The musician of the family.
"Here it is," Jennifer said. "Take a look."
I took the piece of paper from her hand and began to scan it. A grin spread across my cheeks as I peered over the piece of paper. Jennifer had gone back to typing on her computer. Probably clearing my schedule or fucking around with something that was way below what she had just proven herself to be worth. Her eyes were moving across the screen and her hands were typing a thousand miles a second.
Trained as a secretary, but housing tremendous observational skills.
"Miss Jennifer."
"Yes, sir?"
"Be ready for a promotion when I get back."
"Come again?" she asked.
I folded up the piece of paper and put it in my pocket. I needed to get to the damn airport. I had two hours to get myself through security and onto a plane, and I still had to go by my car and get my suitcase. I kept it packed for every season so I was ready to go for moments like this.
It was a trick my father had taught me before he died.
"He's going to need physical therapy, Mom. He needs a house he can do that in."
"He's coming home with me and that's final."
"You know he won't go home with you. But I might be able to convince him to come with me."
"That's my baby, Cara."
"And I'm his sister. He doesn't need someone wiping his ass. He needs someone who will push him to get better."
I ripped my bag from my car in the garage and started for the street. I'd need to hail a cab in order to get to the airport. I wasn't about to try and park my car and navigate all that fucking traffic. I was on a strict schedule to get everything back on track.
I also needed to send an email to H.R. and tell them to open up a project manager position for Jennifer.
I pulled out my phone and began walking across the road. My bag was slung over my shoulder and my feet were carrying me as fast as I could. Blood was pumping through my veins and my adrenaline was in overdrive. I missed this part of the business. The part where I swooped in and saved the day. I started out as a project manager at the company, but the position had only been utilized for me to learn. Once my father died and I was promoted to the new CEO and owner of the company, the position closed.
But we were in desperate need of one, and Jennifer fit that job perfectly.
My fingers were flying over the keyboard of my phone before I heard the screeching of tires. The screaming of women. I felt the bag at my side pop as my phone flew from my hands. One minute I was looking at my screen and the next I was looking at the sky.
The sidewalk.
The road.
"Sir, are you okay?"
"Oh my God! Someone call 9-1-1!"
"Can you hear me? Can you see what's around you?"
"Stabilize his head. There we go. On three, turn him over. One, two-"
There were lights. Flashing lights overhead. I couldn't move my left leg or my left arm and it hurt to breathe. It hurt to swallow. It hurt for my heart to beat. The smell of disinfectant was strong, but the darkness closing in on my vision was stronger than my wake to stay awake.
"Alfred! No!"
My mother's voice was the last thing I heard before darkness overcame me.
"Mom, we can't keep arguing like this. He's going to wake up any minute."
"Hush, Cara. He's moving. Alfred. Oh, sweet boy. Momma's here. Can you hear me? Alfred?"
My left leg was hoisted into the air and my arm was casted and cradled at my side. I couldn't open my eyes, no matter how much I wanted to. Machines were beeping at a rhythmic pace and footsteps were falling heavily onto the floor.
"I saw him move. I swear it."
Mom. I kept hearing my mother's voice.
"I can vouch for that. He twitched his toes and cleared his throat."
Cara.
Why was Cara in the Caribbean?
I didn't know where I was, but I needed to get up. I needed to put my clothes on and get to the project site. Jennifer was right. The company we had hired subcontracted our work out and was skimming money off the top. Not illegal, but certainly not helping us. I needed to get in there and fix things before this project went completely under.
And possibly the entire fucking family business.
"Mr. Lowell, you need to open your eyes."
Who the fuck was that?
"Mr. Lowell, can you hear me?"
Yes, I can hear you. Your voice is annoying. What the fuck is going on? Shut the hell up. Get me out of this damn place.
"Alfred, please open your eyes."
I'm fucking opening them, Cara!
"If he isn't conscious within the next few hours, we'll run some tests. But it doesn't look good."
"Why isn't he waking up?" my mother asked. "What are our options?"
Damn it, I'm right fucking here!
"I told you this third surgery was going to be too much on his body. If he doesn't wake up, you can expect a malpractice lawsuit," Cara said.
Wait. Surgery? Why the hell was my sister talking about surgery? Where the fuck was I?
"He needed surgery. The first was to pin and plate his arm and leg and the second was to pin his ribs. But he started internally bleeding so we took him back in to chase it. Your brother would have bled out in the hospital bed had we not done anything."
"You mean to tell me you didn't catch the bleed before you stitched him up the first time?" Cara asked. "What kind of hospital are you running, doctor?"
"Cara, now isn't the time to get upset," my mother said.