UNREAD Inbox
From: David Andrews
Date: Mon, Nov 17, 2008 at 11:02 AM
Subject: RE: Sleat Proposal
To: Edward MacDonald
Mr. MacDonald,
I must say, I was surprised to find your inquiry in my inbox this morning. I had thought from how we ended our conversation that you and your wife were not interested in our proposal.
That being said, I am delighted to learn the contrary.
Sleat Distillery has a brilliant product and a lovely family history. Diageo has a strong reputation of turning brands like yours into household names and it is my sincerest intent to do the same for Sleat, if you will allow me.
I have attached a preliminary contract that outlines the finer details of our proposal. While Diageo would be the primarily holder of the company, you would be allowed to continue to serve in a managerial capacity, keeping the business in the family operationally.
I will be in Scotland in two weeks and would be thrilled to make the trip to the Isle of Skye if you would like to discuss the contract.
You have a real winner on your hands, Mr. MacDonald.
Sincerely,
David Andrews
VP of European Business Development
Diageo
~O~
Isabella had been dreaming about her grandparents.
It was the first time she had ever dreamt of them as an adult. Flashes of childhood memories sometimes came to her, but in them, she was never over 21, the age they died.
The dream was foggy and as soon as her eyes opened, she forgot it almost entirely.
The three of them had been sitting at a wicker table near a lake. Her grandfather had mentioned an issue his boat was having with starting and her grandmother had been telling her about a new way of making iced tea. They had talked about the new man to join their poker league, how they thought he was nice but a bit odd in the way he played. They had commented on the beautiful sunset.
The dream had been nothing of significance.
Yet it had been everything that made her feel safe.
And then she woke up, tucked into an unfamiliar bed with harsh cleaning chemicals filling her nose and low fluorescent lights assaulting her eyes.
Safety stripped.
She hadn't even realized she was scared until she heard a steady beeping increase and become erratic.
Not feeling any immediate pain, she attempted to take a deep breath through her nose.
The motion drew attention to a dull pain in her abdomen and a sharp ache in her head.
The last thing she remembered was being cold.
So cold.
Too cold.
As she took shallow breaths, experimenting with the pain, she thought harder and remembered a picture of young Edward.
She remembered a period that seemed far too heavy.
She remembered cramping that seemed too strong.
She thought she remembered lips on her forehead.
Moments later, a doctor came into the room.
With a stoic face, Isabella listened silently as she told her what had happened to her.
Only her lip quivered.
She wished she could go back to sleep.
She wished she could close her eyes and be back by the lake with her grandparents.
Back to safety.
~O~
Edward waited until the doctor spoke to her.
He had been in her room when she had started to stir from her medically induced slumber. Whether it was an act of cowardliness or an act of courtesy, he couldn't entirely say, but as she shifted in her sleep, he rose to go and retrieve the doctor before she could wake fully up.
It wasn't his place to tell her.
God, it wasn't his place.
Dr. Williams had the night shift it seemed and was easily paged from the nurse's station. She answered the call quickly and calmly, shrugging into her white coat and sparring only a moment's glance at Emmett, the sole occupant remaining in the waiting room. He was asleep upright in an uncomfortable chair, his hands folded in his lap. He had refused to leave, saying the furniture looked more comfortable than the bed he had at his hotel.
Edward was thankful he hadn't woken up to the footsteps.
While the doctor went into the room, Edward turned into the men's restroom near Isabella's room. He locked the turn behind him with unsteady hands. Bracing his hands on either side of the sink and looking into the mirror, he let out a deep, long breath.
His heart was pounding in his chest, pumping with an unexplained adrenaline.
He took another breath.
Feeling the swollenness around his eyes, he blinked a few times, experimenting with the dry skin before switching on the faucet. Once a stream of cold water was coming out, he dipped his hands under the water and splashed it onto his face, trying to get the dry, puffy feeling out of his face.
After a few moments, he reluctantly turned off the water and grabbed a paper towel to dry his face.
It hadn't helped. Still swollen.
Moving slowly, he crumpled the paper towel up in his hand and placed it carefully into the waste basket before looking back in the mirror. Eyes still puffy, heart still pumping.
He took another breath.
What could he possibly say to her?
~O~
Dr. Williams checked a few of her vitals and made a few notes on her chart but did not linger after it became apparent that Isabella did not have any questions.
In fact, she had closed her eyes and only the absence of footsteps indicated that the doctor had left.
God, she missed her grandparents.
The only parents she had ever had.
If she squeezed her eyes hard enough, maybe she could get back.
It was a futile attempt.
They were gone.
With a reluctant breath and her safety stripped, Isabella opened her eyes.
Leaning against the door frame stood Edward.
His arms were crossed against his chest and his head was resting against the door frame as he studied her, his gaze steady and intent.
"Hey there," he finally breathed in his Scottish brogue, his lips twisting up just so slightly.
Isabella swallowed.
"Hey," she said gently.
Neither of them said anything.
A memory floated into her head: that absurd morning when MacLeod had barged into their house after their wedding, they had fallen into the same bout of silence, induced by a lack of knowledge on how to proceed by both parties.
It was then as it was now, an impossible situation.
Isabella didn't know what to say to him.
She was drained and weak.
And she was a coward.
What could she possibly say to him?
What words could she use to explain?
There was nothing, short of explaining everything.
And if she explained everything, she would have nothing.
After an indistinguishable amount of time, Edward pushed off from the door frame and came near her, his steps slow and easy, as if he was approaching a wounded animal.
Isabella blinked.
At her movement, two tears slipped out of her eyes, tears she hadn't realized were threatening to leak.
Edward gingerly sat down on the side of her bed, just barely perched, taking up no large amount of room.
As he let out a slow breath, he looked at her with such tenderness, such compassion. His lips had a slight upward tilt, but his eyes had a sadness, a sadness born of concern and shared pain.
Looking at his blue eyes and being the recipient of their concern in a way that she hadn't been in years made another tear fall.
"Edward, I-" she swallowed and blinked stubbornly away at the appearance of additional tears.
With a shake of his head, he reached to brush some stray hair back and cup her cheek.
"Rest," he insisted softly. "We have time, aye?"
Isabella met his eyes and the nodded.
"I didn't know…I'm sorry," she breathed, feeling another tear slip out.
At the quiet words, Edward's arms carefully engulfed her.
"Shhh. It's awright, Bella. It's awright."
Though it was undeserved and dishonest, Isabella closed her eyes and had what she needed as he rubbed her back softly.
Safety.
A brief update but a poignant one. More to come soon.
Be well.