His One and Only Read online

  “And you don’t think that’s what he should be concentrating on?” she guessed.

  Mac didn’t answer, but the troubled look that flickered across his face was all the answer she needed.

  “I’m not sure how well you know Mr. Prescott, but if you can get him to at least consider some adjustment to blindness training, that would help him considerably.”

  This request made her heart sink. She knew Beau better than most, considering she had watched him grow from a boy to a man. But she couldn’t convince him to let her lead him across a room, much less take his blindness training seriously.

  “I’m sorry, but cooking and cleaning is kind of all I’m really equipped to do in this situation.”

  Mac gave her a “fair enough” nod. “In that case, do you usually make food this heavy?”

  Josie, who’d been surviving on soup for the last few months, shook her head. “Not for myself, no. I was just making the same stuff my mama made for Mr. Prescott when he was playing high school football.”

  Mac made a note in his smartphone. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring a cookbook for you. If he’s serious about staying in fighting shape, we need more protein and less carbs and gravy.”

  “Okay, sorry about that,” Josie said. “I’ll just get these plates out of your way.”

  But Mac grinned and said, “No, leave it.” He forked off a piece of biscuit, circled it in the gravy, and popped it into his mouth. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! My wife’s blind, too, so I do most of the cooking for us. That means I haven’t had biscuits and gravy this good in a month of Sundays—they require a woman’s touch, you know.”

  He stated this with such authority that Josie decided not to correct him. Besides, it was a pleasure to see a man about the same age Loretta would have been had cancer not taken her too soon, enjoying one of her mother’s recipes.

  After Mac left the kitchen, she settled on a plan for the rest of the day, deciding to use her mother’s old Friday routine of spot-cleaning every room in the house. However, when she went to clean Beau’s room while he was in another part of the house with Mac, it looked like a bear had gone through it.

  The delicate, decorative bottles on top of the drawer and several houseplants had been knocked over. There were also various baubles scattered about the floor, the victims of a blind man’s attempt to find something.

  What had he been looking for? she wondered. From the state of the room, she doubted he had found it.

  It only took her a few minutes of picking up before she solved the mystery. She found a silver phone with large buttons under the bed and its blinking screen informed her that its owner had missed several calls.

  Josie’s heart broke for Beau as she put the story together. The phone must have fallen (or maybe it had been thrown?) and slid under the bed. And then when it had started ringing, Beau hadn’t been able to figure out where it was well enough to actually reach it.

  Why hadn’t he used the intercom to ask for her help? And what was with him pledging to work out every day but refusing to do anything that helped him navigate his blindness? She held the phone to her chest. Obviously, Beau was in a major state of denial.

  Later on, she caught Mac by himself and pressed the phone into his hands.

  “What’s this?” Mac asked. Then his face lit with recognition. “Oh, you bought him one of those low-vision cell phones! Good idea.”

  Josie shook her head. “No, this is his phone. I found it in his room, but I need you to give it to him and tell him you found it this morning. Act like you’ve been carrying it around with you all day, but you just now realized you had it. ”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Neither did she. Why was she protecting Beau from his own asinine ego when she could have used the found phone to bring him down a peg, make him realize he needed her just as much as she needed this job and she wasn’t completely under his thumb? Maybe it was because at the end of the day, she understood something about keeping up appearances, even when your life was falling apart.

  To Mac, she said, “If you don’t mind, sir, can you just please do that for me? No questions asked?”

  Mac frowned but he must have given Beau the phone, because when she came up the stairs with his tray that night, she heard him having a conversation with somebody on speakerphone from the other side of the closed door.

  “What do you mean I might be out next season?” he was asking.

  A man with a nasally Northern accent answered, “The back up quarterback’s doing a better job than expected. And let’s face it, Beau, you’re getting a little long-in-the-tooth for the game anyway. A lot of QBs your age are thinking about retiring right about now.”

  “We made the playoffs last year,” Beau said. “They didn’t seem to have a problem with my age when we came closer than we ever have before to the big game.”

  “Yeah, but that was before you got hurt, and they’ve got the team doc telling them you most likely won’t ever be able to see again. He says the neurosurgeon he consulted with—”

  “Carol found a neurosurgeon here at the UAB’s Callahan Eye Hospital who studies this kind of vision loss for a living. He told her he’s fixed hundreds of cases like mine, and he wants to meet with me next Friday,” Beau said. “So fuck what that other guy said.”

  “No offense to your assistant, but the team consulted with one of the top neurosurgeons in the field—”

  “Whatever, tell the coaches not to go offering that snot-nosed kid my spot, because I’m keeping in shape, and I’m going to be back on the field by this summer for practice. And also tell them next year we’re going all the way to the Bowl.”

  On the other end of the line, the Northerner said, “I don’t know how long I can get them to hold off on making a decision.”

  “You’re my agent,” Beau said with obvious scorn in his voice. “Do your job and make it happen.”

  “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

  “No, I want you do better than your best, or I’ll be replacing you like I’m replacing that crap neurosurgeon the team’s got in their pocket.”

  Josie guessed he must have hung up after that because the bedroom went completely silent.

  She tentatively knocked on the door.

  No answer, even though she knew he was obviously in there. She switched the tray to her other hand and used her free one to open the door.

  “Hi, it’s me,” she said as she came through, feeling like the worst kind of person because she hadn’t waited for an invitation. But she was supposed to be at Ruth’s House in an hour, and she didn’t have time to lollygag.

  Beau was sitting in the window seat, his phone gripped tightly in his hand. “How long were you at that door eavesdropping?” he asked.

  “I made three-bean chili with sour cream and some Ezekiel bread on the side,” she said, ignoring his question and trying to keep her voice as cheery as possible. She set the silver tray on top of the small table she had brought in from another room earlier so he wouldn’t have to fumble around trying to eat on the bed.

  His head was turned toward her voice, and she could see his body was just about vibrating with anger. She wondered if it was because of the call or because, as he rightly suspected, she’d overheard it.

  “I see you got your phone out,” she said, trying for a subject change. “When I come back to collect your dishes, we can program my number into it. That way if anything comes up tonight you can text me.” She realized too late that he’d have a hard time texting her. “Or call me. You can call me if anything comes up.”

  Finally he spoke. “Why would I need to call you on the phone when I have the intercom?”

  “Well, it’s Friday, and I have the night off, so if you need something, you’re going to have to call me about it.”

  And though his beard and sunglasses did a lot to obscure his face, she could see his expression grow even colder. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  Josie grinded her teeth. “With all due respect, Mr
. Prescott, that’s none of your business. But just in case your mama didn’t let you know about my schedule, I’ll be in the house most nights, except for Friday and Saturday and Sunday morning, which I get off, just like Mama did.”

  “So you’re planning on going out tomorrow, too?” he asked.

  “Yes, I am,” she said, “I’ve got plans for all my Friday and Saturday nights, sir.”

  She’d hoped the deferential “sir” might end this line of conversation, but there was open hostility in Beau’s voice when he said, “Barely divorced, just moved back to Alabama, and you’ve already met somebody new?”

  She didn’t answer, but apparently her silence was answer enough for him.

  He shook his head. “Should’ve known. Same old Josie, love ‘em and leave ‘em with a trail of wrecked hearts behind you. I guess that ex-husband of yours never stood a chance. Tell this new guy good luck.”

  Josie’s brain just about exploded with righteous indignation. He thought she was the love ‘em and leave ‘em type? He had no idea what she had endured while he was working his way through a considerable number of groupies if the tabloids were to be believed. He didn’t know her! He didn’t know her life! He didn’t—

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She couldn’t answer Beau’s accusation with any of the retorts that were primed on the tip of her tongue without risking her job, she reminded herself.

  “I’ll just be going now,” she said in as pleasant a tone as she could manage. Heat, electricity, hot water, she chanted in her head as she left the room.

  And she would have kept on chanting it, but just as she got to the stairs, she heard a crash.

  She came running back to the room, thinking Beau had fallen trying to get around by himself. But when she re-entered, she found him sitting at a now empty table, and the tray of food she’d made flipped over on the floor.

  “What happened?” she asked him.

  “Clean it up,” he said between clenched teeth. “And bring me some more.”

  Josie looked at the scene in horror. There was chili and sour cream all over the carpet. She’d have to drag out the steam cleaner if she didn’t want it to stain or smell like milk gone bad in here.

  He must have taken her horrified silence for defiance, because he bit out again, “If you want to keep this job, clean it up.”

  A chill ran down her back as a vision of Wayne pouring a glass of expired orange juice onto the kitchen floor, right in front of her feet, came back to her.

  “I work hard every day to put food on our table and keep this roof over our heads and this is how you repay me? Clean it up. Every drop, you ungrateful bitch!”

  Josie bit her lip and bent down to pick up as much of the scattered food as she could with the cloth napkin Beau had also thrown on the ground.

  She was going to be late for her Ruth’s House shift now. And Beau just sat there, like a king on his throne, while she cleaned up his mess.

  She bit her lip harder. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, she told herself, even as tears pooled in her eyes.

  It wasn’t really about the mess. She didn’t care about that. It was the fact that Beau had obviously done it on purpose. Wayne had done the exact same thing, purposefully creating messes whenever something wasn’t up to his standards, standards he seemed to change every other week to keep Josie on her toes.

  She could barely make her fingers work, she was shaking so hard with anger, but somehow she was able to get most of the mess cleared away with the napkin and a towel from Beau’s bathroom. Then she went back downstairs, ladled out more chili for him, and brought it back upstairs.

  But when she came back in with the unwieldy steam cleaner and started it up, he said, “I don’t want to hear that while I’m eating. You can wait until after I’m done.”

  Josie looked at the antique brass clock on the wall. She was supposed to be arriving for her shift at Ruth’s House in less than 15 minutes. But from the leisurely way Beau was spooning the chili into his mouth, she knew there was no way she’d make it within even a half hour of that.

  She called Sam from outside his door. “Hi, Sam, it’s me.”

  “Hey, girl,” Sam said. “Please tell me you’re on your way. The Crimson Tide lost and girl, why, why, why?”

  Josie immediately understood what Sam was trying to say. The Crimson Tide was the nickname for the University of Alabama’s football team, and it was a well-documented fact that domestic violence incidents went up whenever a popular local team lost. Her thoughts turned instantly to the Crimson Tide alum who was currently making her life hell and expelled a frustrated breath. “I’m stuck at work. I’m sorry. But I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “No, I know you’ve got to make your money, honey. Take your time.”

  “Believe me, I wish I was there with you instead.”

  “Don’t worry, all the domestic violence victims will still be here waiting for you,” Sam said with a laugh. “Now go on, take care of your business. I love you, sweetie.”

  “I love you, too.”

  She hung up with a sigh. Then she waited for her Beau to finish his dinner, her heart burning with anger.

  CHAPTER 6

  ON SATURDAY JOSIE SPENT MOST OF HER LUNCH HOUR on the desktop in the Prescott’s wood-paneled study, looking up new grants for Ruth’s House and researching her education options. She decided returning to UAB would be her best bet. She only needed one more packed semester worth of college credits to finish her bachelor’s and improve her chances of never, ever having to work as the Prescott housekeeper again. But even if she saved every penny she made over the next few months, it still wouldn’t be enough to pay for her remaining credits and the trailer’s utilities.

  College, as it turned out, was prohibitively expensive when you weren’t a bright, shiny, straight-A honor student with all the potential in the world. There weren’t nearly as many scholarships available to a grown woman who had wasted her twenties on a bad marriage.

  But when her lunch hour had come and gone, and she still hadn’t figured out how to raise enough money to return to UAB any time in the near future, she decided to clear her mind with a trip to the grocery store to pick up healthier food options based on the recipes in the book Mac had given her that morning.

  Gordon’s was still the only grocery store in the affluent suburb. It had been there under the same ownership as long as Josie could remember and it still conducted business the old-fashioned way. The Prescotts had an account there, so there was no need to use the credit card Mrs. Prescott had authorized her accountant mail to Josie for household expenses. But it also didn’t carry all of the healthy staples on her list, which meant some guesswork on Josie’s part.

  She was trying to decide if green onions were an acceptable substitute for leeks, when someone behind her said, “Josie? Josie Witherspoon? Is that you?!”

  Even after all these years, she recognized the strawberry bubblegum voice. She tossed the green onions back, and rapidly pushed her cart towards another part of the store in the hopes that the woman would decide it was a case of mistaken identity. But sure enough, she heard the click-click of running heels behind her and before she could clear the corner, her pursuer had caught up with her.

  “It is you!” Mindy cried triumphantly, stepping in front of Josie’s grocery cart.

  “I was just buying some champagne and I saw you over here and I said to myself, ‘Is that Josie Witherspoon? No, it couldn’t be!’ But it’s you! Josie Witherspoon, as I live and breathe… you’ve even got the same glasses!”

  Josie touched the frames of the old cat-eyes Beau had brought her. She’d worn contacts when she’d been married to Wayne, but contacts cost money, so when her dailies finally ran out, it was back to the same glasses she’d had before meeting her “Prince Charming”.

  “Cat-eyes never seem to go out of style,” she said, trying to sell it.

  Mindy batted her pretty blue eyes. “Oh, I wouldn’t know about that. My e
yesight’s still twenty-twenty.”

  Of course it was. “Well, it was nice seeing you, Mindy,” she said, trying to work her cart around the petite blond.

  But Mindy sidestepped her, saying, “You can’t go yet! We haven’t caught up. I’m assuming you’re back in town because you’re taking care of the Prescotts like your mama did?”

  How Josie wanted to tell her that wasn’t the case, but it was, so… “You guessed it.”

  Mindy clapped her hands like she’d won something. “So it’s true, then? Beau is really back in Forest Brook, recovering from his football injury? Eliza Hill said she saw a limo driving onto the Prescott estate. And everybody knows Kitty only uses Nolan’s town car service on the rare occasion she’s in town these days. But back to Beau—they said he was blind on SportsCenter. Is that right?”

  “I can’t really say… ”

  “Of course you can’t,” Mindy said in a sympathetic tone. Then she leaned closer and half-whispered, “I heard from Chelsea Mannis, who heard from Darryl Winters, that Beau made all his people sign confidentiality agreements, so no one can say anything, which is why no one’s really sure if he’s blind or not. But that NFL Scandals site says he’s only been seen in sunglasses since his accident and that the Suns should be announcing they’re dropping him any day now.”

  Josie was impressed. For someone who didn’t seem terribly bright, Mindy had managed to dig up more dirt on Beau than Josie had, and she was living with him.

  “Just tell me this,” Mindy said, edging even closer. “Does he still have those dreamy silver eyes of his or are they all bloodshot and gross now?”

  Josie was not only offended on behalf of any visually impaired person who didn’t have what Mindy would deem as acceptable eyes, but also a little stymied because she really had no idea how to answer that question. Beau kept his sunglasses on at all times, maybe even when he was sleeping, and she hadn’t seen his eyes in real life… well, since her mother’s funeral.