Читать книгу A Time To Give - Kathryn Shay - Страница 8

THE APRIL SUN BEAT DOWN on Ben’s shoulders, making him sweat like he used to after an hour in the sauna at his former health club. His T-shirt was more wet than not and his back ached. But he hefted the concrete blocks without complaint. This Saturday-morning stint with its overtime pay would earn him enough money to buy heavy work boots for the winter. Grunting with effort, he was hit with a flashback so quickly he couldn’t roadblock this one….

Buy those hand-tooled boots, Benedict, they make you look like a cowboy.

He’d chuckled at Mallory, his model-chic fiancée, and mimed drawing a gun out of an imaginary holster. Watch it, ma’am, never know what an hombre like me might want from a lady like you.

She’d laughed and he’d bought the boots. They’d cost almost a thousand bucks and he hadn’t blinked at the expense.

“Hey, Cassidy. You got a visitor.” The foreman hovered over the hole Ben was in helping to lay the foundation for a small house.

Ben frowned up at him. “Who is it?”

“Didn’t ask his name. Take a break. You been goin’ nonstop since six this morning.”

Ben glanced at the Timex that had replaced his Rolex. It was noon. Who the hell would know he was here? He’d cut off all ties with his old life when he’d lost his company. Puzzled, he climbed the ladder and shaded his eyes against the sun. Trey Thompson, his former lawyer—his former friend—stood on the edge of the site looking like the preppy from Yale that he was, in an oxford shirt, khakis and Docksides. As best he could, Ben wiped the sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt and crossed to Trey. “Hey, counselor, how’s it going?”

Trey grasped Ben’s hand warmly. “Fine, except you had me waste my whole morning chasing you down. Can’t you at least return my phone calls?” There was a note of exasperation in his voice. And offense. Ben had forsaken the racquetball games, the lunches and occasional double dates he and Trey had shared for almost a decade.

“Phone calls?”

“Don’t bs me, pal. I know you got my messages. Your landlord thinks I’m a handsome devil and assured me she left them under your door.”

“Still charming all the ladies, are you?”

His friend snorted. “And she’s the one who told me you were here. Apparently the head of this construction crew lives in your boarding house.”

Ben shook his head. “So much for privacy.”

Trey nodded to a makeshift bench in the shade. “Can we talk? It’s about Cassidy Industries.”

“Look, Trey, I appreciate your attempts to stay in touch, but I’m not interested. I wish you could accept that.” Every couple of months, Trey contacted him. It was a painful reminder of what Ben had once had.

“You’ve made that perfectly clear.” Trey shot him a blistering look. “And I still resent it. And I still don’t understand why you prefer to live like this.” He swept his arm across the construction site.

“It’s an honest living,” Ben said defensively.

“Of course it is. I just don’t get why you chose it. You’re the guy Fortune magazine dubbed the most successful, best-liked, self-made man in business. You went to Wharton. You developed a patent for fuel-cell technology and—”

“And lost my shirt.” And my self-confidence and self-esteem.

“Still, you could have stayed in the business world. Any company in Rockford would hire you.”

“Drop it, Trey! I won’t rehash this.”

His friend clearly fought his anger. “All right. But you’ll listen to why I came.”

“Fine then.”

“Mackenzie’s selling off your company. Probably in pieces. The employees could all lose their jobs if the buyer moves the plant out of Rockford.”

“He’s selling already?” Ben raked a hand through his hair. “I know that’s his MO, but it’s only been two years.” He mouthed a vicious expletive.

“My sentiments exactly. Now can we talk about this?”

Ben made his way to the bench. He tried hard not to think about the people on staff who’d survived the first round of Mackenzie’s cuts, but now would suffer the sword of his greed. Dan, the comptroller, was still there. He’d heard Mackenzie had brought in his own vice president of human resources but had kept Janice, who supported her elderly mother and did the personnel work for Rockford Gas & Electric. His secretary and mother hen, Betty. And all those factory workers in the plant….

Trey sat when they reached the shade and removed his Ray-Bans. “I got a line on something.”

Still standing, Ben braced his foot on the bench and draped his arm over his knee. “Trey, I appreciate all this, but I’ve told you time and again the battle was over the day Lammon Mackenzie outmaneuvered me. Why do you keep after this?”

The lawyer’s lazy gaze sharpened. “I’m still involved for a number of reasons. One—” he held up a finger “—you and I were friends as well as colleagues. I’m mad as hell that you ditched me because things went south. Two—” another finger joined the first “—I was your attorney when the sleazebag went after Cassidy Industries and I couldn’t stop it, so I owe you.” He drew in a breath. “Number three, you won’t use the money you got for the business and paid my fees. I put it in a bank account for you, but it just sits there. So that’s still an issue.”

“Damn right it is. I keep getting notices on it.” He straightened. “I don’t want the damn money.”

“And last,” Trey continued as if Ben hadn’t spoken, “I think I might have something on the bastard.”

“Unless it’s something he did illegally when he took over, which you would have found out then, it doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not exactly illegal, but it’s unethical and we might be able to claim fraud and possible bribery.”

“I—” Ben stopped. “It is? What?”

“Remember when the contracts from Rockford Gas & Electric got stalled?”

“How could I forget?” Ben began to pace. “If we’d gotten those contracts, we wouldn’t have had to take Mackenzie on as an investor.”

Cassidy Industries made instrumentation for utility companies; the business had gotten in financial trouble because Ben’s products had been eroded by software and digital advancements. He’d extended his bank credit and mortgaged his personal assets to keep the company afloat. Finally he’d needed an investor and had made the poor choice of Mackenzie Enterprises.

Negotiations had gone well, but after the honeymoon was over, Mackenzie had started making stipulations on his several-million-dollar loan. Their business relationship had become heated, unfriendly, then downright hostile. In the end, Ben had been forced to agree to the two things that caused him to lose the company: that Cassidy Industries receive the Rockford Gas & Electric contracts, which were in the process of being approved by the utility company’s officers, and that the patent on fuel-cell technology, which Ben had developed to take the business to a new level, had to come through within six months. He still remembered that heart-stopping day he’d discovered the contracts had been delayed indefinitely. At that time, the patent had been pending.

Trey’s eyes narrowed. “My private investigator thinks maybe Mackenzie paid off the contracts guy at the utility company. He seems to have had an unexpected windfall right as Mackenzie began his pursuit of your business. If I can find a connection between this guy and expenditures Mackenzie made at the time, we’ll have something. But it’s tricky and may take a while. We’re also going to check to see if he did anything about the patent that didn’t come through until after you sold out.” That patent, worth gold now, belonged to Cassidy Industries, not Ben.

“Trey, I don’t want you spending money on a private investigator for me.”

Trey shook his head. “It’s not just for you. I want to know what I did wrong.”

“The only thing we did wrong was to fight fair.”

“Maybe not. In any case, I owe you.”

“Don’t start on that again.”

“I’ll start on that all I want. You hired me fresh out of law school. I became a moving force in the legal world of Rockford because of you.”

“At least my debacle didn’t hurt you too much.”

“It didn’t hurt me at all. Do you know how much I earn?” He swore. “Let me spend some of it trying to make sense of what happened.”

“You’re wasting your money.”

“No, I’m not.” Trey grabbed his arm. “Just promise me you’ll think about this. I won’t go any further until I hear from you. But at least return my calls. I hate leaving my girl in bed on Saturday morning to hunt you down.”

That got a chuckle out of Ben. Though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a girl in his bed on a weekend, he did recall it had felt damn good. “I promise I’ll think about it. Now get out of here.”

Trey nodded and headed the other way.

“Thompson?” Ben called out.

The lawyer looked over his shoulder, his brows raised.

“Thanks. I wish you wouldn’t do it, but I appreciate your…caring enough.”

Trey smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”

As Ben trudged back to his job, he squelched the tiny bud of hope inside him. The fact that Trey always engendered this optimism was one of the reasons Ben didn’t want to see him. Nothing was going to come out of this newest development. If Trey could have stopped the takeover, he would have done it before.

The war was finished between Ben and Mackenzie. Even if Mackenzie had played dirty, the result was that Ben had lost everything. There was no changing it now.

“WHAT’S THIS ALL ABOUT, Dad?”

Emily’s father glanced up from his computer screen. He was a big man, with powerful shoulders. Despite his thick shock of gray hair, he kept himself fit for someone nearing sixty. His perpetual grimace softened somewhat when he saw her. “Good morning to you, too.”

She smiled. “Good morning.” She held up the FedEx package. “I received this request from Jacob Brill by messenger as soon as I got in. He wants information on the employees. Why?”

“I’m selling off Rockford Instruments.”

“What?”

“I’m selling. The stock’s up, the climate’s good. Gotta strike while the iron’s hot, girl.”

“Did you, at all, think to tell your vice president of human resources about this decision?”

Lazily he leaned back in his chair. She recognized the casual pose as one of his many tactics to disarm someone who confronted him. “I decided last Monday. I tried to call you that night, but you were out. I flew to Vegas on Tuesday and just got back.”

“I have dance class until ten on Mondays.”

His smile transformed his rough features, especially when she was the cause of it. “I remember when you started dancing. I thought you might be a ballerina.”

Grinning, she shook her head. “I’m not good enough for that.”

“Where were you before class?”

“I had dinner with friends.” Not exactly a lie. Her father would be furious if he knew she worked at Cassidy Place. Not only had he withdrawn all financial support of the soup kitchen when he’d taken over Cassidy Industries, canceling comp time for workers, too, but he had some grudge against the place that Emily didn’t understand. And a contempt for the previous owner that didn’t make sense.

Her father shrugged. “In any case, it’s time to unload this company.”

Emily tried to quell her pique and sank into one of the plush leather seats in front of his desk. “I’m not going to let you do this again.” Twice, he’d sold off companies without her knowledge, and had slashed jobs left and right. The last time, she’d threatened to leave Mackenzie Enterprises.

“All right. What do you want?”

“To save the jobs of the workers here.” Those who hadn’t gotten caught in the layoffs had stayed after Mackenzie Enterprises had taken over because they needed to make a living. But their loyalty had not transferred with them. It was obvious how much they hated the sterile environment her father had created, and how much they disliked him personally. Whereas Cassidy Industries had had a real family atmosphere and the employees had loved Benedict Cassidy. She wondered whatever had happened to him.

“It’ll take a good six months to put the word out, find a buyer, or buyers, complete the due diligence. The workers will get something else.”

“Buyers?”

“Yes. There might be more money in selling off the inventory, getting rid of this albatross of a building and offering that precious patent to the highest bidder.”

The patent for a product that Benedict Cassidy was brilliant enough to develop. “Oh, Dad, you’re going to dissolve Cassidy Industries?”

His face flushed. “It’s Rockford Instruments now.”

“But—”

“Here it comes.” Shaking his head, he sighed.

“At least try to keep the company intact.” She thought for a minute. “And look for a local buyer so the company isn’t moved out of Rockford. That way, the workers would be able to keep their jobs.”

“I don’t care about all that.”

No, of course not. He never did. But she did. “Wait a few months to see if you get a buyer for the whole company. If you can’t, then sell it off.”

“You always do this.”

“Yes, I do. It’s the only reason I’m working for you, Dad.”

And not doing what I love. After she’d graduated from college, and she’d told her father about her dream to start a dance studio, he’d dismissed it as demeaning. He said if she wasn’t going to dance professionally, she shouldn’t make teaching her life’s work. Since she’d been insecure and looked up to him like a god, she hadn’t pursued it. Later, after she’d married Paul and he’d balked at her opening a studio too, she’d given up. When she’d begun to work for her father and had realized she could keep him from cutting too many jobs in his takeovers, even she’d dismissed the dream and had convinced herself she was doing good work.

His expression softened. “That’s the only reason you work for me?”

She shook her head. Despite his controlling streak, she was his Achilles’ heel. His only weak spot. He’d raised her single-handedly and loved her to pieces. Standing, she circled the desk and kissed his cheek. “No, of course not. I love you. I like being around you. I just wish you cared more about the people whose lives you disrupt.”

He grasped her hand, held on. “All right. You have a few months.”

“Thanks.” She started away.

“Emmy?” Her childhood name. “I’m going to Boston tomorrow. Have dinner with me tonight?”

“Oh, sorry, Dad. I told you I have dance on Mondays. How about when you get back?”

“You got a secret beau you’re hiding from me?”

She thought of the soup kitchen and Ben. “No, of course not. I’m meeting Jordan before class for a light dinner and some girl talk.”

His gaze hardened. “I don’t like that woman.”

“Well, she doesn’t like you much, either. So you’re even.” Jordan Turk, her best friend, blamed her father for manipulating her out of starting her dance studio and for encouraging her marriage to Paul. “When will you be back?”

“Thursday.”

“We’ll do it then.”

Emily hurried away, her mind whirling with a thousand thoughts, mostly about how to protect Cassidy Industries employees. When she reached her office, the phone was ringing. “Hello,” she said, snatching it up.

“Hey, girl.” Jordan was on the other end. “How are you?”

“Speak of the devil. My father and I were just talking about you.”

“You’ve got that right. He’s the devil incarnate.”

“Be nice.”

“Why? He’s done vicious things to you. And all in the name of love.”

“Jordan.”

“I was calling to say I’d be late for dinner, but I’ll tell you my good news now, since it’s relevant to good old dad. I applied for the loan for my dance studio and found a place for it. The space is available in six months. I hope to open after New Year’s.”

“Oh, Jordan, I’m so happy for you.”

“You remember your dream of owning a dance studio, don’t you? The one your father and that ass Paul convinced you to give up.”

Emily’s heartbeat sped up. “I remember. It’s good you’re going ahead with it, though.”

“I could still take on a partner.” She paused. “You said you’d think about that.”

“Oh, Jordan, I can’t commit right now.” She explained the immediate situation of her father selling Rockford Instruments.

“He’s never going to change. Are you going to spend your whole life cleaning up after him?”

God, she didn’t want to do that. “No. But I can help these people.”

“It’s bad enough he talked you into marrying Paul.”

Emily regretted telling Jordan that she’d almost backed out of the wedding. That her father had convinced her to go ahead with it.

“Please, let’s not revisit all this.”

“Don’t you still want a studio, honey?”

“Every day. And I’d love to be your partner in this.” Spending her days teaching dance. Working with kids instead of disgruntled employees.

“Well, you won’t get your studio unless you stand up to him.” Her friend’s exasperation sifted through the phone lines like an electrical current. It touched raw nerves. When Emily didn’t respond, Jordan said, “Never mind. I’ll see you at seven.”

After she hung up, Emily sank wearily into her chair. Damn, she felt like a hamster on a wheel. She’d just get to a point where she thought she could leave the company, and her father’s actions sucked her back in. Not only that, but the mention of a dance studio made her think about having children. Or more precisely, not having them, which was even more depressing than working for her dad. Her hand went to her stomach. She’d give anything to have a child of her own.

It’s your fault, you know. Her ex-husband’s handsome features had been contorted with frustrated rage as he’d hurled the accusation.

The doctor said both of our tests were inconclusive.

You have endometriosis.

I’ve had surgeries to correct that. Look, Paul, I’m not laying blame, but your sperm motility test wasn’t so hot either.

My sperm is just fine.

Sighing, she turned to her computer. Though she’d divorced Paul and still hoped to have the dance studio, she was probably never going to have a baby, given her medical problems. Besides, she was thirty-four with no man on the horizon.

But as she called up her e-mail, she wasn’t able to put the thought out of her mind. Could she get pregnant with the right man? And who might that be?

A fleeting image came to mind—of gray eyes the color of steel, a killer smile and a body to die for. Jeez, she really needed to get a social life.

WHERE THE HELL WAS SHE? For as long as Ben had been frequenting Cassidy Place as a guest, Emily had been a volunteer. She’d only missed three Mondays—and he’d worried each time if she was sick or had quit or…had a date.

Disgusted by his reaction to her, he tried to focus on the crossword. A five-letter word for beautiful. Hmm, Emily? Hell, this wasn’t good. A six-letter word for red. Russet, almost the color of her hair. He slapped the paper down.

“Something unpleasant in there?”

He glanced up to see Alice with a coffeepot in her hand. “No, my mind’s just wandering.”

“Want more coffee?”

“Sure.” What would it hurt? “I was, um, wondering where Emily is. She usually works on Mondays, doesn’t she?”

A knowing gleam lit the older woman’s soft brown eyes. “She’s here—at the dishwasher because we’re short volunteers. Tom, the guy who usually mans it, is sick.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I would have pitched in.”

“I suggested that to Emily. She said you work too hard all day and shouldn’t be doing manual labor at night.”

He stood. “I don’t work that hard. I’m going back, if that’s all right.”

With Alice’s consent, Ben carried his dirty dishes into the kitchen. Guests were required to bring back their own plates. He remembered setting up that edict for Cassidy Place. But some people still often left their mess for the volunteers. Emily didn’t usually complain about it, but on occasion he’d seen her confront a customer for his thoughtlessness. The sight of her dragging a big guy back and making him clean up after himself was amusing.

The kitchen was hotter than usual tonight, probably because the April evening was still warm. Volunteers bustled in and out, preparing food or picking up plates. Emily scraped dishes while another worker loaded them into the dishwasher. Ben recognized the man as Jimmy, the guy who ran security on the floor.

Emily looked up as Ben crossed to them and aimed a megawatt smile his way. “Hi, Ben. Finished with your meal?”

He bused his plate, then rolled up his sleeves. “Yes. And I’m going to take over for you. You like being out on the floor better than working inside.”

Her smile brightened. “How do you know that?”

“You told me once. Come on, I’ll do KP with Jimmy.”

She and the other man exchanged a look.

“What?”

“Jimmy has a date. He wasn’t supposed to be here this late tonight.” She glanced to her helper. “If Ben’s going to work, you can leave.”

The young, handsome black man shrugged. “You sure?”

“Go.” She handed an apron to Ben. “Want to clear or stack?”

“Stack.” That way he might not have to see her face, flushed by the heat, or her hands, long and slender. He wondered if she’d blush like that after sex. What her hands would feel like stroking his back. Over the past year, he’d had dreams….

“Ben, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said, feeling his body tighten at her nearness. Damn, this wasn’t good.

Whipping on the white apron—she wore a matching one over her cropped pants and shirt—he began his task. They fell into easy conversation as they always did when he let himself relax with her. “No dance tonight?”

“I left work early for once and went to the four o’clock class. I changed there.”

“What kind of dance do you take?”

“Ballet, tap and jazz, all on different days. Though tap gives me some trouble. It always did.”

“Always?”

“Uh-huh, I’ve been taking lessons on and off all my life.”

“Nice hobby.” He’d like to see her dance.

“How about you? Got any hobbies?”

He used to. He played racquetball with Trey, went running with his dog, liked a game of pool. “No, not really.”

She scraped dishes. “Do you live alone, Ben?”

“Um, yeah.” He took a plate from her hand. “You?”

“It’s just me and my dog.”

“You have a dog?” Harriet’s shaggy face came out of nowhere. He’d loved that animal so much.

“A cocker spaniel.” Emily’s expression turned tender. “She’s a beauty. She likes to be coddled, so I call her My Lady. Lady for short.” She smiled. “Lady and the Tramp has always been my favorite story.”

“Ah, I should have known you’d like happily-ever-afters.”

She started to say something but a rush of people entered the kitchen, clattering dishes in front of her. Emily conversed with the guests who handed over their plates, then continued the conversation with Ben when things slowed down. “Why did you react when I told you about my dog?”

“I had one once.” She’d been a stray mutt hanging out at the soup kitchen. Eventually, Ben had taken her home.

“What happened to it?”

“I gave her away when I wasn’t able to keep her.”

“I’m sorry. That must have left a hole in your life.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t want to talk about his dog or think about anything else he’d lost. Luckily, things got busy again. In no time, the evening was over. Dishwashers were usually the last to finish, so the place emptied out quickly, leaving him and Emily alone in the kitchen. When the last plate was clean, he whipped off his apron. “I’ll go see if Alice needs help out there.”

Just then the older woman bustled in. “No, we’re done. One of the stragglers stacked the chairs. But there’s a mess on the floor from a family with kids that the janitors aren’t gonna like.”

“I’ll get a mop and take care of it.”

“That would be great,” Alice said.

Emily watched Ben’s back as he disappeared through the doorway.

“Have fun tonight?” Alice asked.

Chagrined, she felt herself blush. “I like working with him.”

“I like him.” Alice sat on a stool. “I wonder what his story is.”

“Me, too.” Emily crossed to the dessert cooler and removed chocolate cake for the two of them. “He seems so smart, so well spoken. He talks like an educated man. I can’t believe he needs to come here.”

“I was thinking the same thing. His clothes are definitely Salvation Army, though.”

“I wonder if he was always poor.”

“Maybe not. A lot of people who use Cassidy Place were once better off. Ben has a job, but we don’t know how much it pays. Sometimes people just come for the company. Like that Helena who always flirts with Ben.”

Helena, the tall, slender woman with mounds of streaked hair. No one had any idea where she came from. She did indeed make cow eyes at Ben.

They ate their treat and discussed some of the other guests until Ben came back to the kitchen. He crossed to a janitor’s closet, rinsed out the mop and put the things away. “That’s done. I’ll be heading out.”

Emily watched him. He’d taken off his long-sleeved denim shirt and wore only a black T-shirt. He had such nice shoulders. Great pecs. Flat abs. Paul used to spend hours at the gym and never looked as good.

Alice kicked her under the table. Good thing, or she’d probably start drooling. “Time to close up.”

Ben scanned the area. “Nobody’s here to walk you out?”

Like most soup kitchens and shelters, Cassidy Place was in a location that could be dangerous after dark.

“No, Jimmy usually does. If not, Tom.” Alice grabbed her purse. “No matter. We’ll be fine.”

“I’ll see you to your cars.”

Alice smile approvingly. They shut off lights and secured the doors, then went out the back and locked up. Alice’s car was closer—thank you, Lord. The older woman drove off as they headed toward Emily’s Taurus.

The spring moonlit night was unseasonably warm, but the difference in temperature from the hot kitchen was enough to make Emily shiver.

“Cold?” Ben asked as he shrugged into his denim shirt.

“A bit. I have a sweater in the car.” When they reached it, she unlocked the door and grabbed her wrap off the front seat. He watched her as she got stuck putting it on, a button caught in her hair, some of which had come out of the braid. “Ouch,” she said, tugging to loosen it.

“Here. I’ll get it.”

She turned her back to him and he moved in close. His body heat felt wonderful.

“It’s twisted up in here. I have to pull out the tie.” She felt a bit of pressure, then nothing. “There, I’ve got it.”

Emily stilled. Time seemed to freeze. Then she felt her braid come undone completely. When Ben’s hands sifted through her hair, she felt the touch in the pit of her stomach, and lower.

“Ben?” she whispered, her voice throaty.

“Your hair’s grown since I last saw it down. The color’s so many different shades of red, like a sunset in St. Croix. It’s beautiful.”

“Th-thank you.”

He lifted her sweater so she could slide it on. Once she did, he squeezed her shoulders. That touch made her weak in the knees. She leaned back.

Abruptly, he dropped his hands and stepped away. “Best you get in the car, Emily.”

She turned to him. His face was awash with moonlight. His features weren’t softened by it, though. If anything they were harsher than usual. Without censoring her actions, she squeezed his arm. “You’re a nice man, Ben.”

He retreated another step out of her reach. “Get in the car,” he said tightly.

She angled her head, confused by his reaction, by the force of his words. “All right.” The parking lot was deserted. Traffic whizzed by on the street and a firetruck’s horn sounded far away. “How will you get home?”

“I don’t live too far from here.”

“Let me give you a ride.”

“Hell, no.” His dark eyebrows furrowed. “You shouldn’t be offering rides to guests at a soup kitchen.”

“You’re not just a guest, Ben. We’ve both known that for a long time.”

His shoulders tensed and his hands fisted at his sides. “That’s all I am. Now get in the car.”

She waited.

“There’s danger here, Emily. Don’t think anything different.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Not from you.” Opening the door, she slid in. “Thanks for helping out with the dishes,” she said as she fastened her seat belt. “Good night.”

“Good night.” He shut the door.

Emily started the car and drove off. “I lied, Ben,” she confessed into the dimness of the car as she turned onto St. Paul Street and caught sight of him standing where she’d left him, watching after her. “You are dangerous.” Tonight when he’d touched her confirmed something she’d suspected for a long time: his attraction to her.

Which, of course, was not a good thing. She knew in her heart Ben would never let anything come of their feelings for each other. Despite his obvious poverty, he was a proud man. Since they were from two different worlds, he’d never let her into his life. Even if she wanted to be a part of it.

You do, girl.

Of course she did. But there were many things she wanted and couldn’t have. A baby. A dance studio. Freedom from self-imposed vigilance of her father. Ben whatever-his-last-name-was was simply another thing to add to that list.