felt a little richer, smarter and stronger.”
“How do you feel with me?”
Jacob was suddenly tired of the entire conversation. He did not want to talk about Bethany or relationships anymore. He just wanted to sit beside Muriel and enjoy the bright blue sky. He wanted to bask in the glory of a midweek day off, not mince words and assign blame.
“I feel wonderful with you,” he answered wearily. “Happy. Ecstatic. Can we talk about something else, now?”
Muriel did not answer.
“I just don’t want to talk about Bethany anymore.” Jacob felt as if he were begging. “I want to talk about something that doesn’t depress me. Tell me more about the pottery markets.”
Muriel remained silent.
“Are you mad at me?” Jacob whispered.
“Why would I be mad?” Muriel’s voice was oddly even. “Just because I don’t — what were the words — make you feel ‘richer, smarter and stronger.’ That doesn’t mean we can’t have a fine old time hitting some landmarks and tourist traps until you go back to the States.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t —”
“You didn’t say I did.”
Jacob nudged Muriel’s chin up and looked into her hurt eyes.
“You don’t understand,” he insisted softly. “Bethany made me feel like the guys I wanted to be like in high school. Like Marco — rich, good at everything, handsome.”
“Right. That’s what you said.”
Muriel began to look away but Jacob steadied her face with his hand.
“But you — you make me feel like what I am is good enough. I don’t need to envy those guys or try to be like them, because when I’m with you I am happy and alive as myself. I don’t have to worry about saying or doing the right thing, because I have no one to impress. No one but you.”
Muriel’s eyes softened and her lips began to shape the tiniest smile.
“Go on.”
“Dating Bethany was like buying a sports car during a midlife crisis,” Jacob continued with growing confidence. “She was a sleek and pretty status symbol.”
“So what am I? A station wagon?”
Jacob’s mouth fell open. Stricken, he tried to mumble something that would show him as intelligent, sympathetic and loving. Nothing came out.
Muriel’s expression softened. She reached up and tousled his hair.
“I think your best bet at this point is just to stop talking and kiss me,” she remarked. “There’s less chance of getting yourself in trouble that way.”
Jacob gratefully took her advice.
Tom slipped into the hospital room just minutes before visiting hours ended.
“I can only stay a minute, Hon,” he said as he gave his wife a gentle kiss on the forehead. “I figured you would be bored to tears so I wanted to drop off some books and tapes.”
“Don’t rush off,” Teri insisted. “The nurses won’t kick you out once you’re here. They just don’t let anyone in after seven.”
The long, empty hours in bed had given her plenty of time to sort out her feelings. The wave of hate that had washed over her so completely the last time she saw Tom had passed. It was her own fault that he didn’t know about the baby. She made the choice not to tell him. If he was not mournful or sympathetic enough, she was the only one to blame.
Likewise, she knew she could not let herself be upset that Tom was prospecting here at the hospital. If anything, it only showed the level of dedication he had to the business. He was committed to making their retailship a success because he was looking out for their future.
Teri was determined to be cheerful, loving and supportive for now on. She would not let her sorrow widen the rift between her and Tom.
“I would like to stay, I really would.” Tom glanced at his watch and did not seem to notice the cheerful smile plastered on his wife’s face for the first time since the accident. “I was talking to a guy downstairs whose father just had a heart attack. We chatted about the rat race and how the worry and anxiety would kill anyone. He’s interested in escaping all that so we’re having coffee downstairs at seven.”
Tom began pulling cassette tapes and hardcover books, all purchased through the Cory Jackson Motivational Materials Club, out of a brown grocery bag and arranging them on the table beside of Teri’s bed.
“How’s his father?” Teri asked through her smiling lips.
Tom glanced up and cocked his head.
“Whose?”
“The potential’s. You said he had a heart attack.”
“I don’t know,” Tom said with a shrug. “Fine, probably. They do amazing things nowadays. Look, I just pulled a bunch of stuff off of the bookcase. Some you’ve probably read or heard before.”
“That’s okay. You can never get enough of the Jacksons.”
“True enough.” Tom was oblivious to Teri’s sarcasm. “Dumb male that I am, I brought some from the Confidential Male series. You don’t want to be listening to speeches about how to be a good husband. I’ll take these back home with me and bring a few more Belinda Jackson tapes tomorrow.”
“Okay, thanks — ” Teri began.
“Geez, look at the time. I have to run.” Tom kissed Teri’s head again.
“I love you,” he called from the doorway before he nearly knocked down the charge nurse as he rushed to catch the elevator.
Teri twisted her head and looked over the titles her husband had selected. He must have pulled out all of the Belinda Jackson releases. Teri clenched her teeth and pursed her lips. She simply was not in the mood for Propelling toward the Dream, Be the Woman behind the Man, or The New Feminist: Compromise for Family Cohesion. She wished Tom had brought a magazine or even a cheesy romantic novel.
Teri examined the familiar tapes and books. Although she dreaded hearing Belinda’s lilting voice and carefully placed giggles, anything was better than being alone with her own thoughts.
As her eyes raked over the titles, Teri saw a book that she did not recognize. She assumed it was that week’s new release and pulled it from the pile.
Last Chance, she read. Far from being new, the dust-jacket was worn and the pages dog-eared. Teri examined the cover and found that it was from the Confidential Male series. Apparently Tom had missed it when he was packing the others up.
Curious, she flipped through the book to the first dog-eared page. Her eyes were drawn to a highlighted section.
There will come a time in most Sheik Chic marriages when you can tell that your wife just isn’t as excited and supportive as she once was, Teri read. She could hear Cory Jackson’s friendly instructive tone.
Now women, being women, won’t come out and say, ‘I’m tired of working so hard. I’ve forgotten the dream. I don’t want to do this anymore.’
No, women have other ways of telling you this. This might not look at you so adoringly when you are showing the plan. They might try to talk you into skipping a function. They might stop bringing in the potentials.
Some women have even more subtle ways of sabotaging your dreams. They might start talking about the big sale at the local discount store. I’ve even heard of some women you bought items from the drugstore — purchases that they could have made from their own business! Now, they will try to say that the products were less expensive, but we all know that means they are cheaper. You get what you pay for. A wife who will do that isn’t worried about finding a good buy, she’s just concerned with injuring the family’s independent retailship. She just wants to destroy your dreams!
Don’t get me wrong. I love women. I really do. But sometimes you have to be just as manipulative as they are.
Don’t worry, there is hope. If you find that your wife is trying to crush your opportunity, you need to take her aside, put a hand on each shoulder, and say, “Honey, sometimes I get so carried away that I forget the reason for all this. I work so hard for you, because I want you to be comfortable and healthy and happy. One day you’ll be like Belinda Jackson, wearing mink everyday.”
Then you take a couple of hours off (maybe only show one plan that evening) and do something as a couple. This occasional investment in your relationship can pay off in huge business dividends. A successful partnership depends on two motivated and enthusiastic participants. Men want results and need to see numbers. Women just want to feel good.
You see, women love to think that they are at the center of everything you do. You let them know that they are important to you and they’ll be right back to their old ways. They’ll look at you with adoring eyes and do what needs to be done to make your business work and your dreams come true.
Teri eased the book closed and sank back into her pillow. She tried to remember exactly what Tom had told her the night of Uncle Robert’s wake. Although she could not swear that her husband had repeated Cory Jackson’s lines word for word, he had certainly used the script as a guide.
Teri felt the old, familiar feeling of resentment filling her body again. She had seen that night as a turning point. When Tom assured her that every step he took in the business was for her, she thought she had seen his true self. She was certain she had been blessed with a glimpse into the heart of the man who loved her.
But it was all a lie.
The cold-hearted, business-fixated image was more than just a shell. That was who Tom was. Perhaps he had always been that way – painkillers and disappointment made it difficult to remember the time before Sheik Chic took over their lives.
She had been duped. What she loved, what gave her hope and kept her working toward his dream was nothing but a line from a Cory Jackson book. She had been fooled like a new recruit who enthusiastically paid his independent retailer fee, only to learn that despite what the Megas touted in their overpriced tapes, market saturation was no myth.
Teri stared at the rectangular tiles of the ceiling for a long time. She tried to imagine what life would be like without Tom. In a way, not much would change. The only thing they had in common anymore was Sheik Chic. They went to functions and met with potentials together, but the rest of their days they spent separate.
There was not even a baby to bind them together anymore.
Teri felt the tears prickle behind her eyes and the sobs gathering in her throat.
“Time for your medicine,” Cathy chirped while pounding the open door. “Big day tomorrow, so don’t stay up too late reading tonight.” She gestured towards the nightstand, laden with the books and tapes Tom had brought.
“Of course,” Teri answered. Her voice seemed to come from someone else’s mouth. Her lips felt numb even as they were moving.
The nurse stopped picking through the containers in her medicine cart and gave her patient a long look.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Teri forced the image of Tom, stroking her hand in front of the casket and vowing to do his best by her, out of her mind.
“I’m fine,” she answered with as much brightness as she could muster. “What’s going on tomorrow?”
Cathy looked as if she wasn’t convinced, but was willing to play along.
“You start physical therapy tomorrow,” the nurse answered with enthusiasm. “You’ll be up and out of this old room. We don’t want those muscles atrophying anymore than they have to.”
“A change of scenery will be nice,” Teri answered.
“It will be a great mood lifter.” Cathy handed her a small cup of pills. “You’ll see.”
“I think it will take a little more than twiddling my toes to lift my mood.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Teri gave a rueful laugh.
“No,” she answered. “You have a lot of patients to take care of. You don’t have the time to listen to me ramble on about things that have nothing to do with my injuries.”
“Nonsense. I’m concerned with all aspects of your well-being.” Cathy pushed her cart out of the way and pulled out visitor’s chair. “Anyways, you’re the last person I need to push meds to right now and I’m due for a break.”
“It’s hard to know where to begin,” Teri said, suddenly self-conscious.
“You don’t have to begin anywhere. Sometimes it helps just to have someone to chit-chat with.”
“That’s true.” Teri bit her lip. “Nice weather we’re having, huh?”
Cathy chuckled.
“I can tell you’ve been stuck in the hospital. We’ve had nothing but thunderstorms for three days.”
Teri felt a little more at ease.
“Tell me, do you like working here?”
“At the hospital?” Cathy shrugged. “It’s okay. Lots of benefits, flexible hours. It will do for now.”
“It sounds perfect,” Teri said.
Cathy snorted.
“It’s far from perfect. You see, in the hospital, though, you only see people when they are hurt or sick. Once they get well, you never see them again unless they relapse.”
“That must be dispiriting.”
Cathy nodded.
“Yes. That’s a good word for it.”
“Do you ever regret that you went into nursing?” Teri asked.
“Regret?” Cathy cocked her head. “No. I love being a nurse. I know it sounds trite, but I like helping people. I’m just not going to be here forever.”
“Where are you going to go?”
Cathy looked around to make sure they were alone.
“I haven’t told anyone here yet, so promise not to say a word.”
She waited for Teri to nod in agreement.
“I’ve been accepted into a nurse practitioner program,” Cathy whispered. “I start in the fall.”
“That’s terrific!” Teri squealed. Immediately her eyebrows dropped and her voice lowered. “What does that mean?”
“Right now it means two more years in school, but after that I’ll be able to work more on primary care and have more responsibility. It’s going to be great.”
The nurse looked so excited that Teri had to smile.
“That must be really nice – to have a plan.”
“You have plans, too,” Cathy insisted.
“What do you mean?”
“With your business. It’s really taking off.”
Teri felt her mouth go dry. The last thing she wanted to be reminded of was Sheik Chic. Listening to Cathy chat about her dreams, Teri was able to push Tom’s betrayal to the back of her mind. For a few glittering moments she was able to wrap herself in the other woman’s life – a worthwhile life of goals with a future that didn’t include endless attendance to MotoQuest weekends and cheap steakhouse chains.
“How do you know about that?” Teri asked. Her voice trembled slightly.
The nurse seemed to realize that she had said something wrong.
“Your husband,” she stammered. “He hardly talks about anything except for your business.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, he asks about how you are doing, when you’ll get out, that sort of thing,” Cathy backed up. “But he is so proud of how hard the two of you have worked. It must be wonderful to be able to retire so young.”
Teri looked up at the ceiling.
“We’re hardly on the verge of retirement.” Her voice was low and monotone. “We have maxed out all of our credit cards and live month to month of my pitiful paycheck. The business eats up ten times as much money as it brings in but we have to keep a happy, smiling outlook and tell everyone how wonderful everything is working out.”
“Why? Pride?”
Teri snorted.
“Hardly. It’s a pyramid scheme, you see. Even if Tom swears up and down that it’s not, that’s exactly what it is. We have to look successful in order to snare other unsuspecting couples. ‘Fake it now and make it later.’ That’s a Cory Jacksonism.”
“A what?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Despite the heavy plaster and pain, Teri felt as if she might rise right up and fly across the hospital room. She had spent years keeping her cynicism bottled up, but the thought that Tom Remly could be motivated by anything so human as pride made the cork pop. Tom was not human. Teri knew that now. Emotions like pride, love and compassion meant nothing to him. All he cared about was meeting the level of material holdings that the upline called ‘success’.
“It’s all an act, you see.” Teri’s voice was high pitched and mixed with laughter. “The whole damn thing is an act. We’re not a happy couple, but we have to look like one. We have no money but by God we have a luxury car. I dread going into work everyday, but we have to pretend that it is a fun little hobby that gives me some extra spending money. I hate vacuuming and I can’t stand wearing skirts.”
Cathy looked around, stricken.
“Of course you do,” she said as she rose from her seat. “Look, I’m going to give you a little something to help you feel better.”
“I feel fine!” Teri yelled. She reached for Cathy’s hand. “For the first time in forever, I feel amazing.”
Cathy grinned then.
“Is there anything I can get you? Anything at all I can do? I feel kind of helpless here on the outside of an epiphany.”
“You can get rid of these idiotic books.” Teri nodded at the table. “No. On second thought, leave them here. There’s nothing in them that can hurt me. I’m going to read them with new eyes.”
Marco was not sure why he was wasting time by staring at Kenton University’s website. He knew all the information that was there. He knew the historic significance or each building. The snapshots of the looming residence halls and majestic Old Main didn’t show more details than he remembered. He didn’t care about registration deadlines or football season projections.
There was absolutely no reason for him to be browsing the site, except scrolling down the digital version of the student guide gave him a little taste of home. Despite the waves of heat that lurked on the other side of the hotel wall, one look at the smiling student on the index page, her backpack slung across one shoulder, and Marco could almost smell the decaying leaves, sharpened pencils and stale sweat that ushered in the beginning of the school year.
He had never been much of a scholar, but he ached to be back there. In school, there were no worries beyond the next test or his parents’ reactions to his report card. If he had ten extra bucks, he grabbed a pizza. If not, he raided the refrigerator at the fraternity house. There was no need to save, no debts to pay. There was only the freedom to do absolutely anything he wanted, day after day.
Marco wanted to go back, but he knew that he never would. Even though he happily spent most of his days at Kenton in less-than-worthwhile and hardly noble pursuits, he always had to answer to his parents. In Nigeria, money was tight but he answered to no one.
Marco closed the college’s website and logged into his email account. He stared at the message in the pending folder. With a deep breath, as if diving into the ocean, he hit the send button.
The completed franchising forms pulsated their way to the Remly International home office.
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