Night Blind (The Technicians #11)

Chapter 2 - Hope

Today was going to be one of those damned days that started off lumbering through the morning and by the end of the day, falls flat on its face in the middle of the floor, praying for a merciful ending. He often felt that way working from home doing a job with little to no reward as a fact checker for a social media company. Initially, the daily postings were a challenge in finding legitimate sources to provide credible, thoughtful and insightful responses to misinformation. Seven years later, the job devolved into cutting and pasting text to dispel the same false narratives picked up by different bots which spread systematically throughout the day across multiple platforms.

The job became so boring, Macalister Fontaine saw no reason not to double his income with a night time position as a data annotator. At night he ran computerized algorithms to categorize large datasets to ensure they were labeled and organized for usage by researchers the next day. It paid better than his day job, and four years of working nights made him a very wealthy man.

It also made him a lonely man. A man who decided to register with a mail order bride service to find himself the perfect match. Ironically, five years later, he still had no match, perfect or otherwise. He’d spoken of the agency to his foster brother Adriano, who went to New York, met a sassy mountain gal named Katherine, and married happily, living a life on the farm in Kansas where they grew up.

He also spoke with his foster brother Mateo Zingales, a jazz saxophonist who luckily married a local girl who also registered with the agency to get his perfect match who lived on a farm in Arkansas. Jeremy Husking, also his foster brother used the agency and married his dream girl, leaving his small farm in Nebraska for life as a United States Senator in our nation’s capital. Even his foster sister, who was more like his real sister, at least she was in his heart, used the agency to marry a nerd who loved Kimbrae with everything in him. Her husband didn’t grow up on a farm, but last he heard, they were planning to buy some land in the country. They were all happy and he wanted a bit of happy for himself.

He wanted that kind of love, which is why, thus far, he refused the matches sent over who came in around the low nineties on the compatibility scale. The life he wanted to live required a woman who matched with him at least in the high nineties, around the ninety-eighth percentile. Macalister wanted a house full of children, a large farm to raise his brood and a cute little wife with a wild mane of hair. It would also help if she were a tiger in bed.

He felt that portion always helped the relationship, to get along at night, or in the middle of the day, or even on a hot sticky afternoon felt pretty good to him. Sex wasn’t primary in his mind, but it was one of the areas a couple needed to be good at together, so when the fights couldn’t be resolved with words, at least sweet love could soothe the ruffled feathers. His feather hadn’t truly been ruffled in a while and he needed his pillows fluffed.

So far, the candidates he’d received were the left side of milk toast. Women who wanted nothing more than to be married, have babies and be taken care of by a man. He didn’t mind any of those general ideas, but he wanted to build a legacy. The land would be part of the familial wealth. The buildings, in the plan in is head, would be more than housing for farm equipment and animals; the buildings would be multifunctional. At least, that’s what he planned in his head. In real life, he was simply, lonely.

Downstairs in the townhome, the coffee started exactly at six in the morning. He exercised from five thirty to half after six, showering, and pouring himself a cup of Joe which strengthen in richness by the completion of his morning routine. When he opened his email at a quarter of eight, the inbox was normally cluttered with requests, nonsense and sales offers from companies where he ordered archery equipment. However, this morning, five emails down was a message with a star, in bold letters from Perfect Match, the agency out of New York tasked with finding him a wife.

Hope surged though him as he clicked the message, opening the missive to see his latest match. A woman, in trouble, who inherited a farm, right in Iowa, less than two hours away. A woman, expecting a child, with no immediate family and nearly broke. She needed a hero, but what he needed to know were the percentages of compatibility on paper.

He scrolled down the message, looking past the photo of her adorable face, wild mane of hair, deep, intensive eyes, kissable lips to see the large grey block which held a boldfaced number. In the block the magic number appeared. She matched him at 98.8 percent.

“Hey now,” he said, scrolling up again, looking at the photo. “Did I read that right, she’s pregnant?”

Pregnant.

Preggers.

Some other man’s child.

In trouble.

Inherited a farm.

He did the calculations in his head, focusing in the portion of the lady being nearly broke, with less than three hundred grand to her name, and that farm, based on the numbers attached, would put her in the poorhouse in less than a month. An attachment to the email showed the farm. A heritage property and she was the last West to carry on the family line. The child in her belly would be the heir to the property.

“Does the father of the child know that bit of information?”

His mind went to work factoring in the variables. What if I’m the child’s father? What if I marry her, give the child my name, claim it as my own, fix up the property, make it profitable, and make sweet love to her with those kissable lips? Ninety eight percent match and she had a farm .

“I could be her hero.” He looked over the data once more. He stood. He walked about the room. He pondered, and came back to his desk. “Hey, what if I’m not her only match?”

He didn’t want to waste time or words. The email he composed was written slowly to get the words just right. He read over them, taking a breather.

Dear Ms. West,

I shall keep this simple. First, hello and a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have the know-how to successfully manage and run a farm. Second, I shall give the child my name and raise him as my own, with nurturing and guidance. Third, each day you shall feel appreciated and in time, love.

I am slow to anger. A man of few words, and I have a tender touch. I am willing and I am able. I am an honest man, with a good heart. Make the call and I can be there by the end of the week, and I shall be all yours.

Sincerely,

Macalister Fontaine.

He read over the text several times, but felt it was impersonal. Yes, it was accurate and good start, but it missed the connection between them as husband and wife. Macalister looked at it again, and began a quick edit.

Dear Kylie,

I would be honored to have you as my wife. I have the know-how to successfully manage and run a farm. The child will be raised as my own with nurturing and guidance as well as carrying my last name. To honor your family’s heritage and legacy, it would be amazing if the kid’s middle name can be West. Last, and more important, each day as your husband, your man, and the head of your house, you shall feel appreciated and in time, love.

I am slow to anger. A man of few words, and I have a tender touch. I am willing and I am able to handle the tasks at hand. I am an honest man, with a good heart. Make the call and I can be there by the end of the week, and I shall be all yours.

My number is 515-555-1869. I look forward to speaking with you soon.

Sincerely,

Macalister Fontaine.

“Damn, that’s pretty good,” he said aloud, feeling proud of himself. In the message was her email. He clicked the link, copied and pasted the message and in the subject line, he added, A Message from Your Perfect Match. Macalister hit send.

His coffee had grown cold, but his hands were hot. The thudding of his heart became a distraction, so much so, it took his brain a minute to realize his phone was ringing. He turned slowly, looking around for the device as if the aliens had finally decided to make contact. The beating of his heart intensified as he reached his desk, picked up the device, sliding his thumb of over the arrow to connect the call.

“Mac Fontaine,” he said into the line. The deep voice reverberated in his ear as he listened. He didn’t think to check the number or the caller. His distraction at the email he sent was the only thing on his mind. Then, in his ear he heard it, making his knees nearly buckle.

“Mac Fontaine, this is Kylie West,” she said softly. “I got your message and yes, I would love to meet with you, to talk, discuss the possibilities of a life together, but more importantly, discuss what is growing inside of me and the farm.”

“I can be there by Friday,” he replied.

“Okay, just like that,” she said.

“I am in Des Moines, which is roughly two hours away,” he told her. “On Friday, when we meet, I would like to get a feel of what you want to see happen with the farm. I would like to walk the land, the home, the outbuildings, talk about options.”

“And the child?”

“If you consent to marry me, it becomes our child, belonging to no one else from the moment you say I do, and put on the ring,” Mac told her. “I assume, in needing a husband the father is not in the picture?”

“The picture is ripped up and, in the trash,” she told him.

“Good enough,” he said. “Friday it shall be then. Oh yeah, honeymoon choices, and ideas for your wedding as well.”

“I get a honeymoon?”

Macalister found himself chuckling. “I think, we will need to start our journey together in a neutral environment, but keep in mind, we will have the farm, repairs, and so much more to get clear of, so reasonable.”

“Reasonable,” she said. “I look forward to meeting you in person.”

“Friday,” he said, “I should be there around lunch time. I look forward to seeing you, Kylie. Have a great day.”

He ended the call holding the coffee, which again, had grown cold. His hands were hot and his pants felt tight. A frown covered his face as he stared at the wall.

“Holy shit,” he said, realizing it was well after eight and he hadn’t clocked in. He quickly sent a message to his supervisor that he needed to take the day off. Macalister didn’t wait for a response. He never took time off unless it was mandatory, and he needed to get a checkup of the financial sort. In less than fifteen minutes, he was out the door and on the road. He needed to see a lady about some money.

****

“Morning Dax,” Macalister said as he walked through the doors of K. Phillips and Associates. “I don’t have an appointment; can you work me in to see my sister?”

“She’s about to have lunch, so your timing is perfect,” he said, “do you need a bite to eat too?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” he replied to the man who had entirely too many muscles to be a secretary, or Guy Friday as he called himself.

Dax offered him a bottle of water, which he accepted and took a seat in the lobby. The longer he sat, the more ideas came to mind when he looked around the office. He, Jeremy, Adriano and LeBeau helped her design the space. The building was a run-down foreclosure which Kimbrae got on the cheap. Using sustainable products in the rebuild, as well as recycled materials, the price of renovating the offices were half the cost. He smiled thinking of all the glass he’d gotten at a discount from an office building also being remodeled in Des Moines. The company practically gave him the glass to get rid of it, and now, the pieces had a second life here in Kimbrae’s office building. He was still smiling when he looked up to see her standing in front of him.

“This is a surprise,” she said. “Normally, you call to let me know you’re coming.”

“My morning has taken a turn, and I needed to speak with you,” he said, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

“Okay, come on in,” she said. “Let me grab my lunch. Are you hungry, should I order something in?”

“No, I don’t want to put you out,” Mac replied, “how about I take you to lunch instead?”

“My afternoon is packed, no can do,” she said, looking to her assistant. “Dax, call Mr. Cho’s and order a bit of lunch for me and Mac. No peanuts please. A lemon-lime soda for Mac.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Mac said, feeling out of sorts, “but thanks. Thank you as well Dax.”

He followed her into the office. A minute later Dax arrive with a tray of hot tea in his hand and a file folder under his arm. Both, he placed on the conference table.

“Is that my file?”

“It is, the perfect time to do an annual review, since it is January,” Kimbrae said.

“And I’m getting married,” he said, trying not to blush.

“Say what?”

“Perfect Match, finally came through,” he said. “I’m meeting her on Friday. She has a farm she inherited up in St. Angsar. I understand it needs some work, but I need to do a financial checkup, look at some options. Plus, she doesn’t have any family and will need a friend.”

Kimbrae showed no expression on her face. Kylie, as well as her foster brother were both clients, therefore she would not divulge any information unrelated to what sat in front of her in the file. She opened the file to check the latest numbers which Dax printed and included inside the folder.

“Are you planning to take her home to meet Aunt Sue?”

“I’m hoping, with the work needed on the farm, her having no family, and all, that maybe a small wedding in Kansas, with a reception,” he said. “I don’t know about any of that stuff. I mean your wedding was wow, but nothing over the top like that.”

Kimbrae hadn’t seen this side of Mac. He usually kept everything close to the vest, including his emotions. The very important detail about his bride to be, he hadn’t mentioned and she would wait to see if he brought it up.

“Okay, let’s take a look,” she said, looking inside the file, passing a copy of his financials. “You are very healthy with a solid portfolio, high interest yielding accounts, and a chunk of cash which can be used. Where does the farm stand financially that she’s inherited.”

“I don’t know yet, what I want and need to know is my pockets, to see where and what I can do without losing my shirt,” he said, “I also want to take her on a honeymoon. I mean, I can’t do a 14-day cruise like your nerdy professor, but I can give her something special to start our life together.”

Mac blushed as he spoke. Again, a side of her brother she’d never seen. She would help where she could.

“When are you planning to meet your new bride?”

“Friday, I am driving up to St. Angsar to walk the property, assess the buildings, test the soil for growing crops,” he said. “More than likely, anything we grow will be for our own use and the family, making some local restaurants kind of farm to table stuff, nothing major.”

Kimbrae liked seeing him this way. He appeared, almost happy, hopeful, and pleasant. Her brother was a good guy who just looked weird in his coloring, but had an amazing heart.

“Mac, may I ask what she is into, her thing, or profession?”

“A photographer,” he said. “She went to a liberal arts college in Oregon, majoring in art, but she’s a photographer by profession.”

“If I may,” she said, “if you want to win her over, as a wedding present, buy her a top-of-the-line digital camera. The honeymoon should be somewhere quirky and photogenic. Give her the camera before you take off so in case, she sees something she wants to shoot, you can stop and let her begin your lives together with a new album of images.”

“And a dedicated workspace in the house,” he said looking at her. “Ooh, if we can make the barn into a rental space for events, making her the photographer, she can have an additional studio in the barn with back drops and scenes, with hay bales. I like.”

Kimbrae watched his face. The next part she would ease into, and offer as an idea. “Mac, if you don’t plan to farm the entire land, maybe a portion can be sold to ease the tax burden, add in some cash to help with the renovations,” she told him.

“Yes, and I’m letting you know now, so you can tell that husband of yours to bring his tools,” he said. “A big part of this I’m going to need help with, so I’m asking ahead of time.”

“Whatever you need little brother,” she said, as the lunch order arrived. Thanking Dax for the food, Mac blessed the meal and looked her in the eyes.

“Can I do this Kimbrae?”

“You can, Mac,” she told him, “However, you will need to budget to the penny, cut costs where you can, but it will work.”

“I need to hear the numbers,” he told her.

“In total, you’re worth about two million, with assets. Your debt is low, you have a good three hundred in cash, four cards with high limits, and a solid portfolio, but we know to live like we are poor if you want to keep it,” she said.

“I may need half a million in liquid cash to do this right,” he said. “Can you make that happen without too many penalties?”

“Let me work my magic,” she told him. “As a wedding present, I can toss in a hundred, which will bring you to four in cash. Maybe the others can toss in some as well, and you won’t need to cash in anything.”

“You’re married now Kimbrae, you can’t take that money from your house to give to me,” he told her, holding up his hands.

“I had money before he showed up, and that’s my money to do with as I please,” she told him, “Besides, it’s an investment in your new business. I am an investor. The others will or can be as well.”

“I love you Sis,” he said.

“And I you, but you may need to let Aunt Sue know as soon as you can,” she told him.

“Will do,” he said, as they ate, catching up on her life.

From the time he took his first summer job as a teenager, he brought home his check and handed it to her, just as he’d seen his foster brothers do. Kimbrae took the checks to the bank, made a deposit in each person’s account, bringing back their allowances for the week. She handled the finances for all of her foster brothers and for Aunt Sue. She taught them all financial management and he’d never been hungry nor broke.

He planned to keep it that way. Besides, he was going to be a husband and a father to a kid.

A father.

A husband.

A family.

He would finally have a family of his own. That in itself, was enough to keep him smiling. Plus, there would be a baby. A little baby to take care of and raise.

“I hope it’s a boy,” he said, smiling to himself.

---- Fin-----