Scott
…
Just when I'm right back on balance again, Dad decides to throw me a curve-ball.
I pretty much career into him in the hallway. It's these bloody deep-pile carpets he's had fitted – you can't hear anyone coming. Gordon just loves them.
"Scott – good, I need to see you, son. In my office, now, if you will."
His tone is slightly kindly, which usually means bad news. I feel a slight pain just above the right temple. Right now, I want to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
"Can it wait, sir? The stabilizers on Three felt just a little off last night when we brought her down and I was going to check them out this morning." It's the truth, more or less.
"She isn't going anywhere in the next ten minutes." He turns snappy quickly enough. "My office. Now." He clearly isn't going to take no for an answer.
I glance at my watch hoping he'll think I've arranged to meet Hiram or John, but he doesn't take the bait and I don't have much option but to trail after him.
"I had a call from Alan this morning," he shoots back over his shoulder. "Apparently he's got a backer for the Cahill League. You know anything about that?"
My heart stops. "Know…?"
He glances at me curiously. "I just wondered if you'd heard anything – you take quite an interest in racing, don't you? I can't say I'm happy. I had this idea it was dangerous. And he's barely on track with his studies as it is."
The heart starts right up again, going zero to about one-fifty in a blink, but gradually slowing to something manageable. Okay. Under control. "Gordon's the guy to ask. He follows Alan's career more closely than I do."
Dad just grunts. We reach the office. He signals me to sit but I pretend I haven't seen him. He gives up and gets to the business.
"I need to talk to you about your grandmother."
My heart hits the floor. It's having a real bad time of it today.
I've known this was coming for months now but one part of me has been pretending this is not going to happen.
I steel myself.
"I think maybe it's time to bring her over here, Scott. Elsie Marchant died last month and the Pickfords hardly ever get over to see her these days. I don't think old Martin can see to drive. Mom's getting lonely. She's still as sharp as a butcher's knife and she needs to feel that she's part of something. She could still make a genuine contribution."
Why is he telling me before the others? Shouldn't this be a family decision?
"Yes, sir."
He gives me a curious look.
"Are you going to be okay with it?"
There's a faint tremor beneath my feet. I just didn't run fast enough this morning.
Lately he's been pushing and pushing at me. To turn around, and re-visit the past. I don't know what the hell he's trying to achieve by it.
I got a reputation in the Air Force as a strategist. I can join the dots, but what's the big deal? It's the same with the math. There are the facts – things that are, and there are probabilities – things that could be, and there are a whole series of lines and equations that link them. I see them in color; yellows and greens for the urgent and the dangerous, blues for the solid links, purples and reds for the risky ones, and they all of them resonate at their own particular frequency; the trick is to get them to harmonize. It's multi-dimensional, constantly shifting, like some fantastically complex son et lumiere display. I quit trying to explain it to people a long time ago. They look at you like you're not quite right.
It all works just fine and dandy, but some things just mess with the equations. So you slam down the top on the box and you bury them deep in the tunnels and you move on. You don't go digging them up. Look what happened to Pandora.
There's no way I'm going back there, Dad.
Keep the lid on it.
I contemplate a longer reply but decide to keep it simple."Yes, sir."
"I don't want to mess up here, Scott. I know you don't like changes."
I'm suddenly tired of playing the game. I know it isn't up for debate and I have absolutely no idea why we're having this conversation.
"What do you want from me, sir?"
My headache's getting worse.
"A little honesty wouldn't go amiss."
Not a chance.
"Whatever plans you have for expansion are your business. I'll do my job."
"I hear you may have a few plans for expansion of your own."
Shoot. What has he picked up? He's right, I don't like changes. But we're working flat out and it's taking its toll on my brothers. I've been thinking about ways of expanding the outfit, sure. But the only person I've talked it through with is Virj, and tentatively at that. I specifically asked him to keep his mouth shut until I've fleshed it out some and I can take it to Dad as a viable proposition. Surely he wouldn't?…not Virj. But then again, maybe…he's close to Dad in some way I just can't begin to fathom. I take the bait, despite myself.
"What do you mean?"
"This doctor friend of yours…" he hesitates. "Stevie. Maybe we can use her on the team?"
I'm totally wrong-footed by this. How the hell does he think that's going to work?
"Are you kidding me?"
"Scott, I understand that sooner or later one of you is going to want a family of your own. And I guess it would be nice to have kids around the place again."
The sudden change of direction has thrown me completely. When did this turn into a conversation about the proliferation of the Tracy dynasty? Has it escaped his notice that we're on an island? Most of the women we meet are in extremis. Or in body bags. Or turn out…turn out to be Stevie.
She would have been good here. And he's right; we really could have used a doctor on the team.
The island's a blessing in some ways. But I'd given up much hope of meeting anyone once I moved out here. Okay, so I got a little desperate that one time. Would I really have married The Shark if John hadn't intervened so drastically? I like to think not. I was just trying the idea on for size.
I hadn't expected to meet anyone like Stevie.
I like her. A lot. Am I in love with her? I…well, I admire her. That's enough, I guess. She's just a little scary, admittedly. Truth. I do want a family of my own now that the rest of them are all grown up. I want kids, someone who liked me for something more than the Tracy billions would be a bonus.
But it's academic now. We were doing just fine until I told her who I was.
Steve's the antithesis of the bounty hunters. When I told her my real name I saw something come into her eyes that I couldn't quite identify. Pity? Maybe even repugnance. She made little attempt to hide it.
I had just let myself dream a little.
How fucking stupid was that?
Ashes.
Everyone on the island knows she turned me down last week.
"Scott?"
I realize I'm still standing staring at him, my mouth hanging open.
"You must have thought about it, surely, son."
Thought about it…?
My mind is still awash with images and a kind of blind craziness takes over momentarily. The words rush out of my mouth without any kind of inhibition. Anything to shut him up.
"If you think any of us is going to provide you with grandchildren any time soon, you can think again."
He looks taken aback and attempts a joke. "The way Johnny's going, I'm surprised I don't have any already."
I'm stunned. You've got to hand it to the old man, he gives insensitivity a whole new meaning. How the hell he manages to press so many of my buttons all at once I'll never know.
Fuck you, you insensitive sonofa…
"Yeah? Well maybe some of us are a whole lot more careful than you were."
Again, the words are out of my mouth before I even have a chance to monitor them.
For a second I think he's actually going to deck me. It wouldn't be the first time his temper got out of hand. But he gets it under control.
And somehow, so do I.
I realize I am way out of line. The headache turns into a blinder.
"I'm sorry, sir." I mean it. "That was uncalled for."
"Yes, it was." He turns his back on me. The fact that he doesn't even bother to dismiss me tells me how much I've infuriated him.
The earlier anxiety is back in spades. I turn to go.
It's hard enough living with him sometimes. Can I live with his mother, too? I guess I'm going to have to. But right now I don't even want to think about it.
…