Not Quite Perfect
Page 75
It was the middle of the night in London, so she texted Glen instead of a call. I heard from Officer Taylor. They have a match on fingerprints. I’ll give you details tomorrow . . . I’m fighting more than a head cold. Ugh!!!
Glen woke to Mary’s text. He had a hundred and one questions about the match on the fingerprints but got stuck on the image of Mary laid up in bed with a Kleenex to her nose and cough syrup at her bedside.
He had a secretary that he never used for personal things . . . but there was a first time for everything, and he was half a world away. “I want a monkey . . . a teddy bear will do if you can’t find a monkey, but the monkey is better.”
“With a thermometer?”
“Yes, with a thermometer in its hand or mouth.”
“You’re serious.” Sylvia was in her late forties and had worked as the CFO’s secretary since before he took the position.
“It’s above and beyond. I’ll make it up on your birthday.”
“My birthday was last month.”
“Christmas then. I want the card to say . . .” He rattled off his sentiment with a smile.
“How much do you want to spend on this monkey?”
“I don’t care.”
“A hundred bucks?”
“I don’t care.”
“A thousand?”
“I. Don’t. Care.”
“Do you want balloons with this?”
His eyes lit up. “Great idea.”
“I was kidding.” The sarcasm in her voice made his smile bigger.
“Today. If she’s not home, leave it at her doorstep.”
“You don’t pay me enough, Fairchild.”
“Yes I do. Thanks, Sylvia.”
“I draw the line at breakup flowers.”
He imagined Mary picking up the monkey and reading his card. “I don’t think you’ll ever have to worry about those.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
“You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah . . . you owe me.”
He liked his sassy secretary.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mary crawled out of bed the next morning long enough to call her clients and tell them she wasn’t well and needed to reschedule or risk making them ill.
Walt showed up just before noon. “I left the bio suit at home.”
Mary opened the door, wrapped her bathrobe a little tighter around her waist. “Dakota won’t let you back inside until you’ve gone through decon.”
“She’s not that bad.”
Mary laughed. She knew his wife better than he did sometimes.
He had his doctor bag and looked her up and around, asked her a bunch of questions.
“I think it’s viral.”
She knew what that meant. “No antibiotics.”
“Nope, just good old sleep and crap to make you feel better. Dakota has a ton of decongestants, nighttime stuff. Daytime stuff. Don’t drag yourself to the drugstore when you have one right across the street.” He suggested a few things by name. All of which she had.
Mary rested her head in her hand. “I’m stocked. But let Dakota know I’ll have her leave it in the middle of the street if I need something.”
She walked him to the door as the bell was ringing.
A delivery boy, not much older than eighteen, stood with a stuffed something and a half dozen balloons.
“Ah, Miss Kildare?”
Mary lifted a hand.
Walt stood back when the kid handed her the toy.
It took a minute for her to recognize what the mass of fake fur was. Then she started laughing until she was coughing.
The kid stood back and looked around.
“It’s a monkey.”
Walt blinked, stared, and blinked again. “Yep. It’s a monkey.”
“That’s funny.” She kept laughing. The boy at the door looked behind him toward his delivery van.
“Oh, a tip.” She twisted around, wondered where she’d left her purse as another coughing fit stopped her progress up to her bedroom.
“You know, lady . . . it’s okay.”
Walt removed a five-dollar bill from his wallet and helped her out.
In the back of her head it registered that the kid drove away and Walt said his good-byes . . . but all Mary could see was a silly stuffed monkey with sad eyes, holding a thermometer.
This time, Glen sent a card.
You didn’t even have to fight for it.
She set the balloons next to the flowers that were starting to turn and hugged the monkey to her chest.
When she climbed back in bed, her head ached, her chest felt heavy, but her heart was full.
The ibuprofen and cough syrup Glen suggested wiped her out for a good two hours. She felt a little better when she climbed out of bed the second time that day but still knew she wasn’t right.
Still, like anyone not on their deathbed, she tried to get a few things done. When she heard her doorbell for the second time that day, she thought of the monkey on her bed upstairs and wondered what Glen was sending her now.
A man holding an invoice greeted her with a smile. “You Miss Kildare?”
“I am.”
“You asked for delivery in the afternoon.” He looked down at her bathrobe and smirked.
Mary glanced beyond him to see the truck from the place she’d purchased her living room set.
“Right. Yeah . . . c’mon in.” She opened the door wide and pointed to the room behind her. “It goes in here.”
Glen woke to Mary’s text. He had a hundred and one questions about the match on the fingerprints but got stuck on the image of Mary laid up in bed with a Kleenex to her nose and cough syrup at her bedside.
He had a secretary that he never used for personal things . . . but there was a first time for everything, and he was half a world away. “I want a monkey . . . a teddy bear will do if you can’t find a monkey, but the monkey is better.”
“With a thermometer?”
“Yes, with a thermometer in its hand or mouth.”
“You’re serious.” Sylvia was in her late forties and had worked as the CFO’s secretary since before he took the position.
“It’s above and beyond. I’ll make it up on your birthday.”
“My birthday was last month.”
“Christmas then. I want the card to say . . .” He rattled off his sentiment with a smile.
“How much do you want to spend on this monkey?”
“I don’t care.”
“A hundred bucks?”
“I don’t care.”
“A thousand?”
“I. Don’t. Care.”
“Do you want balloons with this?”
His eyes lit up. “Great idea.”
“I was kidding.” The sarcasm in her voice made his smile bigger.
“Today. If she’s not home, leave it at her doorstep.”
“You don’t pay me enough, Fairchild.”
“Yes I do. Thanks, Sylvia.”
“I draw the line at breakup flowers.”
He imagined Mary picking up the monkey and reading his card. “I don’t think you’ll ever have to worry about those.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
“You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah . . . you owe me.”
He liked his sassy secretary.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mary crawled out of bed the next morning long enough to call her clients and tell them she wasn’t well and needed to reschedule or risk making them ill.
Walt showed up just before noon. “I left the bio suit at home.”
Mary opened the door, wrapped her bathrobe a little tighter around her waist. “Dakota won’t let you back inside until you’ve gone through decon.”
“She’s not that bad.”
Mary laughed. She knew his wife better than he did sometimes.
He had his doctor bag and looked her up and around, asked her a bunch of questions.
“I think it’s viral.”
She knew what that meant. “No antibiotics.”
“Nope, just good old sleep and crap to make you feel better. Dakota has a ton of decongestants, nighttime stuff. Daytime stuff. Don’t drag yourself to the drugstore when you have one right across the street.” He suggested a few things by name. All of which she had.
Mary rested her head in her hand. “I’m stocked. But let Dakota know I’ll have her leave it in the middle of the street if I need something.”
She walked him to the door as the bell was ringing.
A delivery boy, not much older than eighteen, stood with a stuffed something and a half dozen balloons.
“Ah, Miss Kildare?”
Mary lifted a hand.
Walt stood back when the kid handed her the toy.
It took a minute for her to recognize what the mass of fake fur was. Then she started laughing until she was coughing.
The kid stood back and looked around.
“It’s a monkey.”
Walt blinked, stared, and blinked again. “Yep. It’s a monkey.”
“That’s funny.” She kept laughing. The boy at the door looked behind him toward his delivery van.
“Oh, a tip.” She twisted around, wondered where she’d left her purse as another coughing fit stopped her progress up to her bedroom.
“You know, lady . . . it’s okay.”
Walt removed a five-dollar bill from his wallet and helped her out.
In the back of her head it registered that the kid drove away and Walt said his good-byes . . . but all Mary could see was a silly stuffed monkey with sad eyes, holding a thermometer.
This time, Glen sent a card.
You didn’t even have to fight for it.
She set the balloons next to the flowers that were starting to turn and hugged the monkey to her chest.
When she climbed back in bed, her head ached, her chest felt heavy, but her heart was full.
The ibuprofen and cough syrup Glen suggested wiped her out for a good two hours. She felt a little better when she climbed out of bed the second time that day but still knew she wasn’t right.
Still, like anyone not on their deathbed, she tried to get a few things done. When she heard her doorbell for the second time that day, she thought of the monkey on her bed upstairs and wondered what Glen was sending her now.
A man holding an invoice greeted her with a smile. “You Miss Kildare?”
“I am.”
“You asked for delivery in the afternoon.” He looked down at her bathrobe and smirked.
Mary glanced beyond him to see the truck from the place she’d purchased her living room set.
“Right. Yeah . . . c’mon in.” She opened the door wide and pointed to the room behind her. “It goes in here.”
