March 10

“When they arrived at the village of El Calvario, Dr. Miller was greeted by a slew of smiling faces.” The voice of the journalist rang warm with admiration. “Dr. Miller's campaign to bring internet to the struggling village, long subject to the stagnation brought on by the manacles of the heroin trade, gained him international recognition.

“Dr. Miller believes that, as people gain access to more information and to healthier cultures from around the globe, they will rise up and refuse the sickness involved in so much of the culture fed by drug trafficking – and all the evils that accompany it, such as weapons, human, and sex trafficking. As vice president and CEO of ProtoComm, the world's second largest communications company, Dr. Miller is in a unique position to offer the infrastructure necessary to set up communications in such a remote location. And as one of the foremost experts on management and negotiation, Dr. Miller had no problem utilizing the necessary techniques to prevent interference by the local drug lords. As he has proven time and again, Dr. Miller can work magic where few others can.”

Sighing noiselessly, Felicity clicked off the television, internally rolling her eyes at the usual fawning over her husband and his pats on his own back. Such benevolence, such brilliance, such success! She stood to her feet, politely declining the offers to help with cleanup – Brendon would be horrified if his coworkers thought he considered such menial tasks as cleaning.

“No, Janice. It’s fine,” Brendon assured. “The help will take care of that.”

Felicity snickered to herself. “The help” was herself and Briel, neither of whom was paid for cleaning. Not that Brendon would care if he gave a completely different impression. Gotta maintain the proper image, Felicity sighed. Before the party, Felicity and Alex had spent the whole day trying to get the house in order while Brendon ran off to whatever ”business” appointments he deemed indispensable on a weekend. Now Felicity and Briel would clean up after while Brendon engaged in his “necessary” hours of sleep, whatever he determined that to be on a given day. Well, the alternative was the house stayed littered with leftovers, so Felicity would do it and not complain. She had gotten over that in the first couple of years of marriage when she realized that complaining just brought rage.

“You look lovely as always, Felicity,” Jack Buckley interrupted her thoughts, oozing his customary signoff with Felicity. The words of the executive VP never played as a compliment in Felicity’s mind – more like an observation to an end. Even if she had not suspected Jack of questionable activities, she would have read the words and the body language as suspect.

Still, as he leaned to grip her elbow and place a kiss on her cheek, she did not recoil. Brendon dismissed her suspicions of Jack, and the VP was to be shown the respect his office deserved. I’d rather show the man the respect he deserves, Felicity reasoned as she plastered her fakest smile across her face until the last of the guests had made their exits.

“I don't understand why they say things like that,” Brendon Miller was insisting as he accompanied several of the ladies, associates or their wives, to their cars. “I just do what makes sense.”

A few deep voices replied, and the collective of men broke into a rumble of laughter before dispersing to their wives with waves and adieus.

“The kids are asleep, Felicity,” came the voice of Briel Cortes, the young au pair Brendon had hired a couple of weeks before. At first Felicity had balked at yet another extravagance, but she had grown attached very quickly. Besides the pleasure of having someone to talk to on occasion, Felicity could not process how much more mental space she had now that she wasn’t solely responsible for the physical and emotional needs of three children – sometimes, literally keeping them alive. She could not have predicted the difficulty of motherhood, and she could also not have known the relief that would accompany an extra set of hands. Certainly, Brendon had never really provided that assistance. Now he could just pay so that he didn’t have to feel guilty about it.

“You don’t have to clean, Briel.” Felicity suddenly became aware of the clattering of dishes. As she glanced around the room, she realized that most of the dishes had been moved off the coffee table and to the sink.

“No, but I like to be helpful.”

Felicity smiled gratefully, but then her eyes were pulled back to the door by the rumble of conversation just beyond the threshold. At the door stood Jack with her husband, and Felicity found herself glaring at the unctuous VP of her husband’s company.

“Are you okay?” came Briel’s voice from beside Felicity, the young woman gliding into the adjacent space and joining Felicity in staring at the two men.

Breaking her eyes away, Felicity sighed a smile and turned to take the saucer out of Briel’s hand.

“I’m fine,” she insisted as she moved to grab some stray silverware from a sidetable.

“That man looks…interesting,” Briel prompted.

“Ha. Yes, that is one word,” Felicity nodded, pursing her lips. “There have been things Brendon said over the years. A little accountant went missing a couple of years back; Brendon had told me a few days before that Jack had blown up in a meeting over accusations made by the man – John Mitchell. You’re going to tell me that’s a coincidence? There were meetings with lawyers, a couple of big-name politicians showed up at the office. This was back when Brendon was still excited by those types of things, and he thought he would impress me by throwing around names. All he did was make me question the character of his coworkers.”

The tension that emanated suddenly from Briel drew Felicity’s gaze, and when her eyes met the smaller woman’s, anger resided there. Briel shook herself. “I am sorry. In my country, the politicians and corporations are less clandestine about their corruption, but in some ways that makes it better. You go into situations with your eyes open. In more civilized countries – Western Europe, United States – there is a pretense of civility, and most of us live by it. But to reach levels of importance, from police chief to President, people have to accept the hierarchy. The extremely wealthy are beholden to no one, except those who hold their secrets.”

A chill ran through Felicity’s skin as she glanced back at Jack. “And Brendon has stepped into this hierarchy.”

“Brendon is not like that,” Briel reassured her, placing a comforting hand on her arm.

“Of course not,” Felicity smiled. The conversation drew to an end when the door shut and Brendon turned to them with a smile.

“Quite the adoring public,” he grinned. “That will last until they see what a mess our lives are, right, Fel?”

King of the humble brag, Felicity quipped to herself. He knew very well that the execs at ProtoComm worshipped him – he instinctively knew how to impress people and make himself look good. It wasn't calculated exactly; it was almost unthinking, pheromonal.

Like the new house; intended to impress. When Felicity had seen the specs of the home – the layout, the lot size, the area of town, the quality of the build – she had balked at the potential expense.

“You know I had a promotion, Felicity. We are going to have to entertain more, and we have to have a venue that meets the expectation of the type of guest. Bill took that into account in the compensation package.”

As usual, she deferred to Brendon on the money issues. She cared little about superficial trappings, and she certainly didn’t desire to impress people with the extravagance of her house or clothes or any other possessions. Since it was so important to Brendon, and he made the money, she didn’t imagine she could have too much say. He tended to bring the stress home whenever he overtaxed himself, but Felicity had never taken his overly sensitive reactions to heart. As long as she was able to deflect his more vitriolic tendencies off the kids and toward herself or someone else, she could endure what she needed to keep the peace.

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For everyone else in the world, Brendon donned the necessary level of charm and ease, and Felicity deceived herself that the charmer was the real Brendon – that everyone got tired or frustrated or stressed. In public, his self-interest restrained him.

It was the subtle, manipulative phrases that really groomed people, broke them down so he could lead their thoughts. And most of the time, they had no idea he was doing it, molding their minds to his way of thinking – about him, about themselves, about the world. For Felicity, dodging his attempts to manipulate her had become second nature and had resulted in a lot of major fights. Felicity knew it wasn’t healthy. Still, she had made herself stick with him for enough years to have three children and a vested interest in finding the best qualities about him.

Honestly – though she had not seen his kindness in more years than she could count – before the accident, he had treated the kids with as much generosity as he gave the rest of his “adoring public.” They had learned to skirt his moods, not to trigger the yelling or random punishments, and Felicity had figured out how to redirect his frustrations and criticisms from them to her.

After the accident, he had disappeared from the house, but since he still had to maintain his image, he poured money on the problem, upping the quality of the house, the cars, the clothes that represented how he wanted the world to view him and his family. The world saw what Brendon Miller wanted them to see, and they bought it because he bought it. First rule of Brendon Miller: be believable by believing your own sales pitch.

Even the greatest pretender had a core, though, and Felicity managed to blind herself to the pretender. She chose to love Brendon for his vulnerabilities, those times when he didn't quite get the facade up. She saw him try so hard to be structured and responsible, but he found himself frustrated at his own weakness.

He wanted people to love and admire him so badly that he would push himself to inhuman limits, and Felicity watched him crash when he failed. It tore her up inside. It softened her to him despite his actions. She saw the broken heart that fueled the machine. It had been enough to keep her vulnerable to him.

Until recently.

Recently, Felicity had begun to realize that he had caught the children and her up in his drive for acceptance and success. Any way he judged her, he decided that others would judge her, and therefore they would think less of him. She messed up his impeccable image.

And then there was the accident. That had ruined his perfect image, too.

A beautiful head of curly blonde hair, atop the most cherubic face imaginable.

Attached to a tiny, weak body strapped into a wheelchair.

Even worse, his oldest daughter had done it, condemned that angelic little boy to a life of handicap and disability. From childish selfishness and frustration, Alex Miller had caused an irreversible injury to her little brother, Noah.

Alex, of course, carried the guilt of her actions, and had become a much more somber and self-aware child as a result. But her father couldn't see it. All he could see was the damaged little boy, and the closest thing Brendon ever felt to compassion: righteous anger at his son's injury and hatred for the one who had caused it – and the one who had let her.

Felicity understood anger. From the moment she had met him, he had needed to work hard to rein in his reaction to upset, but he had usually done so. Only after they had married had she realized that his irritation typically stemmed, not from some external stimulus, but from his own inability to control things. He blew up at the kids when he was stressed, not because of a true offense, but because they had pricked his frustration on a day he needed peace. A man like that – she could hardly expect him to grow suddenly mature in the face of a grave tragedy. Because she had known him as a youth, she had explained away his actions as youthful immaturity for too long. Once he needed to grow up, Felicity realized he didn’t have the capacity, and she did not know how to compensate.

If he had directed his anger properly, she probably would have said nothing, let him rage at Felicity and God and anyone else he could blame. But not his child – not Alex. Felicity knew that there were a hundred people they could blame as much as they could blame Alex, because Alex had been a child. Perhaps old enough to know better, but still with childish impulses and sensitivities.

Felicity could still see the glint off the lake as she had turned around to the unexpected splash. It had only taken a few seconds. In a few seconds, everything around her came to a halt. She couldn’t make herself move. How could she not make herself move? Only when she felt the sudden gush of wind as Brendon rushed past her, his yell, his accusations...somehow then Felicity could move. And somehow she outstripped Brendon, made it to the water, and managed like a magnet to find the blond curls where they waved softly with the motion of the water.

And when she had broken the surface of the lake, her son in her arms, Noah had lain unmoving.

Despite her terror, the instinct to save her son brought buried memories to mind. Memories of high school lifeguard classes, rolling Noah on his side for a moment to empty his mouth of water, placing her mouth over his mouth and nose, the gentle puffs of breath she forced into his lungs, the rapid pulse of pressure against his tiny sternum. Finally, the coughs and the rush of water out of the tiny mouth. Then, Felicity finding her own breath for the first time in what seemed an eternity.

Short-lived relief.

From 30 feet away, Felicity could hear Brendon’s screaming at Alex. Even without turning around, she knew exactly what was happening, and even as the paramedics dragged tiny Noah’s exhausted body from her arms, Felicity felt torn between which of her children she should save. Alex, Felicity decided, would have to be the big sister, would have to deal with her father. Once Felicity knew that Noah would be alright, she would wrap Alex up in her arms and tell her she was okay. That it was Felicity’s fault. That Noah would be alright. That they would all be alright.

Only, looking at Noah where he lay in the ambulance, Felicity knew it wasn’t true. Noah was not alright. He seemed off, somehow, and when she saw the doctor’s face an hour later, her fears were confirmed.

“He may walk again,” the doctor insisted. “With a lot of physical therapy and some emerging new treatments, we have seen more progress than has been possible in past years. Merge that with the fact that Noah is so young, and young bodies are so much more efficient at healing themselves, even nerve damage.”

Felicity heard every word, suspended her hope on each of them, but she was what she called a defensive realist. Knowing her own tendency toward idealism, she imagined and processed the worst possible outcome, dealt with it in her mind, and then went forward hoping for the best. If Noah never walked again, Felicity would figure out how to make his life as amazing and fulfilling as possible. And she would make sure Alex did not bear the guilt for anything that happened, regardless of what Brendon had laid at the shoulders of a 10-yr-old girl.

After two years, Noah had made little progress and Alex rarely spoke, almost never smiled.

Brendon had retreated further from Felicity, seemingly more convinced that she was a sore on his otherwise perfect image.

Not that Felicity was unpleasant to look at, or even an obvious screw-up, but she just couldn’t be enough to make up for Brendon’s own shortcomings. She couldn’t eradicate her own faults so how could she fix his? Felicity knew she could never fill that infinite void of what drove Brendon Miller to such manic depths. She had never planned to choose her kids over her husband, but he had chosen himself over any of them, and Felicity had to save the only people she could.

When she came back to herself, Briel still holding dishes and Brendon still basking in the glow of adulation, she didn’t quite restrain her irritation. “I don’t think anyone at the company cares about the mess in our house. They only care about the mess at the company, and as long as you keep that contained, they’ll love you.”

“Easy for you to say,” Brendon countered. “You’re not the one who had to get everything ready for the party today. I’ve worked on this for days, and then you didn’t even have the house ready when I got home? I’m sorry for leaving this to you, Briel, but I cleaned so much today that if I don’t get sleep tonight, I won’t make it to work in the morning.”

“It’s fine,” Briel shrugged, throwing Felicity a glance.

Though Felicity fumed, she had found one comfort in Briel. The woman always seemed to notice when Brendon’s comments didn’t line up with reality, and so for the first time in years, Felicity had support in believing that she wasn’t as crazy as Brendon made her out to be, both to herself and the kids. Apparently, as brilliant as Brendon was, he had serious memory problems.

Brendon would still make Felicity pay for her sarcasm once Briel had left, but the nanny’s earlier words had shaken Felicity. The extremely wealthy are beholden to no one, except those who hold their secrets. She had always reassured herself that Brendon’s striving for success was a natural part of adulthood in the business world, but the words gave her pause. Had Brendon reached the level where he was manipulating his bosses’ secrets? Had he reached the level where someone else was manipulating his own? Felicity did not know. Though she prayed he hadn’t, she worried that she was courting her own ignorance. He had never felt the need to restrain himself unless it was necessary to impress the people who promised a reward. Why did she think he would restrain himself now that he was the one to impress?