ready to take all my frustration out on him. “Excuse me?”
He faced me wearing a phony as fuck innocent expression. “I said coffee, can I get you some?”
Punching an employee in the mouth would’ve earned me a nice fat lawsuit so I settled for glaring. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what I heard.”
“Then maybe you should buy a company that makes hearing–aids.”
My temper spiked. It was already on a hair trigger and this guy was pressing all the wrong buttons. “Are you trying to get fired?”
“It’s my last day. So I’m afraid that ship called satisfaction has sailed, Evil Ken.”
Evil Ken?
I turned and walked away before things got ugly, stepped into my office––my father’s office––and found my mother directing two men to take down the surrealist painting hanging behind the desk, a painting that had hung there since my father had bought the building.
“What are you doing?” I asked with barely leashed irritation.
My mother glanced over her shoulder briefly. “Oh, hi, honey. Taking my painting.”
“That painting stays in this office––with the rest of the stuff that belongs here.”
My mother took one look at me and whispered something to the men who grabbed the painting and left the room. Taking off her chunky red eyeglasses, she dropped them on the desk. Her green eyes steady on me. “This painting is mine, and it belongs with the others, in a museum for everyone to enjoy.”
“You’re not giving the collection away.”
She shook her head. “Sometimes you are just like your father. He didn’t want me to donate it, either. Did you know that?”
“No. I didn’t…but I can understand why.”
“It’s funny that you understand so much. You understand why your father wanted to hold on to a bunch of stuff, but you can’t understand why he didn’t tell you he was dying.”
That was a bodyblow I wasn’t ready for.
“Is there something you’d like to say to me, Scott? Because you look upset and I think you need to talk about it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me!”
“Because he asked me not to. Because he was my husband and I loved him despite his many, many faults. Because you make concessions and agreements, you incur debt and carry credit when you’re married for forty years. It was his business, his decision to make, and I owed it to him to carry out his wishes. Your father was used to winning, but you can’t beat death, and he couldn’t stomach looking weak. Not in front of his children. Not in front of anyone.”
“What about Sydney?”
“He trusted her to understand him. And she did.”
I fell into the wing chair across what used to be my father’s chair, all the fight draining out of me.
“All you see is how Sydney betrayed you. What you can’t see is her loyalty to your father. She made a promise and she kept it knowing she’d lose you and probably lose the job she loved. That’s character,” my mother eyeballed me pointedly, “and there’s not a lot of it to go around these days.”
Walking over, she pushed the hair off my forehead, something she hadn’t done since I was a teenager. Taking her hand in mine, I kissed her palm.
“What are you doing here, Scott? Are you happy?”
I couldn’t get a single word out. Only thing I could do was shake my head.
“He’s gone. Hopefully to a better place. Stop trying to get the upper hand. It’s already yours. I’m taking the painting. I’m selling the townhouse. If there’s anything you want, let Bernice know and she’ll pack it up for you. Or come by and take me to lunch. I could use the company.” She kissed me on the forehead. “I love you, bubby. But you don’t belong here any more than that painting does.”
“Miller. This is Scott Blackstone. Please call me back.”
A day later…
“I haven’t heard from you. I’m trying to find Sydney and her number keeps going straight to voicemail. I need to speak to her, and Human Resources doesn’t have a forwarding address or number. Please call me.”
A day later…
“I get that you hate me. Fine. But I really need to talk to my wife. I need to make sure she’s alright and…*sigh*…can you please return this phone call.”
A day later…
Bam. Bam. Bam.
“Who is it?” came from the other side of the steel industrial sliding door. I glanced around impatiently, amped from the need to act. The Smiths lived in Chelsea in a converted loft that cost a mint by the looks of it.