Humbled (5 page)

Tamara darted down the street, not sure where she was headed but intent on getting as far away from DMI and Madeline as possible. The buildings were crowding her, choking her plans. She slowed down in front of a coffee shop, went inside, and found a seat in the corner. Tamara wanted to sink deeply into the seat and become invisible.

The waitress approached. “What can I get you?”

“Give me the largest latte you have with a double shot of espresso,” Tamara said, placing her elbow on the table and resting her head on her tightly closed fist. She stared at the door while inhaling the rich aroma of brewing coffee, letting the distinctive flavor cleanse her emotions.

“Are you all right?” the waitress asked.

“I will be once I get my hands on my latte.”

The waitress laid a couple of napkins on the table. “One supersized latte with an extra shot of caffeine coming right up.”

The twenty-minute walk had helped reduce Tamara's outrage and frustration with her mother. It was evident Madeline wasn't going to stop pressuring Tamara into accepting a job at DMI. As recent as three months ago, Tamara would have jumped at a more senior role in the company. She'd craved the opportunity. Instead, she was given a junior marketing position. Tamara had performed the job to the best of her ability, but she had bigger plans than staying in a grunt-level role. Admittedly, working with Don had been quite pleasant, and she'd had an exciting couple of months. But she couldn't ignore a key contributing factor. Madeline hadn't been there. Her absence had been a requirement Tamara had demanded before agreeing to leave Europe and move back to Detroit. Madeline hadn't liked the request but had agreed without incident. If she could honor Tamara's request once, why not again? The more Tamara rehashed the spat with her mother, the more irritated Tamara grew. She let her head hang down in search of solace.

“Here's your latte.” A half-filled mug the size of three or four regular cups was set on the table with another napkin. “This should give you a jolt and should fix whatever's bothering you, at least temporarily.”

The waitress had offered her a kind word, and Tamara thanked her.

If only a magical mug of brew could solve her problems, she'd get a gigantic vat of espresso to handle her boatload of Mitchell problems. Tamara sipped her latte and stirred the foam on top for a while. She was in a calm space until her cell phone buzzed. It was Zarah's number. Tamara answered right away.

“Zarah, are you okay?”

“No, I'm not very good.”

Tamara heard the agony oozing from Zarah and remembered the call she'd made to Joel yesterday. She'd gotten his cell number from Don, but what if Joel had blamed Zarah for the call? What if Zarah was mad at her for interfering? Blasting Joel had seemed appropriate in the heat of her anger, when her disdain was at the boiling point. Now that she was in a calmer state, her decision to interfere didn't seem wise, especially if Zarah was hurt in any way. Tamara prepared to apologize.

“What happened?”

There was sobbing before Zarah responded, “Joel isn't back.”

“I know. You told me yesterday.”

“I do not believe he is ready to come home.”

“I guess not,” Tamara said.

The sobbing continued, which drove Tamara crazy and her apologetic tone evaporated. There had to be zero tolerance for weakness if a woman was going to survive on her own. Zarah had to toughen up. Otherwise Joel was always going to have the upper hand. Being dominated was the pits. Tamara was too familiar with the feeling, having been overpowered by her eldest brother, Andre, then the nutcase of a boyfriend she'd fled from in Europe, and most recently Madeline. The reminders were overwhelming. There was no way Tamara could let her mother push her into a corner. No one could. She called the shots in her life, and that was final. Zarah had to grow the same emotional muscles if she wanted to last as a Mitchell and have a shot at independence.

Apparently, Zarah wasn't aware of the call Tamara had made to Joel.
Thank goodness,
Tamara thought, feeling relieved and recharged. “I hope you aren't planning to sit around and wait for him to come home. I wouldn't. You deserve better,” Tamara said, consciously keeping her voice down while she was in the coffee shop. Just then the waitress came by to see if she wanted a refill. Tamara handed her the mug and nodded yes.

“He's my husband.”

“So what?” Tamara blurted into the phone. “Is he acting like a husband? Stop giving him so much freedom to treat you badly. Stop doing this to yourself.”

Tamara clicked her fingernails on the table rapidly as her frustration simmered. She was so irritated at Zarah for willingly settling for so much less than she was worth. Who was Joel Mitchell, other than a financially strapped spoiled brat? He wasn't the catch of the year. Yet he had Zarah groveling.

That notion had Tamara continuously stewing. That was why she wasn't settling for a second fiddle job at DMI. If her mother was so serious about having Tamara back, then why wasn't the CEO position being offered? She knew the answer. Because it was Don's spot. Honestly, Tamara didn't have any intentions of undercutting Don for the position. He'd been her hero for decades. When Andre went crazy and raped her eighteen years ago, it was her younger brother, Don, who came to her rescue. She'd never forgotten his loyalty toward her. As intriguing as gaining power was, backstabbing Don in the process wasn't worth it to her. Staying on the fringes of DMI and starting her own company was the best bet.

This wasn't the ideal time to approach Zarah about a business proposition, but with Joel in the picture, most of her days were going to be miserable. No sense waiting for a good day when each day was equally bad. Tamara had to get moving if she planned on purchasing the former DMI West Coast division from Zarah and moving to California. For starters, she had to talk Zarah into assuming leadership. It was a huge stretch but not impossible. She'd appeal to Zarah's sense of family honor.

“Zarah, you should think about taking control of your father's company. I remember you telling me how closely you worked with him. I'm sure no one else can run Harmonious Energy any better than you.”

“I can't think of business today. It's not a very good day for me.”

“I understand. Call me anytime, day or night,” Tamara offered.

“I couldn't burden you.”

“Yes, you can, and you will. I consider you a friend, and friends look out for friends. Zarah, don't hesitate to call me when you need help. Seriously, it's not a problem.” Tamara didn't agree with Zarah pining over Joel, but she was motivated to support Zarah through her crisis. Maybe one day Zarah would return the favor by cutting a business deal with her. Tamara could only hope.

Madeline had wanted to disagree with Don but couldn't when he was standing in her office, staring her in the face. Repairing her relationship with Tamara was her top priority. If only she could get some participation from her daughter. Madeline sat at the table, twirling her Mont-blanc pen and remembering. She'd fought many corporate battles, losing some but winning most. The difference between those struggles and the one she was facing with Tamara was that business didn't count. With business, she could walk away and sleep comfortably at night if the struggle became too great. She couldn't walk away from Tamara, no matter how much trouble her daughter caused. Her birth thirty-five years ago had been painful and not much had changed since then.

Yet Madeline wasn't going to let her daughter run off again without making every effort to keep her home. Pride was preventing Madeline from dialing the phone, but she eventually conquered it and made the call. Tamara answered.

“What do you want, Mother?”

“Do you have to answer in such a mean way?”

“Oh gosh, Mother, please! What do you want? Haven't you badgered me enough? I'm not working for DMI. What will it take for you to stop?”

“If you'd give me a chance to speak, you'd find out that I'm calling to apologize.” Madeline could hear what sounded like Tamara fumbling with the phone. “Are you there?” More fumbling ensued. “Tamara, are you there?”

“I'm here. I'm sorry. I dropped my phone. I guess your apologizing was such a shock that I dropped the phone. Did I hear you right? You're apologizing?”

Madeline would have hung up on anyone else, but she remained on the phone. Tamara had more power than Madeline cared to admit. The bond of love was too strong to ignore and often too intense to manage effectively.

Just then Don walked back into her office.

Madeline let her gaze trace the edge of her shoe as she leaned against the desk. “You heard me,” she said softly.

“What did you say?” Tamara asked. “I can barely hear you.”

Madeline knew Tamara could hear perfectly well. She just wanted her to grovel. Madeline was reluctant, but if groveling kept Tamara in Detroit, she was willing to swallow a jumbo portion of her pride. “I apologize for pushing so hard with you earlier. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” Don gave her the thumbs-up. “I just wanted to . . .” she said before Don gave her the time-out sign. “Excuse me for a minute. Your brother is trying to tell me something.” Madeline covered the mouthpiece and lowered the phone.

“Mother, don't rehash the discussion with her. It's bound to end up in a bad place.”

Madeline pushed the mute button on the phone. “Can't I at least let her know why I'm so passionate about my proposal?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Madeline whispered.

“Because she's heard it over and over. I mean no disrespect, Mother, but you should give it a rest. Apologize and leave her alone.” Don took a seat in front of the desk.

Madeline was being double teamed. She wasn't going to win this round.

“Mother, I can't stay on the call much longer. What were you saying?” Tamara asked.

Madeline fumbled with the mute button before pressing it. “Nothing. I'm apologizing, and that's basically it.” Tamara didn't respond as quickly as Madeline wanted. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have anything to say?”

“Not really. I've heard you semi-apologize in the past. It never lasts, Mother, and you know it.”

Madeline sat on a corner of the desk. “Look, young lady, I'm trying, so give me a break.”

“You never give me one. What do you expect me to say? I could tell you the truth, but you don't want to hear what I have to say.”

“Try me,” Madeline said, latching her hand onto her hip.

Don grimaced.

“I'm starting my own company if Zarah will sell me the West Coast division.”

“Hold on. Your brother is here. I'm putting you on speakerphone.” He was the reason Madeline had overridden her better judgment and called Tamara, and that earned him the right to hear her nonsense firsthand.

“I'm putting together my business plan over the next few weeks,” Tamara continued.

“If you're not going to work here, at least let me help you with a solid start-up plan. You can start a small business without the West Coast division,” Madeline said.

“I won't need your help or your money. I'm getting the division on my own.”

“Why are you being so stubborn?” Madeline asked.

“You call it stubborn. I call it being independent. I have to go, Mother. See you later, Don,” Tamara said and hung up before giving them a chance to say good-bye.

After the call ended, both Don and Madeline sat quietly, neither reacting immediately to Tamara's revelation.

“See what I mean?” Madeline said, folding her arms tightly, breaking their silence. “Nothing I say or do sits well with that girl.”

“This is crazy. We're both going after the same division, and she doesn't even know it. Why does everything have to be a fight for our family, especially when it comes to you and Tamara?” Don asked.

“I don't understand my child. She looks for controversy. I want to work with her, but you see how unwilling she is. There's no changing her mind about this. I am willing to give up on her working with us, but she can't have the West Coast division too. Tamara can't have everything she wants. The rest of us are making sacrifices. Shouldn't she?”

Don didn't have an answer. As a matter of fact, he didn't really want to think about the situation much longer. They'd spent too many precious years having fights, years that could have been lived in harmony.

Don shut his eyelids tightly and let his thoughts soar to the South African coast. The two years he'd spent there, while being estranged from his family, was a time he longed to repeat. The company he'd started, LTI, was based there. His special friend, Naledi, was there. His solitude was there too. If much of what he yearned to have was there, why did God have him here?

“What are we going to do with DMI?” Madeline asked.

“I'm not sure.”

He'd engaged in numerous wars in the name of DMI, some with family members and others with outside foes. None had been simple, but Don was absolutely certain God had wanted him to return from South Africa last year and assume the leadership of DMI. Since then he'd grown to realize that his journey had nothing to do with the leadership of DMI. His role was to help restore the family. Nobody—not Joel, not his mother, definitely not Tamara, and not even Sherry—had made his task pleasant. Yet, for the Lord's sake, he had persevered. Last week it had seemed like he had accomplished the goal and was close to being able to relax. His mother and Tamara were speaking cordially, and Joel had left town. The Mitchell family was basking in a miracle. Needless to say, it was only the eye of a storm, the creepy calm before the second half hit land, threatening to do more damage than the first wave.

Don leaned back in his seat and chuckled louder and louder.

Madeline stared at him. “What's so funny?”

He continued chuckling, unable to stop. Madeline kept staring at him, then squinted. She probably thought he'd lost it. Maybe he had. It wouldn't be a far stretch. Their family could drive anyone batty. Finally, he was able to gain composure.

“Are you going to share the joke with me?” his mother said.

“That's it exactly. This place is a joke. We're like those gerbils running on a treadmill. They're huffing and puffing and getting nowhere. They're in the same spot after running for hours, days, years. In our case it's been decades. Regardless of how silly it looks, the little gerbil is going to keep running, because he doesn't have common sense. But you do,” Don said.

“Well, when you put it like that, I sound like an idiot.”

“No, Mother, you're not the idiot.
I
am, if I continue to stay on the treadmill with you.”

“Don, don't second-guess your commitment. You've done an amazing job. You're the reason we're still in business. You've fought a good fight, and this is only the beginning. You belong here.”

“I don't know how much is left in me.” He glanced at his mother with reverence. “You are the best mother in the world, but you're the toughest to work with.”

She grinned and folded her arms. “I can be tough, but you have to admit, I usually know what it is I want and go for it. And I want this,” she said, slowly spreading her arms out and symbolically encircling the room.

Don pressed his fist against his forehead. “Is this what
I
want?” He sighed. “I have to figure out what God wants me to do at this point.” With so much confusion smothering the place, he didn't know what direction to take DMI in. Whatever he decided, his next move wouldn't be hasty, and it wouldn't be based on emotions or pressure from anyone. He'd take his time and seek God, determined to get it right, or be forced to walk away.