Humbled (18 page)

Monday afternoon skipped by. Madeline was pleased with the proposal she and Don had labored over for the past five hours. With the exception of a couple bathroom breaks, she'd stayed planted at the table. She gathered a bunch of loose papers spread across the table and produced a neat stack. She tapped the top page.

“This is it. I'll have my assistant type this up first thing tomorrow,” Madeline said, wanting to believe this was going to work.

“Have her run it by legal too. Let's kill two birds with one stone,” Don replied.

“Agreed,” she said, reaching for a glass of water, intentionally suppressing any inkling of doubt she had. She had to be sure and project confidence too. “Ah, this is warm. I'm going to get some ice. You want anything?”

Don yawned. “Nah, I'm beat. I'm calling it a day and going home. I'll see you tomorrow, that is if you come into the office,” he said, chuckling.

“Look, I've paid my dues. I've earned every day off and more. It's your and Tamara's turn to run DMI.”

“Not so fast, Mother. You don't look like someone who is ready to be put out to pasture. Cut the drama.”

She stood and walked to the refrigerator. “Seriously, I'm not retiring this week, but the day is coming quickly.”

Madeline pressed her glass against the ice dispenser on the refrigerator door.

Don approached her. “And you think buying the division from Zarah will be the impetus for Tamara to take a position at DMI?”

“Absolutely. I have to believe it.”

Don leaned his hand against the refrigerator. “I'm not nearly as confident as you are.”

Madeline swished the glass rapidly, letting the ice hit the sides. She chose her words very carefully. She couldn't lose Don's support. “You know, you're right. I've spent the entire afternoon drafting a deal. What I should have been doing was presenting our case directly to Tamara.” Madeline plopped the glass on the island counter. “She has to understand what this is about,” she said.

Don placed his hand on hers. “We've put our best offer together. We can't do any more. Let's get it typed, present it to Zarah, and see what happens. I'm praying for God's direction, because we need all the help we can get before dealing with Joel's wife and your daughter.” He chuckled. Madeline didn't.

“I'm not waiting for the formal document.”

“And what does that mean?” Don asked, his voice quivering.

“I'm going to find Tamara this evening and tell her what's going on,” she said, leaning her hip against the counter and folding her arms tightly. She sincerely wanted to be transparent with Tamara. One of the challenges of their relationship in the past was an inability to communicate. Madeline wasn't going to lose ground with her daughter. She preferred putting the facts out in the open and let Tamara handle it like adults did. “It's no secret. We're going after the West Coast division. She has to be told.”

“I don't think we should tell her unless Zarah agrees to our deal.” Madeline shook her head frantically, her eyes closed, as Don continued. “Why create tension for no reason? If Zarah says no, and there's a fifty to sixty percent chance she will, then you will have stirred your sleeping giant. And you can believe there will be a price to pay from her.”

Madeline looked Don straight in the eyes and said, “Tamara doesn't scare me.”

“Me, either, but why start a fight with her if we don't have to?”

“Thank you for your input, but I'm going to see Tamara.” Madeline glanced at her watch. Five thirty. “She should be home, don't you think?”

“I don't know,” Don said. “Since she moved out of my place, we haven't spoken much.”

Madeline wasn't sure she should believe him. “Well, give me her new address.”

“No way.”

“Why not?” she replied indignantly.

“It's not a good idea. The two of you should keep your distance until this business stuff is resolved. I don't have a good feeling about this.”

Madeline pressed against the counter again with her arms stretched out, and her neck bent downward, as if she were about to do a push-up. “This isn't about feelings. It's about birthright.” She lifted her gaze to pierce his. “If you won't give me her address, that's no problem. As my mother used to say, there's more than one way to skin a cat. My phone works fine. So I'll call her.”

“Suit yourself,” Don said. Madeline detected a sharp bite in his tone. “You don't need me to run this train off the track. I'm out of here,” he said, going to get his keys from the table.

“Wait,” she said. “I need your phone.”

“Why, Mother?”

“You know Tamara might not answer when she sees my number come up.”

“I don't want to be in this.”

“Are you telling me no?”

“I am,” he replied.

Madeline didn't know whether to be more upset with Don for telling her no or for hindering her effort to contact Tamara. She could have badgered him until he gave in, but she had no desire to do so. Madeline would take her chances and use her own phone.

“I'll see you tomorrow?” Don said.

“Maybe,” she said as cordially as she could given her disappointment.

Don laughed briefly. “Oh, Mother, you're something else. You're in my prayers.”

“Uh-huh,” she uttered. She wasn't asking God for help, and Don shouldn't act like he had to on her behalf. Madeline and God hadn't always maintained stellar communication. As a matter of fact, they didn't have any. During her twenties and possibly her thirties, she could have used His help with Dave and his wavering commitment to the marriage. She could have used His interaction during her single parenting years. Yet there had been nothing. As far as she was concerned, Dave and Don could keep God to themselves. She'd handle her problem solo. Madeline liked her odds better that way.

Don was gone. Madeline drew on heaps of fortitude and then went to get her phone upstairs. Shockingly, Tamara answered. Madeline wasn't prepared. She hadn't formulated her spiel and wouldn't get the chance now. Madeline realized that if she didn't start talking quickly, Tamara was going to hang up, and who knew when she'd answer her mother's call again.

“Hello, darling,” Madeline said to lay the foundation for a sensible discussion.

Tamara returned the greeting. “What do you want, Mother?”

Cranky and irritated was the way Tamara sounded. Madeline wasn't deterred.

“I have to tell you something very important.”

“Did something happen to Don?” she asked, sounding overly distressed.

“No, no, nothing like that.”

“Oh, you scared me for a second.”

“Didn't mean to,” Madeline said, stalling. The proposal had to come across perfectly for Tamara to give it any serious consideration. Madeline smirked. She could present a proposal to a board of directors without losing an ounce of rest. But not to her daughter. Tamara was her Kryptonite.

“If it's not Don, what about you? Is there something wrong with you?”

“Nothing a good night's sleep can't cure.”

“Then what is it?” Tamara demanded.

There were a million ways to tell Tamara they were going after the division, but none sounded right. Madeline wasn't going to beat around the bush any longer. She decided to blurt out the truth and deal with the fallout. “You need to know that DMI is going after the West Coast division, and we're offering a sizable price, far above market value.”

“Really?” Tamara retorted, her tone snide. “When did this happen?” she ranted.

“Today. We're pitching the proposal to Zarah as soon as the paperwork is finished.”

“DMI wasn't interested in the division until you found out I wanted it. Why am I surprised?” Tamara said, cackling and then abruptly quieting down.

Madeline didn't want to let Tamara get too angry. “This move is for you.”

“For me? You must be kidding.” She cackled again. “This is about you, Mother. It always is. I should have known not to let you get too close. You've burned me again.”

Madeline had to find the mechanism that would calm Tamara down and allow her to see the big picture, the one where their family was working together. “I am doing this for you and Don. You both mean the world to me.”

“Huh, you have a funny way of showing your love, going behind my back to buy a company you knew I wanted.”

“I'm sorry you feel this way.” One division wasn't a company. If Tamara had the business savvy necessary to build a company, she would understand the flaw in her statement. Yet Madeline would rather eat nails than criticize Tamara, a daughter who was three seconds from ending the call and possibly their relationship. Madeline swallowed her negativity, and her pride slid down her throat too.

“Just so you know, I'm not withdrawing my interest. You might have more money, but I have a friendship with Zarah. It's got to be worth something,” Tamara declared.

Friendship was great, but offering Zarah an even exchange for Harmonious Energy wasn't to be matched. Madeline opted not to share that piece of information. The fire was already burning out of control without fuel being added. “Once you think this through, I'm hoping you'll agree this is best for everyone. You can return to DMI and assume your rightful place as president.”

“Second in charge, right?”

“I don't think you should see it as second.”

“I really don't care what you think, Mother.” Under normal circumstances, Madeline wouldn't allow such a flagrant show of disrespect from her child or anybody else's. She'd give Tamara a pass in this case but placed no guarantees on doing the same in future encounters. “Mother, I'm not letting you bully me into changing my mind.”

“Is that what you think I'm doing?”

“It's exactly what you're doing, and I'm not letting you get away with this. The past is dead. I'm not a child. If I want to buy my own company, I'll do just that,” she said, drilling the message into Madeline's soul. “I will never be controlled or overpowered by anyone again, including you.”

Madeline could have fired back but didn't.

“So go ahead and put in your overpriced offer, and I'll put in mine.”

“You're seriously going to do this?” Madeline replied, running out of ways to reach Tamara.

“Oh no, not me.
You
did this. May the best Mitchell win.”

Madeline was crushed. “Do you think we'll ever be able to fix our relationship?”

“Never know, Mother. I'm willing, but you have to show me some respect. It's the only way I can let you back into my life.”

“I guess there's hope.”

“Of course, but it will be up to you. Bidding on the West Coast division isn't the ideal step toward fixing our relationship, but you are who you are.”

Madeline grinned. “That I am.”

“I'm going now,” Tamara said.

Madeline reluctantly said good-bye.

Right before Tamara disconnected, she said one more thing. “Mother, you're a trip, but I love you. I have to go.” She hung up the phone without letting Madeline reply.

The line went dead. “I love you too,” Madeline uttered, with no one on the other end of the call to hear her.

Melancholy poured into her soul. Madeline lay across her bed and allowed herself to recall only positive memories of her only daughter. Tamara's comment about the past being dead lingered in her mind, and perhaps it was true. Madeline didn't care. With her future in flux, clinging to the past was her greatest treasure, and she'd cling to it with all her might.

Cats were said to have nine lives. If Tamara counted the run-in with her ex-boyfriend, her brother, and the multiple rounds with her mother, she was down to maybe two or three. Running into Madeline today was bound to burn through a couple more lives. She couldn't really take the risk of having to argue her way past her mother. Yet Tamara had no choice but to seek help. Madeline was out of control. Don was the only one who had the slightest chance of talking some sense into the woman they called Mother.

Tamara hustled out of the cab and flew by the security guards at DMI and tackled the stairs in a whirlwind. So far she was in the clear. The fact that she'd seen no sign of Madeline brought her relief, but as long as Tamara was in the building, danger lurked. She'd get into Don's office, plead her case, get support, and get the heck out of DMI before the she lion was roused from her slumber.

After reaching the sixth floor, Tamara straightened her shirt and regained her composure. No one on executive row was going to see her as the tattered Mitchell girl. She had learned that much from her mother, to never let outsiders see her vulnerability. She hadn't mastered the art as well as the Mitchells had, but progress was being made.

Tamara slowed to a saunter. There was a bubbling in the pit of her stomach, and she knew why. Tamara had been so obsessed with getting into the building undetected by Madeline that she'd forgotten her primary objective. She had to convince Don that their mother needed to back off the West Coast division. She didn't know if he'd be receptive, since Don was a loyal Madeline advocate. Tamara walked idly around the administrative station for a few minutes and then approached Don's door, knocking out her fear. She boldly stepped into the office after waving off the assistant's offer to get Don. Tamara didn't need or want assistance in reaching her brother. She was a Mitchell, and that gave her extensive rights and privileges within DMI's walls. She relished the taste of significance.

“Tamara, I didn't know you were coming by the office this morning. How's it going?” Don asked, peering up from the document on his desk and the folder lying next to it.

“Not well,” she replied, aiming to make her request for his support, and get over his possible rejection, as quickly as possible.

“What's the problem?” he asked, tucking the papers into the folder and giving her his undivided attention.

Tamara was on center stage, with the beam of light shining on her. Fear had her catatonic. She couldn't believe how difficult this was. Don was her brother, and a loving one. She didn't have to be afraid of him. Yet, Tamara felt severely uncomfortable about proceeding. Then she focused on her plans, boosting her confidence. She decided in that instance not to leave without an answer, preferably a yes.

“Mother called me last night and told me DMI is going after the West Coast division hard,” she said, causing Don to lean forward in his chair. “Regardless of what you guys are doing, I'm not taking my offer off the table for the West Coast division.”

Don tossed his pen in the air but didn't speak. She wanted him to yell or challenge her. She knew how to handle those reactions. Silence was a secret weapon Tamara wasn't prepared to handle. She felt compelled to keep talking. She took a seat. Don cradled his head between his thumb and index finger. His glance seemed to slice her into pieces. She ignored his piercing stare and returned to pleading her case. It was the only way to reach her brother.

“You know what I've been through, and by some miracle, I'm still here,” she said, tapping the arms of the chair. “I've gotten past the rough times, and now I'm ready to stand on my own. I'm sure you can appreciate where I'm coming from.”

Don remained silent. His refusal to speak was becoming annoying. She wasn't invisible. “Can't you say something?”

“Like what?” he asked, twirling the pen that was lying on the desk. “You seem to have the answers. Between you and Mother, there's not much for me to say.”

The lack of concern in his tone was troubling. Don was her greatest ally. He'd always tried to help her, even when she didn't want it. She could tell Don was hurt, and Tamara felt awful. She didn't want to lose his support or his love. His reaction tugged at her heart, causing Tamara to be torn between proceeding with her pursuit of independence or ending the discussion and keeping her relationship intact with her brother. Each had merit. Who could say which was right and which was wrong? Should she fight to maintain her sanity or put her brother first? She was reeling with emotions. One fact was true: she loved Don and didn't want him to be mad. She had much to contemplate. For now, she'd treat him with the respect he deserved. His years of unconditional love had earned him as much.

“I might not be going about this the right way, but who's to say Mother is, either? To be honest, she has this whole company,” Tamara said, opening her arms wide and tracing the room with a finger in the air. “I'm asking for a tiny division, the smallest one. Why can't she let me have it?”

“We know how Mother can be, but at the core of it all, she loves us.” Don's interpretation of their mother's love translated into being controlling for Tamara. “You know she's not trying to hurt you, Tamara,” Don said, sounding slightly less agitated, but not at all cheery. She'd continue treading lightly.

“No, I don't know that.”

“Oh, please,” Don said, shifting his head to lean on the other hand.

“No, seriously,” Tamara replied. “When a person willfully commits an act against someone, calling it an accident or a poor decision doesn't make the hurt any less real.” Madeline had made her decisions very carefully and was old enough to know when to back off. Tamara wasn't buying Don's sympathy for their mother. “Mother knows what she's doing, and even when it's uncomfortable for us, she does it, anyway.” She tapped both heels on the floor. “So, no, I don't agree.”

“Too bad. One day, when you're able to see this situation more objectively, you might have a different perspective.”

Maybe, but Tamara wasn't worried about
one day.
Her concern was today.

Don stared at Tamara. “Sis, I really don't get you,” he said, shaking his head.

“What do you mean?”

He scratched the tiny hairs on his chin and looked away, only to let his gaze return to her with a piercing force. “We grew up in the same house. Mother wasn't perfect. I get that, but what did she do that was so bad that you're bent on making her pay forever?”

Tamara could tell Don was mad, and she felt awful, but she wasn't taking sole responsibility for the issues between her and their mother. “I'm not just mad at her. I'm mad at Dad and Sherry too.” Don had asked the question, so she was going to tell him the truth, sparing no one. Her parents hadn't bothered to spare her feelings. “They were all so selfish and so focused on their drama that they forgot about us kids.”

“Come on, Tamara. We were kids then. We're adults now, and our father is dead. When are you going to let it go?”

“Why should I?” Why couldn't anyone understand her feelings about the family? Even Don wasn't listening. Just like their mother, he wanted her to shove the past under a rug and walk away like nothing had happened. It was fine with her if they wanted to live in a fairy tale, but she would not. “They created this situation, Mother, Sherry, and Dad.”

“So why is your anger directed mostly at Mother?”

Tamara couldn't tell him the real reason, which was simply that she needed someone to blame. Since Dad and Andre were gone, and she didn't care enough about Sherry to make her a viable candidate to hate, only Madeline was left. Tamara wasn't going to tell that to Don. She had a more pleasing answer for him. “We lived with her, not Dad. If she'd spent more time with us while we were growing up, instead of spending all those hours at DMI and chasing behind Dad, then maybe things would have been different for us, different for me,” she said, feeling melancholy.

“One day you'll have to acknowledge that your old hurt is constantly stirring up new pain. You need to find a way to let the past go.”

“Easy for you to say,” she said, hoping to relieve the pressure building up inside her.

“No easier for me than it is for you.” She didn't agree. Don continued. “I know what you're thinking, and I would never minimize your trauma. But you have to acknowledge that others suffered in our family too. Like me; I had to learn how to live with my father's rejection. Can you imagine how it felt to have him choose his other son over me?”

“It's not the same thing, not by a longshot,” she said, becoming tired of the topic.

“You're right, but look at it this way, Tamara. Andre raped you, but your anger and unwillingness to forgive is preventing you from having a peace of mind.” He slid to the edge of the seat, peering at her, and said, “So, I ask you again, when are you going to let the past go and give Mother a break?”

“You're always defending her.”

“Funny, because she says I'm always defending you. Maybe I need to stop running interference between the two of you and let you battle it out until one or both of you become exhausted or gain some sense. At this point, I'm okay with both outcomes,” he said, playfully tossing the pen into the air.

“Yes, I fight with Mother, but I don't want to with you. I just wish you could see how my getting the West Coast division is best for the family.”

“How?”

“Because I can get a fresh start. Remember, I've been home only for a few months. This is still new to me . . . being in the same city with you and Mother. It can be smothering for someone like me.” She could feel her emotions rising up, but she refused to cry. “I've been on my own for so long. I'm actually glad to be in the States, but I have much more healing to do on my terms—not Mother's,” she said, talking louder to combat the lump of emotions settling in her throat. “I love Madeline, but I need distance from her.”

Don's harsh stare softened, and she could see the compassion in his gaze. “I get that, but it doesn't justify you and Mother being at odds.”

“Then you need to talk to her, because she's the one who created this tension over the West Coast division.”

“She can't fight unless you participate,” Don told her.

“Well, I'm not backing down. Mother can throw her money around, but Zarah and I are close friends. I have an excellent shot at this too, and I'm taking it.”

Don's hand slid slowly down his face as his hope for a cordial resolution drained from him. “You need to be careful with Zarah. She's pregnant with Joel's child. You can believe he's not going to be far away.”

Joel wasn't a problem. He didn't want to be with Zarah, and Tamara was hoping Zarah didn't want him anymore. “They're separated. He's not a factor.”

“Believe that if you want to.” Don chuckled, reacting more strongly than he had in the past twenty minutes.

“He's staying at the hotel and doesn't want much to do with Zarah,” Tamara announced.

“So what? They are still married. Trust me. You don't want to get caught in the middle of their relationship. It could backfire,” he said.

“I'm not worried,” she fired at him.

“Okay,” he said, twirling the pen on his desk again. “Well, good luck, because if you think Mother is a challenge, how about rumbling with her and Joel simultaneously?”

Tamara hadn't given any thought previously to that scenario. Rumbling with both of them wasn't ideal, but that would be up to them. She was moving ahead with her offer on the West Coast division.

“Thanks for listening. I'm going to head out. I love you,” she said. Nothing had been resolved with her visit, but the heart-to-heart had been well worth the trip. At least Don knew she loved him and Madeline too. That was important in case the bidding war became very heated and relationships had to be temporarily pushed to the sidelines.

She felt strangely invigorated. Tamara would call Zarah right away and schedule a meeting. She didn't want to play around. If she was going to get the division, she had to make a move before Madeline submitted her gigantic offer. Tamara hustled outside, plucking her cell phone from her pocket en route. Her victory might be closer than expected, and she couldn't wait.