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.