Chapter 12 Nathan
NATHAN
The Civic Club luncheon was held in a banquet hall downtown.
Committee members had arrived early to set up the podium and sound system, and by the time I entered through the side door, the space was already half full with attendees chatting over coffee and pastries.
It was just another event I was required to attend, but after weeks of gossip and speculation, I felt like a magnifying glass had been put on every action I took.
Ember and I had dialed things back from what they were significantly, which was in itself a major torture.
But it gave me room to appreciate how incredible she really was.
Outside of the fact that I found her body fantastic and mesmerizing, she was quite possibly the best assistant I'd ever had, and I felt confident that she could and would achieve her dream of being head of HR for the hospital or even the greater medical system as a whole.
I'd been asked to deliver a speech this afternoon about the Lightkeeper's role in upholding family values.
The irony wasn't lost on me with the situation I found myself in.
I was selling a pack of lies to civic leaders about being a man of purity and honor while screwing my assistant behind closed doors, and it made my stomach feel like a lead weight of guilt.
Fighting for the right to privacy was one thing, but standing against an archaic tradition and its standard felt impossible.
The committee had insisted that Ember attend as well.
Her presence was mandatory, they'd said, because the Hearthkeeper represented the other half of the partnership.
I figured she'd refuse after the last two public events had turned out so sour.
But to my surprise, she hadn't bucked at all.
It was like she was finally seeing the importance of this role in this community, and it made me feel grateful that she was the sort of woman who could see the benefit in uncomfortable things at times.
I spotted her near the back of the room, standing beside one of the tall windows.
She wore a navy dress with long sleeves and a modest neckline, her auburn hair pulled back into a neat bun.
She'd dressed conservatively, trying to look every inch the symbol they wanted her to be, but I could see the tension in her expression from across the room.
My heart went out to her now that I knew how badly her past had messed with her.
And it made me all the prouder.
I made my way toward her, navigating around tables and greeting people who stopped me to shake hands.
By the time I reached her, she'd plastered on a polite smile and stood a little taller.
"How you holding up?" I asked quietly. If anyone could read her like I could, they'd know she was lying before she even opened her mouth.
"Fine." Her voice was too bright, too controlled. "Ready when you are."
"You don't have to stay for the whole event if it's too much."
"Yes, I do. The committee made that very clear." She glanced around the room, her smile faltering. "Everyone's staring," she said through gritted teeth without breaking that plastic expression.
I followed her gaze and saw what she meant.
Small clusters of people were watching us, pausing their conversations long enough to judge us before resuming in hushed tones.
The whispers were bad enough on the street or at work, but here at such a small gathering, they felt more powerful, and I could see Ember's skin crawling.
"Ignore them," I said.
"That's easier said than done." Her eyes were averted but I felt the sting of her words.
I wanted to get this over with so she could leave and feel better.
A committee member approached and informed me that we'd be starting in five minutes.
I nodded and moved toward the podium while Ember took her seat at the front table reserved for us.
I arranged my notes on the podium and tested the microphone, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the weight of all those eyes.
The room settled as the committee chair welcomed everyone and introduced me with a glowing summary of my credentials.
I stepped up to the microphone and began my prepared remarks about tradition, about the history of the Lightkeeper ceremony, about the importance of community values in an increasingly disconnected world.
The words felt hollow as I spoke them.
I'd written this speech weeks ago, back when the Lightkeeper role had seemed straightforward and honorable.
Now, standing here under scrutiny, I found myself drifting from the script.
There was really more to it than the oversimplification of a textbook definition.
Not only had times changed, but their archaic standards were confining, like a set of rules from another time when life looked different.
"The Hearthkeeper tradition was born from a desire for equality," I said, my eyes finding Ember in the front row.
"Women in this community fought to be recognized as equal partners in upholding the values we celebrate.
They refused to be sidelined or dismissed, and their courage created the role we honor today. "
I saw the blush dusting her cheeks and started to realize why she'd changed her mind about accepting this role.
Just another thing to make my heart feel inexplicably tangled with hers.
"This year's Hearthkeeper embodies that same courage," I continued.
"She has shown loyalty in the face of unfair criticism.
She has demonstrated kindness when met with cruelty.
She has stood beside me through circumstances neither of us anticipated, and she has done so with grace and dignity that I deeply admire. "
The applause that followed was polite but restrained.
I could feel the disapproval radiating from certain corners of the room, the judgment of people who thought I was making a mistake by defending her so publicly.
But I would continue to defend her the way a man in my position should be doing, the way the honorable Lightkeeper would if he were upholding his duties.
I finished the rest of my speech and returned to my seat beside Ember. She leaned close and whispered, "You didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did," I whispered, and I meant it.
The only chances I got to speak, I had been boxed in to scripts, or my words were trimmed down to soundbites.
It was time for me to let my stance be known and I wasn't backing down from it.
The luncheon service began, servers bringing out plates of salmon and roasted vegetables.
Ember picked at her food, barely eating, while I made conversation with the people seated around us.
The committee chair praised my speech, though I detected a note of distaste laced into the compliments.
And a local wealthy businessman was my salvation, turning the conversation back to the hospital and end of year financial goals.
When the meal ended, people began circulating through the room.
I stood and offered Ember my arm, and together we moved through the crowd.
She smiled and thanked people for their support, trying to navigate the social minefield.
The negative aura around most of them caused a surge of protectiveness that made my chest ache.
Then I saw my parents near the entrance and wondered why they were even there.
My mother spotted us first and waved, and I grumbled as I nudged Ember in that direction.
My father stood beside her in a dark suit, his gray hair combed back and his blue eyes cold as ice like normal.
After our last altercation, I was shocked to see him show up for this.
"Nathan!" My mother approached with open arms and wrapped them around me. "Your speech was wonderful, so heartfelt."
"Thanks for coming." I pulled back and gestured to Ember. "Mom, you remember Ember."
"Of course." My mother turned to Ember and took both her hands. "It's lovely to see you again, dear. That dress is beautiful on you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Bradley." Ember's smile was genuine for the first time all afternoon.
It eased some of the concern I felt over her, but that was quickly replaced with the undercurrent of frustration I felt from my father.
The dissonance was painful.
Even at almost fifty years old, I still felt the need to please him, and it rattled me that he had so much sway over how I felt.
"Quite the speech, Nathan. Very passionate." The word was laced with derision.
"I meant every word," I said evenly. I had no interest in a confrontation today, least of all in public.
"I'm sure you did." He looked at Ember directly. "You must be very proud to have inspired such devotion."
Ember's smile faltered. "Dr. Bradley is a kind man and a good boss."
"Perhaps too good." His tone was cutting. "Symbols of family values should come from real families, don't you think? Folks who have true commitment to one another." His words made me bristle.
The implication was clear.
Ember, young and unmarried and childless, didn't qualify.
She was a pretender playing a role she hadn't earned.
I felt rage building in my chest and spat, "That's enough." The idea that he would approach us in public to humiliate her crossed a line.
"I'm simply stating facts." My father spread his hands as though he were being reasonable. "The Hearthkeeper tradition was meant to honor women who embody the stability of home and hearth. Not young women playing dress-up."
"I said that's enough." My voice was low but it still caused people nearby to turn and look.
My mother touched my father's arm. "Dear, perhaps we should—"
"I'm not finished." He kept his eyes on me. "Your mother and I have been married for forty-five years. We built a family together. We understand the sacrifices and compromises that real commitment requires. Can you say the same?"
I wanted to grab him by his expensive tie and throw him out of the building, but we were surrounded by committee members and civic leaders and people who were already questioning my judgment.
Doing that would definitely give them reason enough to toss me to the curb.
And it wasn't about me anymore.
The tradition deserved a man to continue to carry it faithfully.
Not to mention Ember and how her past had treated her.
If I lost my cool and the committee tossed me, it would find a reason to toss her too.
The whole community would balk at it and we'd be the talk of town for months.
I would live through it because I didn't care what people thought, but Ember didn't deserve that.
"My personal life is not up for debate," I said through gritted teeth.
"It is when you make it public." He gestured toward Ember. "When you parade around town with a girl young enough to be your daughter and expect the community to celebrate it."
Ember had gone very pale.
I saw her hands trembling at her sides, saw the way she'd withdrawn into herself.
The pain in her expression twisted in my chest, and I felt helpless to shield her from it.
"Be reasonable, Nathan," my father said gruffly.
I ignored him and guided Ember toward a quiet corner near the coat check.
She was breathing too fast, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm so sorry you had to hear that."
Her cheeks were streaked with tears as she looked into my eyes. "Do you regret this? Regret the choice to make me Hearthkeeper?"
The pain in her voice hurt me.
I cupped her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my gaze.
"Of course, I don't regret you," I said firmly. "Not for a single moment. I hate that people are cruel and that they're making a bigger deal out of this than what needs to be. I don't see you like they do."
"And what do you see?"
"I see a beautiful, strong, smart woman. And I see a chance for us to leave this mess and get some fresh air." I smiled at her and let her go.
Then I grabbed her sweater and we stepped outside to see a swarm of reporters.
They'd gathered, as was typical, to snap some pictures of the luncheon for the news, but I'd hoped to avoid them.
A cluster of them waited on the sidewalk, cameras at the ready and microphones extended.
They surged forward as soon as they spotted us, forming a semicircle that blocked our path to the parking lot.
"Dr. Bradley! A moment of your time!"
"Ember, how does it feel to be at the center of so much controversy?"
"Dr. Bradley, is it true the committee is considering removing you as Lightkeeper?"
I tried to guide Ember around them, but they moved with us, keeping pace and shouting questions.
Then one voice rose above the others, loud enough that everyone on the sidewalk turned to listen.
"Dr. Bradley, you just gave a speech about family values. How do you reconcile that with appearing in public with a woman young enough to be your child?"
The question angered me so much, I almost grabbed his mic and threw it, but with this many cameras around, it was a bad idea.
I didn’t even stop to justify the question at all.
I wasn't "being seen" in public with anyone.
Ember was the counterpart to my Lightkeeper role and that was why we were out together.
Not to mention my assistant, and God forbid they ever find out, the woman I was falling for so hard, my knees hurt before I hit the ground.
Besides, what could I say that wouldn't make things worse?
What defense could I offer that wouldn't sound hollow or desperate?
I was lying to everyone about seeing her and the shame consumed me.
Not to mention the feeling of utter failure.
Even in my own mind, I was rationalizing why they were wrong and why I was fine to do what I was doing without guilt.
They were all right.
I was seeing her.
I was dating a woman half my age, and I enjoyed it.
Ember's hand tightened on my arm, and I realized she was trembling worse now as we tried to evade the flashes and shouted questions.
My reputation, my career, my entire life balanced on these angry accusations from a crowd of reporters who only knew bits and pieces of the truth, and I didn't want to lie anymore.
And I just had no idea what to say.