Authors: Claire Adams
CHAPTER
SIX
Once
I'd offered my condolences to the Yates family, I joined Norma off to one side
and listened to her sob about the loss of one of the greatest men she'd ever
known. I looked across the room at the Yates family and wondered how a man who
was so great could have raised two entirely unpleasant sons.
"Mr. Yates
always said good morning and stopped in to ask about my grandchildren,"
Norma said as she wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. Norma had been
Mr. Yates's secretary for almost twenty years, and she knew him better than
most people in the company. Norma was also a Southern belle who thrived on the
dramatic potential of every situation, and we loved her because of her
willingness to fully embrace drama. "It's like we're losing not just a
CEO, but a strong guiding light!"
"Ease up on
the sainthood bullshit, Norma," Burt scoffed as he and Kevin offered us a
shot from their flasks. "He was a good guy, but he could also be a real
bastard."
"Don’t piss
on my leg, and tell me it’s raining, Burt," Norma warned, wiping her eyes.
"He was a man who sunk everything he had into the business to make it run
successfully."
"And those
are the guys who are usually running from something at home," Kevin said
before drinking deeply. "I would know."
"He was
always kind to me," I said, looking back and forth between the two men.
"I'm not sure what you guys are talking about."
"Look, he was
a good man," Burt sighed. "He worked hard and ran a successful
company, but those sons of his are two of the biggest pains in the ass I've
ever met. I don't think they raised themselves, if you know what I mean."
"Kiss my ass
and go-to-hell!” Norma gasped. "Those boys have done incredibly well for
themselves! The oldest one is a lawyer, and the younger one made a fortune in
computers. I'd call that successful."
"Yeah, but
they both hated their old man," Kevin said grimly. "I'm not sure how
you missed the forced smiles and the hateful looks. Besides, Mrs. Yates had to
reprimand them both in order to get them to shake hands with the folks coming
to the wake. Did you miss all of this, Norma?"
"It's the
grief," Norma insisted. "They're just sad that their father
died."
"More like
they're both waiting to celebrate," Burt muttered. "He was a good
businessman, but a lousy human being. That's all there was to it, Norma."
"Don't y’all
speak ill of the dead," Norma said, narrowing her eyes and giving both men
a cold stare. They shrugged their shoulders and slunk off to join the other
guys from the warehouse at the back of the room.
As I watched them
go, I noticed that Jack Yates had moved to the back of the room as well and was
talking with a tall, elegant, blonde woman. She stood close to him as she
talked, and it was obvious that she was telling him something of great importance
because when he looked away, she reached up and grabbed his chin, turning his
face back toward her.
When he looked
away, he caught me staring at them for a split second before I resumed my
conversation with Norma. Part of my brain remained focused on Jack Yates, and I
wondered who the woman was and what was so urgent that she had to corner him at
his father's wake.
"So, what do
you think, Leah?" Norma asked.
"Huh? About
what?" I asked, shaking my head and trying to focus on what the woman was
asking me.
"Who do you
think is going to run the company now that Mr. Yates is dead?" she asked
impatiently. "What's going to happen to Baby Steps?"
"I'm sure
there is something in place that will take care of it, Norma," I said,
trying not to let her worry work its way into my brain.
"I've been
working for this company for twenty years, and I've seen everything there was
to see. But I've never seen the paperwork for who would be in charge if Mr.
Yates died," Norma whispered to me. "I'm wondering if it's going to
be his younger son."
"You're
kidding, right?" I said. I turned my attention toward Jack Yates and
observed a tall, broad shouldered man who was dressed completely
inappropriately for his own father's funeral and who was passionately
discussing something with the tall, blonde woman in the designer dress. Jack
Yates appeared to be the exact opposite of everything his father stood for.
"There is no way they are turning the company over to that man."
"Who else is
going to run it?" Norma asked. "I mean, his other son is a
high-powered attorney at Bank of Manhattan. He's not going to drop his clients
to run the company. And his wife isn't someone who knows how to run a company.
Who else are they going to get?"
"There's no
way they're going to turn over the company to Jack Yates," I said shaking
my head.
"You wanna
bet on it?" Norma said with a twinkle in her eye as she held out her hand
to shake. I looked at her then down at her hand before looking back over at
Jack Yates who was now downing a bottle of beer that someone had handed him. He
had one arm around the woman, and he was eyeing her the way I'd seen the men at
our local pub eye me after one too many drinks. I looked at Norma grinning and
grabbed her hand.
"It's a
bet," I said shaking firmly. "What are we betting?"
"If I win,
you take me to dinner, hon," Norma said.
"What the
hell kind of bet is that?" I demanded. "If you’re right, you win, and
if you’re wrong, there’s no consequence!"
"He’s already
made his interest in you pretty clear, so if I’m wrong and he doesn’t take
over, I’ll find a way to fix you two up,” she grinned. "I might just do it
anyway. You’re not a spring chicken, you know, darlin’.”
"Norma!"
I protested. "I resent being treated like chattel."
"Oh honey,
don’t go getting your knickers in a knot," Norma nodded. "I'll keep
you posted on the progress in the executive suite."
"Norma,
you’re a piece of work," I said shaking my head.
"Nah,
darlin’, I’m just a woman with a mission," Norma said as she drank from
her flask and watched the rest of the mourners pass by Mr. Yates's casket.
"I think I need to get home."
I said goodbye to
Norma, and she went outside to find a cab.
*
A
little while
later, I stepped away from my coworkers to get some fresh air and try to keep
my swirling emotions at bay. I felt a deep sadness about losing Bernard, but I
also felt conflicted about my mother. For a moment, I thought about how all of
this would have been different if my mother had died instead.
"My problems
would be solved and the company would be fine, if only Mama had died instead of
Bernard," I muttered as I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to put
that horrible thought out of my mind.
"What problem
would be solved?" a deep voice asked breaking into my private moment.
"What?"
I said as I whipped around to see who was talking to me. I found Jack Yates
standing a foot away, grinning.
"I said what
problem would be solved?" he repeated as he stepped slightly closer and
closed the gap between us. I could smell his cologne: a deep, musky scent that
was decidedly masculine and incredibly intoxicating. Jack Yates was well over
six-feet tall and had a head full of curly dark hair that looked like it would
be heaven to run my fingers through. His dark-brown eyes were warm, but had a
hint of danger that made my pulse race as I looked into them. But it was his
full mouth that caught my attention and left me slightly dazed. His bottom lip
begged to be nipped at, and I shook my head as I looked away to keep myself
from imagining what I’d do if I were alone with the man. He was wearing a dark
suit with a blue dress shirt that looked like it hadn’t seen an iron in quite a
while, and unlike the rest of the men at the wake, he’d skipped the tie and
left the neck of his shirt open. I could see his broad, smooth chest begin to.…
"Oh, I was
just working out some frustrations," I said shaking my head and stepping
backward as I tried to widen the space between me and the handsome son of my
late boss.
"I know of a
better way to work off frustrations," he said with a sly grin as he,
again, attempted to close the gap between us.
"Did you
really just say that?" I asked as I put my hands on my hips and squinted
up at him. The sun was high in the sky, but Jack was so tall that he blocked
it, leaving a halo of bright light shining around the outer edges of his skull.
The idea that he could be wearing a halo struck me as immensely funny, and I
burst out laughing.
"What? What
did I say that was so funny?" he asked, obviously annoyed, but also
interested.
"Your father,
my boss, is inside in a casket, and you're making a pass at me out here in the
parking lot?" I said bluntly. "That seems like something that would
be more suited to a wedding or a formal dinner, not a wake."
"Can't blame
me for trying, can you?" he grinned as he, again, stepped closer and
reached out to run a finger down the side of my arm. The feeling of his skin
pressed against mine gave me a jolt that caused me to step backwards and trip
on a concrete barrier that had been placed around the flowerbed. Before I knew
what had happened, Jack reached out and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling
me tightly against his body to prevent me tumbling into the dirt.
I looked up into
his brown eyes as I felt the strength of his arm holding me against his firm
body. I gasped as he lowered his head and quickly brushed his lips across mine
before setting me securely on my feet and backing away. I stared at him with
wide eyes, unsure whether to slap him or grab the front of his shirt and drag
him back toward me so that I could kiss him again, this time harder.
"That's what
I thought," he grinned as he turned and headed back inside without another
word.
I stood there,
staring at the empty space, wondering if I'd imagined it all or if Jack Yates
had actually kissed me, and if so, what I was going to do about it.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
I'd
walked away from the
moment with Leah Walsh wondering why she hadn't given in to my seduction.
Granted, she was not the usual type of woman I pursued, but there was something
incredibly sexy about the way she stood up to me and laughed at my lame come-on
line when most women would have swooned. I liked her honesty, and if I was
candid, I liked the way she'd felt pressed against my chest. But I also knew
that she worked for my father's company, and that our little encounter would be
limited to the flirtation at my father's wake. I was disappointed, but I told
myself that there would be others. There always were.
After the wake,
Jimmy drove my mother and me back to the house in Brooklyn. We both spent the
drive staring out opposite windows. My mother sighed and reached out to take my
hand as she fought back the tears, while I simply watched the familiar
landscape pass by as I wondered how much longer I'd have to endure this hell.
"I've got
your room ready for you," my mother said as she unlocked the door and
turned on the entry lights. My brother and his wife pulled up in the driveway
several minutes later, and I could hear them open the door and send their two
small children running toward the kitchen.
"Grandma!
Grandma!" the small boy shouted as he threw his arms around my mother's
waist and hugged her tightly.
"Well, now
who is this?" my mother said smiling down at him as she patted his head.
"I don't think I remember you. You've gotten so tall!"
"Grandma,
it's me! Joey!" the boy laughed loudly as he hugged her tighter.
"Ah yes,
Joey. I believe I remember you," she grinned as she bent down and kissed
the top of his head.
"Who is
that?" Joey asked pointing at me.
"That's your
Uncle Jack," Lincoln's wife, Jessie, said as she bent and picked up the
little girl who'd been lost in the action and was now crying. She smoothed the
child's hair and soothed her saying, "Don't cry, Mimi. Uncle Jack is
Daddy's brother. See? He looks like Daddy!"
"Hello,"
I said holding out a hand to Joey. "It's nice to meet you."
"You're
tall," Joey said, staring up at me completely ignoring my hand. "How
did you get to be so tall?"
"Dunno, I
grew, I guess," I said looking down at him. "How did you get to be so
short?"
"It's because
I haven't grown yet!" Joey shouted. "I'm not done growing! I need
more nutrients!"
"Where did he
pick that up?" I asked my mother. "Kind of precocious."
"Stop it,
Jack," she said. "Joey goes to a Montessori school. They teach them
advanced concepts according to their own learning styles."
"Wow, guess
we missed out on a few things, eh Linc?" I said, looking over at my
brother who had a murderous look on his face.
"Can it,
Jack," he said as he looked at his son and said, "Hey, Joey, I bet
Grandma has some cookies out in the dining room for you. Want to go
check?"
"May I have a
glass of milk to go with them?" Joey asked.
"What's the
magic word, Joey?" his mother said in a sing-song voice that made me want
to vomit. The whole family routine was already getting on my nerves, and this
little act was the last straw.
"Cookie!"
Joey bellowed in a voice that sounded like it was designed to shake the
foundation of the house.
"No, that's
definitely not the magic word," Lincoln said. "Try it again."
"Linc, ease
up," Jessie said, shooting him an irritated look. "He's four."
"Never too
early to learn proper manners," Lincoln shot back in an equally irritated
tone.
"Come with
me, Joey," my mother said, taking the child's hand. "I'll take care
of the cookies and the milk."
"Thank you,
Gamma," Joey said with solemn sincerity. My mother leaned down and hugged
him tightly before leading him into the dining room.
"Long time,
no see, Jack," Jessie said as she held her daughter and smoothed her hair.
The child had stopped crying and was staring up at me with wide, blue eyes
rimmed in red. "How have you been?"
"Not bad,
Jessie," I said. "Not bad at all, but then again, being away from
this place often does a person good."
"Dammit,
Jack," Lincoln said throwing his hands up in the air in premature defeat.
"Can't you ever just let it go? I mean, seriously. Our father hasn't been
dead two days, and you're already digging at old wounds."
"Who says
they're old, brother dear?" I tossed back at him as I opened the cupboards,
searching for a bottle of something that could take the edge off.
"It's out in
the living room," Lincoln said pointing toward the drink cart my mother
had set up in anticipation of guests. I walked to it and poured myself a
healthy glass of scotch as Lincoln muttered, "Can't do anything in this
family without drinking."
"And why,
exactly, do you think that is?" I asked as I raised the glass to my lips
and drank deeply. I had no desire to get into this mess with my brother, but if
he was going to drag me into it, I wasn't going to fight him too hard.
"You haven't
been home in almost a decade, and you're the one who is complaining?"
Lincoln hissed as he poured himself a drink and followed my lead. "You
escaped. You're the lucky one. Why are you so resentful?"
"Why am I
resentful?" I hissed as I moved closer to him so that my mother wouldn't
hear us. "You've got to be fucking kidding me, right?"
"No, I don't
get it," Lincoln muttered. "You got the hell out and never looked
back. I had to stay here with him. I got trapped in this hell hole, and now you
come back acting all victimized by a situation you left almost a decade ago?"
I opened my mouth to
argue with him, but my mother intervened before I could say any more. The look
on her face told me that she wasn't going to allow this discussion to take
place in front of the children.
"Do you boys
want some of these cookies and a glass of milk," my mother asked. There
was a hard edge to her voice, and I knew better than to challenge her.
"I'd love
some," Lincoln said, looking over at Joey who sat coloring on one of the
big sheets of butcher paper that my mother kept stocked just for his visits.
"I'm sure Uncle Jack would love some, too. Right?"
"Can't think
of anything I'd like more," I said with a fake bright smile. My mother
gave us both a warning look and then went into the kitchen to pour the milk.
"After the
funeral, we'll meet with the lawyer and settle this," Lincoln said.
"And once
that's over, I'm out of here for good," I said. "I want nothing more
to do with the mess that man created."
"So, you're
going to leave us behind again?" Lincoln said. His face showed anger, but
his eyes were deep wells of pain. "Great. Just fucking great."
"Gamma! Daddy
said a bad word!" Joey yelled.
"I'm sure
your daddy didn't mean to say a bad word, did he?" my mother said as she
carried a tray of full milk glasses into the dining room and set it on the
table. "Did he?"
"No, Mother,
I certainly did not," Lincoln said bowing his head slightly. I caught
Jessie's disapproving look out of the corner of my eye and knew that there was
something else going on.
Lincoln took a
glass of milk and one of the cookies my mother offered and shot me a look that
let me know this was far from over.
*
After
Lincoln and Jessie and the kids finally left, I said goodnight to my mother and
went up to the room she'd assigned me. It had once been the room that Lincoln
and I shared, but after we'd gone to college and moved out, my mother had
renovated it and turned it into a permanent guest room.
I hated the room
because it reminded me of an ice cream parlor, with the peach striped wallpaper
running halfway up the wall ending in cream wainscoting. The upper half of the
walls was painted a frothy peach color, and all of the bedding and accessories
matched it. The room made me feel like throwing up.
I lay down on the
bed and closed my eyes, trying to conjure the image of the room before its
makeover. Back when Lincoln and I had still been close.
We'd begged my
parents to paint the walls navy blue so that we could hang bright, space-themed
posters on the walls. We had ordered glow-in-the-dark stars from the back of a
comic book and wanted to fix them to the ceiling.
My father had ignored the requests until we'd
finally driven him over the edge. He'd taken off his belt and punished us for
having annoyed him then told us to take our request to our mother.
My mother's mouth
had formed a thin, grim line when she saw what Father had done to us with his
belt. She agreed to have the bedroom painted a dark blue. The painters had come
the next week and laid down tarps before they coated the walls in darkness.
Lincoln and I had watched from the hallway as they worked, discussing the
various ways in which we were going to arrange the posters and mapping out a
pattern for the stars. The punishment had happened almost two weeks before, but
Lincoln was still limping a little from it.
"You
okay?" I asked as we descended the stairs in search of snacks in the
kitchen.
"Yeah, I'm
good," Lincoln said over his shoulder. "I just forgot not to stiffen
my legs when he hit. It'll be fine in another few days."
I nodded and
wondered why our father felt the need to punish us so severely over things that
seemed so trivial. Once we'd gotten our snacks and taken them out to the patio,
I worked up the courage to ask Lincoln.
"Why do you
think Pop does what he does to us?" I asked as I took a bite of the peanut
butter sandwich and followed it with a swig of milk.
"Dunno,"
Lincoln mumbled through his sandwich. He chewed for a few moments, swallowed,
and said, "I think he's stressed out about something, and we're the way he
works out that stress.
Either that, or
he's one sadistic son-of-a-bitch."
"What's
sadistic?" I asked earnestly. As my older brother by two years, Lincoln
was both my encyclopedia and dictionary.
"It means you
like seeing other people in pain," he replied as he took another huge bite
of his sandwich.
"Oh, yeah,
that makes sense then," I said. "But he doesn't seem to be happier
after he punishes us. Does that count?"
"It's not
that it makes people happy, dummy," Lincoln said with a full mouth.
"It's that he likes it."
"That's just
weird," I said, popping the last bite into my mouth and chasing it with
the last bit of milk. I liked it when things evened out just right.
"I didn't say
it made sense," Lincoln said crossly. "I'm just saying …"
"Boys,"
my mother called from the kitchen window. "Did you leave this mess here
for me to clean up, or were you planning on coming back and doing it
yourself?"
"We'll do it,
Mother!" I yelled. "We were just really hungry."
"That's what
I thought," she called. "I knew you didn't want your father to come
home and discover your carelessness."
Lincoln and I
looked at each other wide eyed as we quickly grabbed our dishes and headed
inside to take care of cleaning up the mess we'd made. By the time we were
done, the painters had finished with our room and were cleaning up.
We surveyed the
job in a state of awe as we looked at our plans for decorating the room. It was
overwhelming to think that our vision of how the room should look was about to
come true. Lincoln stuck his hand out and touched the wall. When he drew back,
there was a print on the wall the size of his hand, and his palm was covered in
dark-blue paint.
With fear in my
eyes, I looked at my brother who shrugged and stuffed his hand in his pocket.
"Dad's gonna
kill you if he sees this," I whispered.
"Then we need
to figure out a way that he doesn't see it, don't we?" Lincoln said in a
way that struck me as oddly defiant. Up until then, we'd been partners in
punishment, but Lincoln seemed to be rejecting that narrative. It seemed risky
to me, but since he was the older, wiser brother, I followed his lead and
helped him plan how to hide the handprint.
Our plan had
ultimately worked, and no one had been the wiser. However, Lincoln's pants had
suffered the consequence of him shoving a handful of wet paint into the pocket,
so he'd buried them in the bottom of his dresser drawer. We never spoke about
it again.
Now, twenty years
later, I opened my eyes and looked over at the wall where Lincoln's handprint
had been and wondered how many layers of paint it had taken to cover the
memories in this room—and how long it would take for me to leave the memories
behind.