Lovers and Reprisals (Lovers Series) (17 page)

Caleb lifted his hand, and it wasn't until then that she noticed he'd been carrying the iPad.

Flatly, he said...

"It doesn't work.  Stopped on me, right in the middle of my meeting at the Conclave.”

“Conclave?”

Caleb smirked, because this was the first lighthearted thing that had happened to him all day.  He supplied a brief explanation.

“Do you know what role the Vatican plays in connection to the Roman Catholic Church?”

Rachel nodded, then he said...

“The Conclave...  It’s the same thing.  Long story short--the Conclave council finances and oversee charitable projects.  Each commune has their own Conclave.”

He sighed, heavily when he said...,

“That’s where I’ve been the vast majority of the day.”

Rachel wanted to ask specific questions but she really didn’t have to.  Caleb was wound so tight, it was obvious that he’d endured a difficult day.  He said...

“Samaritan’s value spiritual birthrights.” 

He said the words, and he could still hear the council members when they belittled him, using words meant to be diplomatic, civil and courteous.  He felt a tenseness in his neck; veins bulged, suffusing with blood.  He would never understand how he could be considered one of them, while at the same time be reminded that he wasn’t.  He didn’t say this because he knew that Rachel would never understand; because after all these years, for him, the duality was a brain stunner.

Caleb sat the iPad on the counter.  He hated failure, but he felt safe admitting this truth to Rachel.

“The Conclave is going to revoke Ona’s project.”

Rachel’s eyes went wide with shock.  Her words burst forth like misguided rocks pelleting an object.  Her thoughts were all over the place.

“Wait.  What did you say?  Revoked?  But...can they do that? I mean...she will do her project because she’s been working on it.  Surely they have to understand--for goodness sake, she was in an accident--and she almost loss her spleen.  Do they know that?  Are they aware of her injuries--and how far she’s come in her recovery?”

Caleb raised his hand to slow her down.  She was shooting questions at a rate of one per second.

“Rachel...the council knows about my sister.  Remember what happened on the day of her arrival.”

Rachel slowed her breaths, recalling that day.  She’d not been in the hospital, but on her shift, she’d been given the amended version; and it had not been pretty.  She wondered if On was being punished because she’d been cared for in a hospital that wasn’t a Samaritan hospital.  If that was true, that kind of behavior would go against everything she’d learned about this Sect.  They were kind people and she couldn’t imagine them punishing Ona for something that was outside of her hands.

“Rachel...I hate to say this...but it’s over.”

Caleb was stepping away from the nurses station, when Rachel hurriedly said...

“It can’t be over.”

He stared at her with pitiful eyes.

“Look...my sister needs a working plan, in action no later than the end of this week.  And I don’t mean a plan on paper.  I need--singers, artist, a place to house them...”

Caleb scratched his head, messing up his disheveled hair.  He felt so defeated, when he turned to face Rachel, the image elicited an immediate impression.  Seeing him this way; if he would have allowed it, she would wrap her arms around him, embracing him a big bear hug. 

Caleb lifted his head and when he looked at her, he saw her pained expression.  He forced a smile when he said...

“Don’t worry.  Ona will be disappointed but...when she’s well enough, she’ll join me, when we meet our parents in the Congo.”

Rachel shook her head, while saying...

“That won’t be necessary.”

She grinned...

“If that Conclave of yours wants to see a plan in action--then, they won’t have to wait until the end of the week.”

“I don’t understand.”

Caleb stepped closer.  Rachel had come from behind the nurses station and they were standing only a few feet from each other.  She beamed him with one of her knockout smiles when she said...

“While you were off doing your stuff--we’ve been brainstorming here at the hospital.”

Caleb felt a ray of hope.  He stepped so close, that Rachel thought that he just might kiss her.

“What has Ona done?”  he asked.

“She put me in charge of finding people to help get the ball rolling.”

“You know these people--artist, painters, singers...”

She nodded, then she giggled.

“My roommate is one of the most talented musician’s in the city.  She attended Juilliard--and her brother is Judd Marko.”

Caleb could not believe his luck.  All day, he’d felt like he’d failed every member of his family.  He’d been informed by the council to notify his parents, and request them to return.  He’d been told that the only way to save Ona’s project; her parents would have to assume control.  This was impossible because his parents were elbow deep in mud, building a school from the ground up.  The idea of asking his parents to return home because he’d failed; the thought had weakened his stomach, making him feel ill all day.  Now, knowing that there was another solution; Caleb’s behavior leapt back into his past.  He felt like a little boy, recalling the first time he’d rode in his father’s private jet.  He set aside every thread of decorum practiced as a Samaritan.  Caleb lifted Rachel into his arms; he turned, and twirled with her, leaving Rachel with only one choice.  She held on for dear life.

Caleb sealed his lips on the soft warmth of her face.  He kissed her cheek, and this contact jolted him back to the present.  He was thirty years old, unmarried; with no woman on his radar.  He’d accepted his lot, and much of his resolve was that he was a deeply scared and confused man.  But for a few seconds, he’d felt a release; a sense of something other than his Samaritan self.

Caleb lowered Rachel slowly to the floor.  She was laughing, and it was clear that his impetuous behavior had not made her feel uncomfortable. 

Rachel was a little unsteady from the spin.  She grinned, then she said...

“This is going to be so good.  Just leave it to me.  I know a lot of people Caleb.  And my friends--well, they know a lot of people too.  And I feel comfortable saying that they will all want to help.”

Rachel palmed her phone, while she talked.  She was in her element; sending off a group text message.

“Let me see...  I might know of a choir director...”

She was talking to herself, and Caleb knew this because now, she was seated at her desk.  He didn’t know what she was doing, and at this point; he really didn’t care.  Someone was helping him.  This beautiful creature, whose flesh felt like soft velvet.  He stepped away from the desk, because these were feelings that he shouldn’t entertain.  Now, he began noticing her cologne, and the aroma was like a beacon.  What was happening to him.  He couldn’t rightly say, then he imagined, that perhaps the strain of the day had overwrote every other thought; and now, he was finally thinking clearly.  But if that were true--that would mean...  That would mean, that...  Caleb wouldn’t dare finish that thought.

As he neared Ona’s room, he heard voices.  One male voice...and Ona’s voice.  He wondered who she was talking to.  Dr. Norma spoke with an accent and although this person’s diction was precise and possessed a blue blood educated quality; the longer he strained to listen, there was something familiar about this voice

Caleb knocked before entering.  Ona’s expression betrayed her.  She was shocked because she had not expected him to return today but after talking to Rachel, she wanted to share her good news.

“Caleb... You’ll never guess what happened.  Mr. Delors and Rachel have offered to help me carryout my project.  Rachel knows people who are artist and singers and Lucien has been so kind--he wants to house my program in one of his warehouses near the dock.  Isn’t that wonderful?”

Ona was overjoyed and she wanted to share her jubilation with her brother.  She was preparing the words to say, when Rachel dashed into the room, practically tripping over her own feet.  Her lips were preparing to say something when Lucien held up his hand...

“Rachel... Ona was just telling her brother about our discussion.”

“Oh...I...”  This was more than a discussion but for now, Lucien wanted her to remain quiet.  Rachel looked at Caleb and she didn’t know what troubled him most; the flowers or Lucien.

Caleb heard the slow steady countdown in his head; he was fighting for control.  Trying to find his zen to help him deal with this matter.  Before his parents died, Caleb's name had been Troy Sanford.  He recalled the pranks he would play on his nanny and one time, his antics had brought her to tears.  He'd been a spoiled difficult child, and when his adoptive parents had learned about his past, before adopting him; they gave him a name filled with promise.  A name linked to a powerful biblical patriarch in the bible.  Whenever he felt a surge of anger, Caleb would recall the day that two people he'd never met before sat him down in a cold conference room.  They introduced themselves as Zachary and Aldeara Zelle.  Then they continued, explaining that they wanted to remove him from the foster care system, and give him a home.  They told him if he agreed, they would also give him a name that would pave the path leading into his future.  That's where his thoughts were at this very minute.  He was thinking about his parents and the surname that they'd given him.  Within the Samaritan community, the Zelle's were well respected and he didn't want to do anything to stain their image.  Even though his anger had been unleashed, Caleb couldn't allow his emotions to dictate his actions.  He inhaled two deep breaths, then he focused on Ona, while trying to pretend that Lucien Delors didn't exist.  In fact, he tried to imagined that the man wasn't even sharing the same space.

Caleb shifted his stance, directing his focus on Ona.  This was a passive aggressive move; just short of giving Lucien a backside view of his behind.

Caleb said...

"Ona...I’d like to talk to you alone.  Could you please ask your visitor to give us a moment of privacy.”

The word ‘diplomatic’ beamed in his brain but she’d not been fooled by his Machiavellian maneuver.  Ona returned his gaze, and he could see the gears in her wheelhouse turning.  She was trying to figure out what was best in this situation.  Caleb imagined a rat pointlessly struggling to free itself on a glue trap.  He turned, adjusting his focus on the other faces in the room.  In his head, he could hear a repeating chorus; words suggesting that he notify his parents.  He didn’t want to accept that he'd been beat. 

The emotional tone in the room was off the scale and Rachel sensed Caleb’s sour mood.  She also noticed Ona’s pleading eyes; a gaze that was begging her brother to hold it together.  She’d seen this before; siblings could communicate mountains of information without exchanging one word.  By the look of their strained faces, she could see that they were communicating nonverbally.  Even though an exchange was occurring, she stepped in Caleb’s line of sight; blocking out Ona and Lucien.  There was a lot at stake here, and she wanted to say something that would keep everyone on point.

Rachel said...

"Do you remember our conversation?"

This was a risk and she hoped that she would be forgiven.  She didn’t want to throw him under the bus--but she also needed to say something that would stop the bullshit.  Unfortunately, Rachel’s question had a broader stroke than she’d intended and Caleb had not been her only canvas.  A feeling of question had whitewashed Ona and Lucien as well.  Yet, in spite of her daring outburst; her ‘stop the bullshitting’ question had worked.  Caleb looked at his sister recalling how he’d felt before talking to Rachel.  The beautiful nurse had resurrected his hope, and she was the reason he didn’t have to tell his sister about his failures at the Conclave and the possibility of her project funds being revoked.  That had been hours ago, but the disappointment served as a sobering reminder.  He would bend; that’s what he told himself.  He would accept Rachel’s help--but Lucien Delors...  Now that was something he’d need to discuss with Ona--alone.

Caleb spoke in earnest to his sister

"Rachel told me that she and her friends want to help you...”

Ona replied....

“Rachel and Lucien.”

He didn’t like that she’d referred to Lucien, leaving out his surname--but for now, he would let that pass.  However...this issue of Lucien Delors...

Caleb said...

“Ona...if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you alone.”

Ona was harmonious by nature, but she had a stubborn streak that ran a mile long.  He had hoped that being ill, and weakened by the accident; perhaps some of her determination might have mellowed out.  How foolish he’d been to imagine this. 

Ona sat as far forward as her cast would allow.  Her eyes narrowed when she said...

“Caleb...do you have good news for me?  Were you successful in finding artist in the categories that I had listed?”

Long seconds passed, and when he didn’t respond, she said...

“We need them Caleb...and don’t forget; working with people outside of our community is a part of my project.  I cannot complete my project without the aid of artist, writers, singers, musicians and the like.  And Caleb...these good people are offering their help.”