Bridget Anderson - The Only One For Me

“Naw, man. I understand. I grew up in a small town myself outside of Indianapolis. I was on my high school basketball team. It was by far the best time of my life. But, those were the good old days,” Terry concluded.

Terry walked down the hall with Chris until they stood at Val’s desk.

“Headed out, Chris?” Val asked.

“I’m going to swing by my folks’ place first, then I’ll be at the Coleman House if anybody’s looking for me.”

“We’ll hold the fort down,” Terry said.

“Do you think you’ll be back in time for the four o’clock conference call?” Val asked.

Chris snapped his fingers. “I forgot all about that.” He turned to Terry. “What are you doing at four o’clock?”

Terry’s eyes widened. “Uh, nothing.”

“Great.” Chris turned to Val. “Terry will sit in for me. Let Craig know.”

“But it’s a director’s meeting!” Terry’s voice rose.

“Good preparation for the increased responsibilities you’ll have here. Just keep me abreast of what’s going on.”

Chris laughed at the startled looks on Terry and Val’s faces. He had a promotion in mind for the both of them, as long as the call center went off without a hitch.

Chris suddenly thought of Corra Coleman. He’d been in town two weeks and he hadn’t seen or spoken to her since his return. Although he’d been extremely busy getting everything functional and assisting Terry in hiring a supervisor and a few call center reps, he should have called Corra the day he arrived. The last time he spoke to her she was recovering nicely from the accident and had no hard feelings toward him. He hoped those emotions hadn’t changed.

Chapter 2

Seven years ago, Chris sold his first business and purchased his parents a modest home on Mitchellsburg Road. The ranch-style home sat on four acres, and was big enough for family barbecues, yet small enough for his mother to get around without much help.

Chris pulled his Cadillac CT6 all the way up to the garage door and killed the engine. Since his return to Danville two weeks ago he’d only visited his parents once, and hadn’t seen his little sister, Pamela, at all. All of that was about to change. Pamela’s car was parked next to his.

Chris climbed out of the car and walked around to the front door. He rang the bell and waited for his father to answer. Instead, Pamela threw the door open.

“Hey, big bro, it’s good to see you.” Pamela stood on her tiptoes to greet Chris with a hug.

Chris squeezed her so hard he lifted her off the ground.

“Chris.” She hit him on the back. “Put me down.”

After a quick kiss on the cheek he planted her feet back on the floor and released her. “Damn, you are skinnier than you were the last time I saw you. What you trying to do, waste away?”

She stepped back and stuck a pose. “I’m not skinny, I’m trim.”

“Oh, yeah. Looks like you’re headed toward an eating disorder to me. You’re not throwing your food up, are you?”

She whacked him good on the arm. “That’s not funny. Eating disorders are a disease.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Come here and give me another hug.”

This time he left her feet on the ground. “I think you felt a little heavier that time,” he said when he released her.

“Boy.” Pamela shoved him and turned away. “Mama’s in the den and Daddy’s out in the garage working on something.”

Chris followed Pamela back into the house. His mother sat on her favorite massage lounger with a throw over her legs, looking as regal as ever. To the naked eye Dakota Williams looked fine. Since Chris was a little boy, pain had been her constant companion. Her invisible illness hadn’t been easy to explain to anyone outside the family. But, after years of suffering, the final diagnosis was fibromyalgia.

“Hey Mom, how you doing?” He bent over and kissed his mother on the forehead before giving her one of his bear hugs. His heart swelled every time he saw his mother.

“I’m fine, baby. And happy to see you.”

“How’s the pain today?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s about a six. That’s why I’m sitting down here watching all these talk shows with Pamela.” She glanced up at Chris. “You know personally I’d rather read a book.”

Pamela crossed her arms. “I thought you wanted to watch The View?”

“I do, honey. The View or whatever that other show was you had me watching a few minutes ago. I tell you, I don’t see how those women have the energy to keep trying to outtalk each other every day.”

Chris chuckled and planted himself on the edge of his mother’s lounger. “If your pain gets up to an eight, you have Pamela help you to bed.”

“Honey, I’m okay. I swear, you worry about me more than I stress about myself.”

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable is all.”

“I couldn’t be more comfortable than in this massager. Thank you again for the chair, it helps so much.”

“I’m glad. The minute I saw it I thought about you.” Chris looked at Pamela who was so engrossed in her talk show he doubted she remembered he was in the room.

“I’m going out to the garage and see what Daddy’s up to.” He gave his mother another kiss on the forehead.

“I hope he’s not working on another table out there. We’ve got enough already.”

Chris walked down the hall lined with family pictures from his childhood to the present. He opened the door to the garage and could hear his father’s radio playing quietly in the corner while he tinkered with another creation. When Chris closed the door, his father turned around.

“How’s everything, Chris? Glad you stopped by. Let me get your opinion on something.”

“Sure, what you up to?” Chris walked over to see what his father was taking apart now. Before Nathaniel Williams’s former employer up and left Danville, he had a very stressful career. Between work and taking care of his wife he needed an outlet, so he took up woodworking. Now Chris’s dad was one of the most sought-after table designers and furniture repairmen in the county. His original and custom pieces had been commissioned from as far away as the Caribbean Islands.

When Chris was young he used to help his dad build things for work, and remodel their home. Once he started playing football, he spent his summers working in construction for extra money. Between the two of them, they could build a house. And that’s exactly what Chris planned on doing.

Chris placed his hand on his father’s shoulder and observed the handcrafted cigar box he worked on. His father was an inch shorter than Chris’s six-two frame, and thinner too.

“Which one of those designs do you like?” Nathaniel asked, pointing to a piece of paper next to the box. “Mr. Richardson up the street commissioned me to create a set of cigar boxes for his boys about to go off to college.”

Chris frowned. “They smoke cigars?”

“I reckon not. He just wanted all of them to have something special from him.”

Chris picked up the paper and read the inscription written in two different fonts. “I like the second one. It’s fancy, but still legible.”

His father took the paper from him. “Perfect. That’s what I hoped you’d say. That’s my choice as well.” With the paper he tapped Chris softly upside his head. “Like I always say, two heads are better than one.”

“Or, great minds think alike. Don’t forget that one,” Chris added.

Nathaniel laughed. “So what brings you by so early? Your day’s not over already, is it?”

Chris walked over and balanced himself on a stool near the radio. “I’m on my way out to the Colemans’ to demo some new software. I had a few minutes to spare so I thought I’d drop by.”