Chapter 12

I cannot believe I was the cause of those poor otters deaths. I am inconsolable, despite Taylor and Christian assuring me that the fire had nothing to do with me making breakfast, using the oven. They say it had to do with the cracked gas lines and earthquakes and several other things. But how can I believe them? They'd both lie to me in a heartbeat – I'm not a complete idiot. I don't know how to run from the pain so I sit in my room on the floor, arms wrapping my knees and rocking while I cry. Christian's response to this in the first half hour after he arrived was to tell me to stop being dramatic, to grow up, toughen up, and quit being a baby. Then he asked if we could continue where we left off before the fire. I think it was Sawyer and Ryan who threw him out for me. But I'm pretty sure Taylor helped.

There's only one person who grasps my pain. I call him. My Dad has suffered through animal injury and death with me for as long as I can remember. He understands my horror and wisely lets go (At least for now, my Conscience says pointedly.) the fact that I was away with Christian, and soothes my injured soul with a few quiet words of love and understanding. And it does help.

Needless to say, when Kate arrives back at our apartment, stopping in to get a change of clothes as she was planning to spend the night with Elliot again, she's stunned to find me home. Her clue was Sawyer and Ryan sitting in the living room, I guess. She knows me and also knows that I will spiral into depression over what has happened. Kate to the rescue … it's a perfect summer day and the beach calls us – along with a lot of alcohol and bratwurst and marshmallows over a driftwood fire. She calls Elliot who suggests the Alki Beach. Kate, ever the organizer and popular social creature, sends out a few texts and reports the party is on. Sawyer scrambles to get security in place, I find out later, but never said a negative word to her as I was such a mess and he didn't know if anything less than sun and sand and seagulls would make me stop crying. (That and the happy smokes Kate didn't think he saw her packing up.)

Still bawling and squalling quietly, I watch as she packs up bags and boxes, makes Sawyer and Ryan carry them out to a gigantic truck that Elliot pulls up in, then Elliot carries me out and dumps me in the back seat of the cab. Now I know he and Christian are related, they're both overbearing over-muscled pretty boys who don't know when to keep their hands to themselves. I just hate to think what it must have been like in their house growing up that they got to be this way. Carrick must have been a monster to Grace right in front of them.

Still … the Super Friends have all responded and I can get an update on what happened with Bitch Troll.

Oh God, those poor otters …!

Grace's Point of View

I am in the middle of a Medical Records Meeting when I get a page from Elliot. Normally I only respond to anything that involves a patient in the ER who requires my specialty of pediatrics or one of my own patients in the Pediatrics Unit who has gone into crisis. It is unprofessional and discourteous to use a cellphone in a meeting, even outrageously boring and useless ones like this, much less texting. I set an example for the young people here at the University of Washington Medical Center - both degreed and otherwise, from how to dress appropriately to such obvious functions as meeting etiquette.

Elliot has texted me that his Kate just found Anastasia at home crying and Christian isn't in sight. He's assured me that he and Kate will take care of that outstanding young woman, but he's leaving his little "fuckhead bro" to me.

First, I don't approve of the "fuckhead bro" designation. But given the circumstances as I have no doubt that Kate – who is quite the Type A personality – is snarling and snapping, I have no doubt my Elliot is stressed. So I will forgive him this time. But I will also have Carrick let him know this is not an appropriate manner of communication from son to mother. My husband is so good with our children.

I do, though, consider this an emergency. I excuse myself to the moderator of the meeting, then the other attendees, take my briefcase and leave. As soon as I am out in the town car and my driver is heading for the nearest Starbucks for my triple shot mocha latte extra dark, I call Christian. It rings four times and I hope this is because he is on the other line making up with Anastasia. If he is ignoring my call I will rain down on his ass like shit on green grass.

Luckily for my middle child, he answers on the fifth ring. "Mom?"

Oh, I love that word. Mom. He tried to call me "Grace" when he was fifteen – that stopped after the second time, believe you me. He has spent the last half dozen years trying to ignore his family's very existence due to his emotional problems. But one night with Anastasia and I had my son back. Or maybe it was for the very first time.

You could have amputated one of my limbs without anesthesia when I went to his penthouse to check on him – always an irritant but a mother must check on her children whether they want me there or not – and out from his bedroom comes this lovely brunette with big blue eyes, an adorable svelte figure, and Christian all but does backflips around her as he introduces her, pretending to be all cool and collected. Anastasia Steele. She looked petrified of meeting his mother, but Christian was beside himself obviously wanting me to like her.

The last time he'd acted anything remotely like that was when he wanted to hold Mia after I brought her home from the hospital. I honestly think he was afraid that we'd take her back or something. But he clicked when he saw his little sister … and he obviously clicked when he saw Ana.

Now, I put on my disapproving voice. "Why did Elliot just tell me Ana is in her apartment crying? I thought the two of you were going away for the weekend?" I spoke briefly to him on Friday evening after two dozen people informed me of the car accident and I saw the incident on the TV news. Carrick was behind on the news, as was Mia and Elliot. They all three called me as soon as they heard; then half a hundred other 'close' family and friends called me as soon as they also found out. But I spoke with him, was reassured by Christian that he and Ana were both fine and were going to proceed with their romantic weekend.

Christian explained everything that had happened. I am an organized physician. That is what I consider myself. Doctor first. Woman second. There are, of course, times of exception. I finished my jumbo latte and am almost home when he finishes by explaining how he can't understand why Anastasia is so upset about some mongrel otters and his wanting to continue their weekend (like I didn't guess what my son had actually asked that poor girl to continue with) that he ended up removed from her apartment. I wait for him to get in an outraged breath, and then begin laying the groundwork for trying, yet again in my endless battle to make my second child have some grain of empathy for another human being, to make him see that he has fucked up a good thing once again. Just like all those excellent private schools we sent him to as a child. "Christian. Darling boy. You did get that list I sent you about romantic getaway ideas?"

"Sure, Mom. Thank you."

"Yet you chose a local Bed & Breakfast a half hour by public ferry away from home?"

"Well. Yeah. But I don't think Anastasia's got a Passport." That's his lame excuse.

"You didn't ask. And might I remind you that Canada, with its need for a Passport these days, is only a few hours away; so it's not impossible she has one."

"I didn't think about that," my genius son admits.

"So let me clarify. After she was in this terrible car accident which required the Jaws of Life to extricate her from, you then took Anastasia – without full medical evaluation – to this place that cost less than the shoes you wore to work?" I am going to have Carrick call him as soon as I am done. I understand that this is Christian's first attempts at romance, but he is obviously a little "special needs" when it comes to what to do here. I can't afford Anastasia Steele disappearing from my precious boy's life because he's too stupid to know how to perform surgery … so to speak.

"Mom, she said she loved the place. I've already made arrangements to buy it from the owners. I'll have Elliot build a new place for us."

He was whining. I hate when my children whine. It is unbecoming and demeaning to both themselves and whoever they are in conversation. "And then you dismissed the staff from this facility?"

"Well. Yes. I wanted time alone with Anastasia."

"And she made supper. For you both and your security team?" I get out of the town car as the driver opens the back door. Our housekeeper opens the front door and I hand her the empty coffee container and my briefcase goes to the butler, Scottsdale. It is pleasant out so I head for the pool house to change into a swimsuit. I can work on my light tan whilst trying to educate my son. Boy is it obvious he dropped out of university.

"It was delicious, Mom. She can really cook," Christian offers enthusiastically.

Just what any mother of a billionaire wants to hear. His future wife can cook. There's a skill she'll need when it comes time to have the President of the United States for dinner. Maybe he expects her to clean their house as well? Oh no! "Christian, exactly who did you expect to make the bed this morning?"

There's silence as he thinks about this. Through my cellphone I can hear the shoe drop for him. If Carrick had expected me to make the bed, or cook meals, when he was trying to convince me he was worthy of me … well, maybe I'd be married to Donald Trump now. I understand he's on his fourth wife or so. That wouldn't have happened if I'd said yes to him, believe you me.

But I'm digressing. My son the idiot still hasn't quite gotten the entire picture. I summarize before hitting the last point home. "So after nearly getting her killed, taking her sans doctoral level medical treatment to a local B&B – which was unsound enough in structure that it blew up, expecting her to cook and keep house for you and your behemoth staff, when she gets upset at her second near death experience in less than 24 hours and returns home … don't interrupt me, young man!" I heard him drawing in breath to get a word in.

"Sorry, Mom," he mumbles.

I am so having his father talk with Christian. "You follow her back to her home and demand sex?" And I am not stupid. I can just about guess what act Christian expected Ana to perform – same as every other man in a hot bother.

"I didn't say that," he whines, sounding embarrassed, pissed off, and – finally! – guilty.

"Christian, you didn't have to. What kind of gifts did you give her before the house exploded?"

Silence.

"All right. You didn't have time for that. But surely you gave her something after you arrived at her apartment."

Silence.

"Christian. You are a billionaire. Are you telling me you treated Anastasia like a cheap street hooker?" I have treated young people in the ER that have claimed something akin to that description. I doubt Christian has ever come in contact with such. But I am guessing he will get my drift.

More silence.

"Christian, you, Elliot and Mia never once saw your father come home on a Friday evening with anything less than flowers and a jewelry case for me. Never." The few times he forgot in the early years of our marriage I left him and went to Europe – I was less professionally responsible in those days. "Did you have flowers at the vacation house for her, or did you expect her to pick her own from this vegetable and herb garden where she had to get dirt under her fingernails to pick out the ingredients to make you food?" I'll bet Ana did put together a nice display for the dinner table – both Christian and hers, and the help. You can tell just from a few minutes with her that she is a young lady who strives to make a good presentation no matter what.

"N-no."

I sigh. Sheryl brings me a mint julep. I sip it, waiting. After a few minutes of silence, I tell him the same thing I told Carrick when he failed to treat me as the princess my parents raised. "I expect Anastasia would have been treated better by one of your mailroom boys who make minimum wage. Goodbye, Christian." And I push the End button.

Carrick arrives from his golf game with a pair of tickets for the Symphony tonight – a lovely surprise and very good reason to get out of attending Diana Gurshain's party tonight. I tell him about Christian's transgressions and he calls the boy and tells him to come over to the house immediately for a talk. I know Carrick will explain to Christian both how to treat his mother and his Anastasia.

Carrick's Point of View

My second son is a fuck up from the start. All right, that's harsh. But it's true. He had a bad start in life, terrible, but he also was given every chance to overcome that beginning from the moment Grace picked him up and brought him home. I had to move heaven and earth to get him adopted, and believe me to get it done in a few months instead of a year took a lot of effort. But there is no extent or extreme that I will not go to for my Grace. Of course I fell in love with the boy, who wouldn't?, but that still doesn't mean he wasn't a fuck up. My point is, we gave him an advantaged life that less than 1 percent of the population in the USofA has ever dreamed of experiencing. And in return he has done nothing but embarrass and humiliate and irritate and infuriate both Grace and myself.

I wasn't disturbed overly by Christian's distance since he abruptly dropped out of Harvard. Never mind that I had to pay a fortune to get him in. His grades may have improved his last two years of preparatory school, but Harvard wasn't the type to let someone in with his juvenile delinquent history … unless I paid for a fucking new basketball court and ten lifetime scholarships. So what does the little son of a bitch do? He drops out. Terrific. Grace had hysterics and I had to pass some important work off to my partners to take her on an Alaskan cruise until the crisis passed.

I'm proud of his business that he's developed since then. He does a good bit of charity and philanthropic work, but I also have seen firsthand how he treats his employees. Nothing to be impressed with there. He certainly didn't get his overbearing, priggish, insulting, cold and bastardly attitude from Grace or me. Still, at least he's stuck with it and made something of himself. Didn't think he had it in him.

So things were going along just fine these last few years. Christian and I had lunch at my club once a month, he had lunch with Grace's father once a month, lunch with Elliot once a month, and Mia the last. Then he came to dinner at the house with the family once a month. Grace went to check on him and typically had breakfast with him twice a month, whatever days she could manage with her beastly schedule. He came to the evening functions I informed him he must attend, stayed for as little amount of time as possibly, typically less than half an hour, and that was it. I'll say one thing, we hadn't had any knock down drag out fights like in the old days before he finally got independent.

Then Grace comes home and says he's met a girl. Shocked the piss out of me. I thought the boy was firmly homosexual. Guess he swings both sides. I met her briefly here at the house, then he managed to fuck it up, so I never thought much about it further. Well, until Elliot let me know on the QT that he was trying to make back up with her. I just took it for the ten cents it was worth and kept on walking.

And now he's fucked up yet again, same girl, and Grace is in a tizzy. Thank Christ I had those symphony tickets for tonight. Grace upset without something to focus away from the issue is not a pleasant situation. First off, she cries. My beautiful Grace crying nearly breaks my heart. Then she pouts. At that point I feel my balls swell, tighten and lift and I want her. But I'm not getting shit until she's at least halfway happy again. The woman screws like a power drill and I am one happy husband because of it. So my job in this life is to make her happy – at least enough so I can do all the things to her my golf partners are busy doing with their mistresses. Thank Sweet Jesus that she does yoga because otherwise some of these young ladies Chuck, Daniel and Sebastian are doing would be able to out-flex her and then I'd no longer have bragging rights.

So here he sits in my study. He's a good looking boy, that red hair and grey eyes, good bone structure, tall, keeps himself fit from what Elliot says, and certainly maintains excellent hygiene and grooming. But he's cold. Deep down inside he's just a scared kid, abused and ready to strike out at anyone or anything that could try to hurt him again. Sympathy? Not from me. I paid for the best, and I mean very best, psychologists and psychiatrists in this country and Canada. I think there were a few from Mexico I flew in as well. After the tenth one, who's counting? Grace and I gave him every advantage. Yet here he sits, too stupid to know how to hook a poor girl.

I point to where I have a laptop set up and he dutifully moves to it. He looks depressed and a little shaken. Good. Whatever Grace told him may have sunk in. Still, I have to take some responsibility here and mend some bridges. I took the boy on as my child, learned to love him and still do today – because the heart is determined to have what it wants – and if there's a possibility of grandchildren in this I'm willing to go all out. Anastasia isn't one of those tall leggy supermodels, so I'm guessing she'll breed like a mother hen. So I start out, "Christian, I consider this trouble you're in to be my fault." He gapes at me. Good. Little prick made me look like that when he scrambled the face of the preacher's son when he was eight goddamn years old. "I never took the time to sit down with you and explain how to treat someone you love. And now your mother tells me you're in this mess and need some help."

He nods, that miserable look back. The boy made that little girl cook for him and his security detail. What a fuck up. Grace plays in the kitchen twice a year and it's always carefully rehearsed and practiced. Believe me, I've eaten everything she's ever tried to pass a hand over – burnt, ruined, tasteless or so spiced you need medical intervention afterwards – she's fucking hot in bed and that's why I married her. Not so I could ask her to make me a snack at two in the morning or impress the partners at the office with Beef Wellington or Baked Alaska.

"You think holding onto a woman with beauty, brains and smoldering sensuality is easy? Well, I guess you're finding out its not. So start typing. Then memorize what I'm telling you. Its how I managed to get and hold onto your mother." I sit down, light up a cigar Grace pretends she doesn't know I have on occasion. I figure I've got an hour to spare on Christian, then I need to get ready for the symphony. Grace will be satisfied with my efforts here and I'll probably get a blowjob in the drive to the theatre. A few drinks in her after a late dinner at the best restaurant in town, those ruby earrings I've got in the safe just waiting for a special occasion or crisis like today, and I'll have my hard cock in her sweet ass before the sun rises tomorrow morning. Jesus, I'm getting hot and hard just thinking of it! I blow out a breath, focus, and start with the 'How To' guide my fuck up of a second son can't seem to look up online and follow.

THE LAWS OF KEEPING A WOMAN

1) Never take a woman for granted or neglect her. The moment you do, she'll start scanning the field and you won't know it.

2) Do not cheat on her, or cheat her. A woman's revenge could be emotionally lethal.

3) Do not boss her around, push her to do anything she doesn't want to do, or force her to give you ANYTHING.

4) Do not expect her to wait on you hand and foot. She will take your foot and put it in your hand.

5) Be appreciative for all she does for you and show her appreciation for being in YOUR life. When you start acting like she should be happy she is in YOUR life, she will go out to prove you otherwise.

6) Never lay a hand on her, unless it is to caress her.

7) Never make her second to anything. This is the biggest mistake any man can do.

8) Don't ever disrespect her or her family, even if she complains about them. It is OK for her to do it, but never for you. Remember this.

9) Always GIVE more than you take from her to stay a man in her eyes. When a woman has to support you, in her mind, you are her bitch.

10) Never treat a woman like a man, or she will treat you like a woman.

11) Be truthful to her always — even if it hurts. A woman respects a man of Truth and men that lie repeatedly will never be taken seriously — only playfully.

12) Women are like cats. Even when they play stupid, their radars are always perceptive and receptive to all that is happening around them. Do not play around your woman, or she will play you in the end.

13) Never be afraid to show a woman your emotions. Do not expect her to know how you feel if you don't reveal anything. Never hold back on love. When a woman feels something is missing, or that you are not in the relationship 100%, she will seek a more complete love elsewhere. Believe it.

14) Support your woman's dreams as if you were her number one fan and you will always be her number one man.

15) Push a woman to fulfill her passions, and she will always be passionate about you. Stay in tune with the developments of her hobbies and projects, and she will be in tune with you. Even if she loves designing tiny hats for squirrels, what you should love is the excitement from her eyes whenever you see her doing what she loves.

16) Treat your woman as if she were your precious daughter, more than you treat her as your mother — even if she is older than you. Women are like kittens. They love your attention, affection, pampering, to be spoiled, and really enjoy being showed and told new things. Remember, women will always have more options than men. They will only stay with the one who treats them best.

17) A woman typically gives a man two chances for serious error. If he messes up more than twice, it is highly unlikely there will be a third. After the second slip-up, she already sees you as a different person.

18) Always trust a woman's intuition and never take her mind for that of a fool. If she tells you something, but then you have to go and ask for someone else's opinion in front of her, if she was right she will never let it go. She will start taking you for the idiot. All it takes is once.

19) The same way the Sun is the lamp of the universe, your woman should always be treated as the lamp of your life.

20) Do not ever put her down in front of your friends or family. This will only make her despise your family and friends, and she won't forget to return the favor.

21) If she loves her family, try to love them as if they were yours too. She will love you more for sincerely trying.

22) If you end up with a first-rate woman, never treat her less than first-rate. She will leave you for a first-rate man once you do.

23) Never give your woman third-rate gifts (junk, used, discounted, as is, tacky). If you can't afford to get her something first-rate, make her something from your heart, or wait until you have enough money to get her a first-rate gift. A woman would rather be given nice gifts, rather than a bunch of junky gifts. It shows her how you see her. Believe it.

24) Never let your woman stand alone when she is being opposed. Always stand by her in the presence of opposition, and when you are in private then you can tell her your real thoughts on a situation. She will love you for not exposing her out in the open. Always stand by your woman. Always! However, if she is someone who always does people wrong, then she is wrong for you. If she is good and she is the one being wronged, if you sit down or do nothing, she will be gone. Women do not like weak men. Those women that tolerate weak men are very weak women.

Treat your relationship as if you are growing the most beautiful sacred flower. Keep watering it, tend to the roots, and always make sure the petals are full of color and are never curling. Once you neglect your plant, it will die, as will your relationship. If your woman has left you heartbroken, then know it is most likely due to you violating at least one of the above. If you violated more than two, then know you had a very good woman. (By Suzy Kassem)

I check my watch. Wish my son good luck. He gets the hint he needs to leave, stands and shakes my hand. It's a good firm shake and I nod approvingly, give him a steady look. "Your mother and I wouldn't mind some grandchildren," I tell him. In other words, It's the oldest trick in the book, boy. Get her pregnant then slip the ring on.

"I'm trying, Dad."

E gads. He hasn't called me that in such a normal way in ten years. Maybe he is in love.

But he's still a fuck up.