Authors: Claire Adams
CHAPTER
EIGHT
After
the wake, I headed over to the office to take care of a few orders that were
pending in our warehouse. I knew I didn't have to work. But I also knew that
death or not, customers were still waiting for their orders. Our ability to
survive the loss of our leader was dependent on the rest of us doing our jobs.
I waved to a few of the warehouse workers and handed over the orders that were
waiting to be filled.
"Get this out
as soon as you can, okay?" I said to the shift manager. "I know they
know about Mr. Yates, but let's keep the orders rolling out as close to
schedule as possible."
"Will do,
boss!" Burt nodded as he took the paperwork and surveyed the order.
"How was the end of the wake?"
"The usual:
lots of crying and mourning and gossip," I said.
"That's how
it always is, isn't it?" John said. "The rich go out rich, and the
poor get tossed in a pauper's grave."
"I don't know
about that," I said shaking my head. "I mean, Mr. Yates came from
nothing and worked his way up, you know."
"Sure, but he
had all the money in the world to go out on," Burt said as he checked off
boxes on the order, making sure he had everything in the warehouse. "His
family is going to be just fine, but what about the rest of us? Who's going to
lead the company now? Are we going to lose our jobs when the new guy comes in
and decides that what we've been doing no longer works?"
"Let's not
get ahead of ourselves, shall we?" I said, trying to stem the concern I
heard in his voice. "I'm sure Mr. Yates had a good plan in place in case something
like this happened. Let's give it a few weeks before we start to panic."
"I'm just
saying that I've seen it before, and it doesn't end well for those of us on
this end of the equation," Burt warned.
"I promise
I'll let you know what's going on as soon as I hear something," I said,
turning to go back to my office. I couldn't show it, but I was worried, too.
I'd started
working at Baby Steps in high school, and over the past decade I had worked my
way up to warehouse manager. Mr. Yates had been a mentor and a father figure to
me as I'd made my way through the ranks. I was now making a good living
managing the warehouse. But I wondered how that would all change if a new CEO
came in and took over.
I said goodbye to
the warehouse staff and headed home to make dinner for Riley. When I got to the
house, I found Mama asleep at the kitchen table with a half empty bottle in
front of her and a lit cigarette in the ashtray. This was getting dangerous,
and I needed to do something about it.
"Riley!"
I called up the stairs. "Are you home? What do you want for dinner?"
"Up here,
Leah!" Riley called down. "Pizza!"
I grabbed the
phone and dialed the pizza place around the corner and ordered a large to be
delivered. Then I shook my mother awake and helped her to her bedroom.
"Mama, you
have to get help," I whispered as I tucked the blankets in around her.
"You can't go on like this."
"I'm fine,
girl," my mother slurred. "The last thing I need is you nagging me
about something you know nothing about."
"Mama, it's
not safe anymore," I said as she looked at me with watery eyes. "I
can't leave you here alone, and Riley is too young to be responsible for you.
We have to do something to change this."
"Get the hell
out, and let me get some sleep," she said pushing me away as she rolled
over and curled up. "I don't need your high and mighty attitude,
missy."
"Mama …"
I pleaded to her back. I waited but soon heard the sound of her snoring. I knew
she'd be out for hours.
I walked back into
the kitchen and dropped down into the chair my mother had occupied. The walls
were stained a dull yellow from her years of smoking, and I knew that if the
alcohol didn't get her, lung cancer would. The problem was I didn't know how to
stop her.
"I'm sick of
this," I said as tears welled up. "I'm sick of being everyone's
keeper."
"What's
wrong, Leah?" Riley said as she entered the kitchen, holding a sheet of
paper. "Are you okay?"
"I'm
fine," I said wiping my eyes and trying to put on a smile. Riley was
having none of it.
"Gram's a
pain in the ass, isn't she?" she said without judgment. "I get sick
of her being drunk all the time."
"She's just
sad," I said, trying not to unload my personal feelings on the
twelve-year-old.
"Oh give me a
break, Leah," she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Gram is a
major downer, and I'm tired of her constantly being drunk. It's embarrassing.
Why don't we just throw her in rehab and be done with it?"
"Riley?
What's gotten into you?" I exclaimed.
"So, what are
we going to do about it?" she asked. Her jaw was clenched, and I could see
that she was itching for a fight. Sometimes she reminded me so much of Molly
that it hurt. "I mean, this can't keep happening, can it?"
"I don't
know," I sighed as my shoulders sagged. I leaned against the counter.
"Gram won't go to rehab and I can't make her. She's never going to stop
drinking, so I don't know what to do."
"One of the
counselors at school gave me this," Riley said as she held out the sheet
of paper. I took it and scanned the page. It was a detailed outline of how to
stage an intervention.
"Did the
counselor say anything about this?" I asked as my face burned with shame.
Someone at school knew what was going on in this house, and they were reaching
out to a twelve-year-old. How much worse could this get?
"She just
said that the intervention might be the last step in helping Gram find a way to
get out of her addiction," Riley said. "Can we try it, Leah? We could
call Patrick and get him to help, couldn't we?"
"Let me think
about this," I said as I thought about how we could bring my brother,
Patrick, into the mix. Just then, the doorbell rang. I handed Riley two
twenty-dollar bills and said, "Tip the delivery person five—no more!"
"Gotcha,"
Riley said as she took the money and went to retrieve our dinner.
I read the flyer
again. I thought about how Molly would know what to do with Mama. Molly would
have handled this with her usual flair and forthrightness, and she would have
made it look easy. Maybe that was the problem: we all thought everything Molly
did looked so easy. Maybe things had been a lot harder for her than we thought,
and now we were getting a peek into what drove her away.
By the time Riley
brought the pizza back into the kitchen, I'd set the table and had made a
decision to call Patrick after we ate.
*
After
dinner was over and the dishes were done, I took my phone out of my purse and
went into the living room to call my brother. It had been almost two years
since we'd last spoken. As the phone rang, I thought about what I would say to
him and how he might respond.
"Queen of
Peace Parish," a voice answered the phone. "How may I direct your
call?"
"Father
Patrick Walsh, please," I said. There was a click and the phone began
ringing again.
"Father
Patrick Walsh," my brother said into the receiver. "How may I be of
assistance?"
"Patrick?"
I said quietly. "It's Leah. Please don't hang up."
"Leah,"
he said, and I could hear the suspicion hanging in the air between us.
"What do you want?"
"I need to
talk to you, Patrick," I pleaded before I rushed headlong into what I
wanted to say. "It's Mama, she's not doing well, and I need help figuring
out what to do with her. I know you don't want to have anything to do with us,
but we need you, Patrick. I need you. I need your help. Please don't hang up on
me."
I began crying as
the weight of everything that had happened came crashing down on me. I needed
my brother more now than ever before, but I wasn't sure he'd be willing to
help. So much time had passed since Molly disappeared, and none of us had
listened to him while we'd still had the chance.
"Don't cry,
Leah," he said softly. There was a long pause before he spoke again,
"Let's meet at the parish and talk about what's going on. When are you
free?"
"I have to
work, but I could come by when I'm done," I said. "I'm usually back
in the neighborhood by six so I can pick Riley up, and she's usually in bed by
nine. Can I come see you in the evening?"
"How is she
doing?" he asked. I could hear the softening of his voice as he asked
about his niece. "Is she well?"
"She's
good," I said. "Growing like a weed and getting to be more like Molly
every ... I need help, Patrick."
"I
know," he said, and my fears began to abate. "Come to me this week,
and we'll talk."
"Okay,"
I said as I sniffled and choked back everything else I wanted to say.
"I'll call you when I'm on my way over."
"I'll be glad
to see you, Leah," he said before the line went dead.
I sat staring at
the phone for a long time, hoping that I hadn't hallucinated the call, and
hoping that Patrick would, indeed, help me make choices that would be best for
Mama, Riley, and for me. Given our history, I wasn't counting on anything.
Not just yet.
CHAPTER
NINE
When
I came down for breakfast the next morning, Lincoln and my mother were sitting
at the table with my father's attorney, Gordon Brasher.
"Jackson,
it's good to see you, son," he said in deep booming voice as he flashed a
smile as fake as the Rolex on his wrist.
"It's
Jack," I said as I sat down and waited. A plate of eggs, toast, and bacon
was soon placed in front of me, and I began eating without saying another word.
"Ah, right.
Jack it is, then," the lawyer said with a forced laugh. "We were just
discussing the stipulations of your father's will, Jack."
"And this
involves me how?" I asked with a mouth full of eggs. I was angry and resentful
that I was being included in this ridiculous conversation.
"Haven't you
told him?" Brasher asked, looking back and forth between my mother and my
brother. "I thought he knew."
"No, we
didn't say a word," Lincoln said coldly. "We thought this matter was
better left to the professional."
"I see,"
Brasher said, nervously clearing his throat as he looked down at the papers in
front of him. "Well, I guess there's no use in delaying the delivery then,
is there?"
"Would
someone just man up and tell me what the hell is going on here?" I said
impatiently. "I'm tired of this secretive game of ping pong knowledge
sharing."
"Jack, your
father left a will stipulating that you are to become the new CEO of Baby
Steps," Brasher said.
"Well, then
he was out of his mind because that's never going to happen," I said
matter-of-factly. "Anything else?"
"Um, yes,
actually there is," Brasher said nervously. "You don't have a choice
in the matter."
"The hell I
don't," I replied. "I'm independently wealthy and need nothing from
any of you. I owe you nothing, and I'm not doing anything to keep that stupid
company alive in the absence of my father."
"Jack, listen
to the man," my mother urged as she looked helplessly at my brother.
"Jack, your
father’s company is held by Bank of Manhattan, isn't it?" Brasher asked.
"Indeed, it
is," I nodded as I stuffed a bite of jam-covered toast into my mouth and
chewed.
"Well, the
money your dad is paying you has been frozen until you take the CEO position at
Baby Steps, and you either decide to run the company or hire someone to run it
for you," Brasher said quickly. "You'll have no access to any of the
money you invested in the business until you take care of your father's
business."
"Are you
fucking kidding me?" I exploded.
"Jack …"
my mother said disapprovingly.
"No,
seriously?" I said looking around the table in disbelief. "That
bastard stipulated that my assets—the assets I've earned through my own blood,
sweat and tears, and
that I loaned him
—will
be on hold until his damn business is taken care of?"
"Jack, Pop
had hoped that you'd come around and see that the company had a great deal of
potential," Lincoln began.
"And you? You
had to have helped him with this fucked up plan, didn't you?" I said,
shooting my brother a look that made him avert his eyes. "Why in the hell
did he pick me? He knew I had no desire whatsoever to run the company."
"Your father
believed that you were the one who could best represent the company's
interests," Brasher said as he slid a stack of papers across the table.
"It's all explained in this document, as are the parameters of the
agreement. If you run the company for a year and turn a profit that is within
the normal range of what Baby Steps has been doing for the past five years,
then your investments in the company will be unfrozen. At that point, you'll be
given the option of staying on and running the company or hiring someone to
replace you. Either way, at the end of the year, you'll be free."
"So, in other
words, I'm being punished for having helped that bastard yet again?" I
asked in a tone so venomous that my mother got up and walked away from the
table. I knew she was crying.
"I'm not sure
I'd say that, Jack," Brasher said. "I'd look at it more as an
emergency management strategy that your father hoped he'd never have to use but
put in place just in case something like this happened."
"This is so
far beyond fucked up," I said shaking my head as I scanned the documents
in front of me. I looked at Lincoln and said, "You know that, right?"
"Jack, Pop
needed someone in charge who knows how to run a business," he said.
"I'm the company's banking resource. I can't do it."
"Why didn't
he just vet someone and put them in place to succeed him?" I asked.
"That seems like it would have been a hell of a lot easier than roping me
into doing a job that I have absolutely no desire to do."
"Pop had his
reasons," Lincoln shrugged. "He didn't always explain them to
me."
"This is such
utter bullshit," I said angrily. "But I have no choice, do I?"
"No, Jack,
you don't," my mother said from the corner of the room where she stood
staring up at a painting of my father that she'd had commissioned several years
before his death. In it, he looked like the strong patriarch everyone thought
him to be, but all I saw was vengeance and anger.
"He's dead,
and he still gets his way," I said, shaking my head as I grabbed the
papers and stood up. "I guess tomorrow is as good a time as any to get
started. Would you tell Jimmy to bring the car around tomorrow morning at eight
sharp? I'll be going into the office."
I marched across
the room, yanked open the door, and headed up the stairs to my room. I quickly
changed into running clothes and tried to calm myself. If my father had
overseen it, then the paperwork was airtight. I wasn't getting any of the money
back that I’d loaned him until I'd fulfilled the terms laid out in the will. As
angry as I was, I'd been trained not to openly defy the man who'd helped bring
me into this world.
I did, however,
have the beginnings of an idea how to get out of the deal and get back to my
life before a year was up. I was going to have to play the part of the dutiful
son and concerned CEO of this ridiculous company until I could work out the
specifics of my plan. Tomorrow would be a good day to get started.
I put my earbuds
in and headed downstairs to take a very long run.
*
I
tossed and turned all
night, trying to find a way out of the will’s stipulations, but I came up with
nothing. My father had made sure that I would be locked into the position of
CEO for as long as it took to keep Baby Steps running. There was no way out. By
the time the sun rose, I had resigned myself to the idea that I was going to
have to suck it up long enough to figure some way out. The one saving grace was
that I knew I was under no obligation to hide my disdain for the job. I would
do it, but I wouldn't do it pleasantly.
After a quick
workout, I showered and dressed for the office. My father had been a casual man
when it came to dressing for the office, but I didn't think following in his
footsteps would be a good way to start my tenure as CEO. I picked the most
expensive suit I had and dressed as if I were heading to Wall Street.
"You're
overdressed, darling," my mother said as I sat down at the breakfast
table. "Your father never would have put on airs with his employees."
"May I remind
you that I'm not my father?" I replied as I helped myself to eggs and
toast from the sideboard. A maid placed a cup of coffee in front of me as I sat
down, and in return, I offered her a quick smile of thanks.
"Don't get
fresh with me, Jackson," my mother said. "I want you to do a good job
and make your father proud of you."
"It's a
little late for that, don't you think?" I said as I sipped my coffee
before digging into my plate of food.
"Why are you
so intent on making this such a miserable experience?" my mother asked
with a note of sadness in her voice.
"I don't
know, Mother," I said flippantly. "Perhaps it's because I wasn't
given a choice in the matter. Now I’m forced to do something I have no desire
to do in order to reclaim what's rightfully mine."
"Your father
never wanted to force you to do anything, Jackson," my mother said sadly.
"He just wanted you to come back to the family and be a part of it
again."
"Then perhaps
he should have asked me rather than doing what he has always done," I said
as I stood up. "Bullies never win, you know."
"Jackson
…" my mother began. I looked down at her and realized that she'd aged a
great deal since my father died. It was almost as if his death had sucked the
life out of her as well.
"Have a
lovely day, Mother," I said coolly as I walked out the door and headed to
the car. I could hear her choked sobs echoing in the empty room as I opened the
front door and headed for the car.
Jimmy dropped me
off at the Baby Steps building on Jay Street. It was an enormous, red-brick
warehouse that occupied most of the block and housed both the merchandise and
the executive offices. I sighed as I looked up at the battered brick facade and
the dirty windows that lined the top edge of the building next to the roof and
wondered what it would take to renovate the facility to make it look more
presentable. Compared to the building next door, the Baby Steps warehouse
looked like a poor cousin in shabby hand-me-downs.
I walked inside
and was immediately greeted by the warehouse workers who offered their
condolences and told me how glad they were that I was there to take over for my
father. I swallowed the lump of bitter resentment that formed in the back of my
throat, and I nodded as I thanked them for their warm welcome before heading up
to the offices on the second floor.
"Mr.
Yates!" Norma Tatz called as I walked through the door. "It's so good
to see you! My, don't you look like a biscuit covered in honey this
morning!"
"Good
morning, Ms. Tatz," I nodded as I walked past her desk.
"Oh honey,
you don't need to be so formal with me," she said in her cheerful Southern
accent. "Now that you're the boss, why don't you just call me Norma and
get on with it?"
Norma was
originally from St. Charles Parish just outside of New Orleans, and she always
threw out some Southern-flavored observation. She was a short, compact woman
who looked like she had been built to withstand a hurricane, both in body and
in hair. She meticulously maintained her personal appearance through the heavy
use of hairspray and cosmetics, the smell of which entered a room long before
she did. She was cheerful, but tough, since she had always been the boundary
between my father and everyone who wanted a few minutes of his time. As a
child, she had intimidated me, but as an adult, I could see how useful her
honeyed tone and iron will could be.
"All right,
Norma," I said as I dredged up a smile and tried to make it look like I
was happy to be there. If I was going to survive this tenure at Baby Steps, I
was definitely going to need Norma on my side. "I'd like to look at the
financials for the past five years and then find out what projects my father
was planning for the next year."
"It's all on
your desk, darlin'," Norma chirped. "I was fixin' to get the ten year
financials, but then thought that might be overdoing it."
"Thank you,
Norma," I said, bowing my head slightly as I turned toward the office. On
the desk, in neat stacks, were all the documents I'd asked for and then some.
Norma had thought ahead and given me everything that she thought I might need
in order to understand the business, and as the morning wore on, she continued
to add to the piles.
By lunchtime, I'd
read through most of what she'd given me and had a pretty clear understanding
of where the company had been and where it was headed. My father had been an
exceptional businessman and had entrusted a great deal of the day-to-day
operations to the woman who ran the warehouse. It became obvious to me that if
I was going to truly understand what was going on, I would have to work closely
with her until I was up to speed.
"Norma!"
I called from behind my desk. "Can you get Leah Walsh up here to talk
about the warehouse?"
"She'll be
here in ten minutes, darlin'!" Norma called back as the phone rang, and
she answered it. I could hear her talking with someone she obviously knew well,
as she tossed in a few "Sure thing, sugars" before hanging up.
At that moment, I
realized that if I played my cards right, I might not have to do a whole lot of
work. If my father had trained and entrusted all of his employees the way he'd
done with Norma, then this company might just be able to run itself while I
functioned as a figurehead, at least until we found a suitable CEO. I smiled as
I plotted the ways in which I'd be able to escape the office for a few rounds
of golf and have some leisurely lunches with a few of the beautiful New York
socialites I'd met on my travels.