Kathleen O'Reilly - Beyond Daring

Cami was finishing up her second year of medical school at Columbia and never had time off, summers included. Cami was destined for meaningful things.

“I should be. Got the boards to study for, but I needed to talk to you.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets and bit her lip, looking majorly guilty.

“What about?” asked Sheldon, curious about what sort of thing would give Cami a guilt complex. A B- on a test? A parking ticket? Walking past a homeless guy on Tenth Avenue without throwing money in his direction?

“I want to go to the islands this weekend, and I need you to cover for me.”

And no, it wasn’t anything wicked at all. Cami just wanted a break. “Why can’t you tell Mom?”

“Two reasons. One, she’d give me serious grief for skipping out on my studies. And two, Lance. She thinks it’s a ‘rebellious phase’ I’m going through.”

“Lance?”

Cami’s faced turned all dreamy, and she let out one of those long, seventh-grade sighs. “Lance. He’s a drummer in this band.” Cami looked around to see if anyone else was listening. Satisfied that the bird wasn’t going to tell, she continued. “We’re gonna do it, Sheldon.”

“Have sex?”

“Heck, no, we’ve done that hundreds of times. We’re going to go away for a weekend. And I want to skinny dip in the ocean and have sex on the beach and do all those crazy tropical things that normal people are rumored to have done. Have you ever had sex on the beach?”

Actually, Sheldon hadn’t because the beach was her place and her place alone. But Cami looked all goo-goo about the prospect, so Sheldon put on her best “dreamy-flashback” smile. “It’s great. It’s really hot, and you get all sweaty and sticky, but then, just when you think it’s totally yuck, you can dive into the ocean and cool off, the warm waters wrapping around you. Five stars, Cami. Definitely.”

“Oh, I can’t wait. And I bought a new bikini. With strings.”

“You and Lance will have a great time.”

Playfully, Sheldon kicked some sand in Cami’s direction. Sheldon didn’t have any of Cami’s important things to worry about. Yeah, no muss, no guilt. Until the day she was engaged, she was as free as the bird still perched nearby, waiting patiently for crumbs.

Sheldon fished in her pocket and tossed the bird an Altoid’s mint. Not a piece of bread, but he’d have great breath. He flew down and picked up the mint.

Cami shook her head.

“You know, you and Josh should get married in the Caribbean. Barefoot. Maybe some quiet guitar music in the background. What do you think?”

“Yeah, maybe,” answered Sheldon. “Let’s go inside. After all, don’t want to keep Josh waiting.”

THE FORMAL DINING ROOM SEATED forty when necessary. Tonight the table was set for eight, but Sheldon really wished they’d put in the extra leaves so that conversation would be kept to a minimum.

The four extra seats were occupied by the Conrad family: James Conrad, his wife, Marge; their daughter, Jennifer; and the favored son, Josh, Sheldon’s soon to be fiancé.

She picked at her peas and watched Josh from the corner of her eye. He was handsome, with sun-bleached California hair, earnest blue eyes, a dimple in his chin and a mouth that was a hair too wide, but it fit him. Josh was the eternal optimist. For some reason, every time Sheldon laid eyes on him, she wanted to kill him. Not the best start for a marriage.

“Sheldon, how’s your steak, honey?”

Sheldon smiled at her father. “I think I’m going to become a vegetarian. Do you know how they make steak? Cutting up the cows, all that blood—”

Sheldon’s mother held up a perfectly manicured hand. “Not at the dinner table, Sheldon.”

Sheldon blinked vacantly. “Sure, Mom.”

Her mother, ever the peacemaker, turned to Josh. “So, Josh, what’s new and exciting at Con-Mason?”

He speared a piece of meat with his fork, his mouth curved into an even bigger smile than usual. “Sales for the new line of bathroom cleaners are up seventeen percent, and we’ve put some incentives in place for the sales team. Very exciting stuff. I think third quarter growth will surprise everyone—especially the analysts.” Then he took a bite of his steak and chewed. Still smiling.

“Isn’t that nice?” Sheldon’s mother, Cynthia, looked every bit the Hamptons matron. Golden blonde, tanned and still gorgeous. That would be Sheldon in about twenty years, although Cynthia was missing Sheldon’s vacant expression. Her mother actually cared about things.

Then Cynthia turned to her oldest daughter. “Isn’t that nice, Sheldon?”

“Better than nice, Mom.” She looked in Josh’s direction. “Nuclear.”

He met her eyes, smiled, and then went back to his dinner. Oh, yes, theirs would be a match made in heaven.

The dinner conversation followed a well-established order. Gossip, excluding the Summerville and Conrad families, of course. Next up was the polo season. No one at the table played, including Josh, who was a golfer like Sheldon’s dad. However, lack of participation never stopped a heated discussion about how disappointing last season was.

Over dessert, Marge Conrad and Cynthia would launch into a full critique of the fall fashion season, each woman bemoaning her loss of figure. Both were size four.

Scintillating stuff, and after twenty-six years of it, Sheldon knew it all by heart.

After the last of the plates had been cleared away, her father opened a bottle of wine, pouring everyone a glass. Then he moved to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “I have an announcement to make. I think y’all are going to be seeing a new side of Sheldon. Gave me a big surprise when she came to me and talked about expanding her world. Giving back to the community, trying artistic endeavors, taking an interest in New York’s fine array of sports offerings, turning her personal life into something more meaningful. I was tickled pink. And then, she told me about her favorite idea, sticking up for the ‘little man.’” He raised a glass. “To Sheldon, apple of my eye and owner of my heart.”

Sheldon raised her glass, pasting a smile on her face. So Jeff was that confident of his five-point plan that he’d pitched it to her father like a new advertising slogan?

Rage burned inside her, an oddly unfamiliar emotion. She’d be damned if Jeff was going to treat her like dishwashing powder.

Maybe she had a meaningless existence, maybe she was a black hole of humanity, but this time he had pushed her too far. This was a new and improved Sheldon with extra strength for tackling stubborn PR flacks where they lived.

Little did he know it, but Jeff Brooks had just issued a declaration of war.

MERCEDES BROOKS WAS JEFF’S younger sister and partner in crime, usually against Andrew. Then, when they were done with that, they’d turn on each other in that genuine, loving yet exquisitely painful sibling way that had endured since the dawn of time.

If she’d been homely or fat, Jeff might have cut her some slack, but Mercedes had looks. Not model looks, like Sheldon, but she had a unique I-can-kick-your-ass glint in her eyes that seemed to drive guys wild.

Jeff, having been the recipient of said glint more than once, was immune.

Currently, his pain-in-the-butt sister was curled up in his office, hogging his favorite chair, reading the New York Times—not her usual reading material. She pushed her dark hair out of her eyes and continued to bitch. Another one of Mercedes’ finer qualities.

She pointed to the article she was reading and scowled. “I don’t think sex is cheapening America, do you?”

“What?” asked Jeff, the word sex capturing his interest.

“They’re talking about my blog.”