Unforgettable

by Ann Christopher

  From the back came the sound of a plate crashing to the floor.

  “Sorry!” Alyssa called. Daniel was pleasantly surprised to discover that her voice was strong and clear rather than thin and mousy. “I’ll clean it up.”

  “Don’t worry about it, dear,” Ada said. “Fourth one this week,” she added to Daniel in a stage whisper. “Eight dollars a pop. We should just have her go in the kitchen and break the rest of them and close the restaurant for good. Save us the misery of trying to make a go of it.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “You have no idea.” She brightened, flashing that proud mother’s smile at him. “So...? How’s it going at work? Getting settled?”

  “Starting to.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she leaned in for a closer look. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Oh.” Shoulders slumping, she covered her face with her hands and shook her head. Then she emerged again, red-faced. “I knew it. Your father’s driving you crazy, isn’t he?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is he letting you do anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, I’m not surprised. You two are so much alike, and—”

  “Excuse me?” Daniel said, revolted by the mere suggestion. “I’m not like him.”

  Ada regarded him as if he’d started smoking oregano. “You’re both control freaks, and being in the military only made it worse. You’re so hard on yourselves. You have hot tempers—”

  “He’s a control freak. I just work hard and have high expectations.”

  “—and you were always his favorite,” Ada said thoughtfully, completely ignoring his interjection. “Men are always hardest on their favorites.”

  Daniel couldn’t believe his ears. If the unrelenting criticism he’d received from his father over the years was a sign of his so-called favoritism, Daniel couldn’t bear to think about how Nigel treated his disfavored sons.

  “You’re losing your grip on reality, woman. How many unicorns do you see in the room right now?”

  Pitying look from his mother. “Daniel, you remind your father of himself. That’s why he’s so hard on you.”

  Daniel hesitated, the faint ring of truth sounding in some back corner of his mind.

  But before he could consider this stunning assessment any further, a sudden clatter, from inside the kitchen this time, broke the relative silence. Daniel’s first thought was that Alyssa was at it again, but then he heard raised but indistinct male voices.

  An idea hit him, too preposterous for words, but he said it anyway. “Please tell me that’s not the Dictator going at it with Chef. Not after all these years.”

  More clattering from the kitchen, followed by angry snippets of conversation that included such promising gems as, “If you think I’m going to,” “Don’t know who you think you’re talking to,” and Daniel’s personal favorite, “You know where the door is.”

  “Of course they’re still going at it,” Ada said bitterly. “They’re like an old married couple who should have gotten divorced in 1989, but stayed together for the sake of the kids. Chef actually quit the night of your father’s heart attack—didn’t I tell you this? —then came back because he knew how much we needed him. But he and your father go a couple rounds in their death match every night. Chef wants to update the menu and your father wants to keep things frozen the way they were in the Clinton administration. Welcome to my life.”

  “Your life sucks, Ma. Sorry to tell you.”

  “I know it sucks!” she said. “Why do you think I was so anxious for you to come back? You’re my only hope!”

  “Hang on, Princess Leia...”

  “I’m at my wit’s end, Daniel. Your father gave all that lip service about retiring after he had the heart attack, but he hasn’t done one thing to slow down.”

  “It’s because he’s a control freak. You know that.”

  “Yeah, and I know his blood pressure was up again at his checkup last week. He can’t keep up like this. Something’s got to give.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m trying to do my bit,” Daniel said sourly, folding his arms. “Talk to him.”

  “Give him a minute, Daniel. It’s not easy to be put out to pasture—”

  “You sound like Zoya.”

  “—and watch someone else take over everything you’ve—wait, what? Zoya?” Ada put prayerful hands together in front of her heart and lit up like a Tahitian sunrise. “Are you—”

  He backed up, raising his hands to ward her off. “I admit nothing. I already regret mentioning her name to you.”

  Ada pointed her index finger in Daniel’s face. “I don’t know what happened between you two kids, but you’re a fool—and a jackass—if you let that woman get away again. Do you understand me? Do not get my hopes up for no reason.”

  “It’s all about you and your ongoing quest for more grandkids, isn’t it?”

  This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say.

  Glowering, Ada stood on her tiptoes and grabbed Daniel’s earlobe, which she twisted. “Do you understand me?”

  “Ma! Yeah! Shit!”

  She turned him loose and dusted off her hands. “That young woman made you a better man back when you were in college. A happier man. The chip on your shoulder wasn’t so big when she was around.”

  Daniel felt the first twinges of annoyance. “I was an okay guy before I met her. Did I have a temper? Sure, who doesn’t? It’s not like—”

  Ada rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time to stand here listening to you delude yourself.”

  “Too many customers?”

  It was also the wrong time for humor. Ada grabbed that earlobe again, twisting hard enough to make Daniel squawk and bend at the waist. “And don’t you dare take off again if things don’t work out. We can’t live our lives waiting for you to come home. Okay?”

  With a soft kiss on his cheek, she let him go.

  Daniel straightened and glared impotently at her, rubbing his abused earlobe.

  “So,” Ada said brightly. “Do you want to say hi to Isaiah?”

  “Isaiah? What?”

  She pointed.

  Sure enough, Daniel realized with a jolt of alarm, his brother sat hunched over his computer at a booth way in the back, near where Alyssa was putting the silverware away.

  As always, dude marched to a fashion drummer that only he could hear, wearing a black T-shirt with a skull on it and a pair of faded jeans and black motorcycle boots. It was an upgrade over the boxers he’d worn at breakfast the other day, Daniel supposed, but at this white-tablecloth restaurant, he still stood out like someone wearing Daisy Dukes at the Oscars.

  “What the hell is he still doing in town?” Danial asked. “I thought he’d be on his way back to Nerdlandia by now.”

  Ada’s eyes narrowed into a warning look. “He decided to stay in Journey’s End a little longer. I think he’s at loose ends now that he’s sold his company.”

  Since Daniel didn’t really talk to Isaiah—no one did, if they could help it—he’d had to rely on recent articles in the Wall Street Journal to learn that his brother had sold his tech company for an amount roughly equal to God’s salary. Which raised the question:

  “If money’s so tight around here, why doesn’t Steve Jobs Junior over there bail you out? Seems like the least he could do after you folks broke the bank to send him to MIT.”

  “Well, that would work for me, but your father would sooner burn everything to the ground than take a handout from anyone, especially one of his kids.” She sighed. “And Isaiah says money corrupts relationships, so...”

  “I’m shocked to discover Isaiah said something that sensible. Did you see his lips move?”

  “Isaiah is a very complicated and interesting person,” Ada snapped. “Which is why you should go talk to him.”

  “No way I’m going back there,” Daniel said darkly. “I plan to rely on you
for periodic updates to make sure he’s still alive.”

  As always where her precious child genius was concerned, Ada flared right up. “Excuse me? You haven’t seen your brother in years.”

  “I saw him in San Francisco last spring. We had dinner. Actually, I had dinner and he spent the evening on a conference call with Singapore—at the table, I might add—and then with his head down on his phone. That’s enough Isaiah for me, thanks. Although his Mandarin sounded quite good, from what I could tell.”

  Ada snapped her fingers, stuck her arm out and pointed. “Go.”

  “Can I at least get a drink first, woman?”

  “I’ll take care of it. Go talk to your brother.”

  Chapter 19

  Stifling a curse, Daniel trudged back to Isaiah’s table, passing Alyssa again (still no eye contact) on the way. When he got there, he waited for Isaiah to look up from tapping on his keyboard and acknowledge him, but thirty seconds in there were no signs of that happening. Daniel coughed. Nothing. Cleared his throat. Still nothing. That was when he noticed the earbuds in Isaiah’s ears.

  Without giving himself time to think better of it, he snatched one out.

  Isaiah started and looked around. “What the—?”

  “Hey.” Daniel nodded and tried to look happy to see him. “What’s up?”

  Isaiah looked incredulous, as though Daniel had shown up riding a donkey. “Nothing.”

  Daniel nodded again.

  Isaiah watched him, eyes wary behind his black-rimmed glasses. Daniel tried to focus in on a conversation starter, but got distracted by Isaiah’s giant and misshapen ’fro. He wondered if a ferret or other small animal lived inside. God knew there was room.

  “If there’s nothing else...?” Isaiah said, starting to reinsert the earbud.

  Daniel rocked back on his heels, reminding himself that he could suffer through a few words with Isaiah if it made their mother happy. “I, ah, thought I’d join you.” He slid into the seat opposite his brother and slung his arm across the back of the booth. “Catch up.”

  Isaiah looked horrified. “Why?”

  Yeah, okay.

  Daniel started to feel irritated.

  “That’s what brothers do, man.” He strove for patience. “I’m told.”

  “I’m busy,” Isaiah said, putting the earbud back in. “Send me a text.”

  “Why’d you sell your company?” Daniel asked as, without missing a beat, he leaned across the table and yanked the earbud out again.

  “Seriously?” Isaiah barked.

  “Why’d you sell your company?” Daniel thumped the table a couple of times with his fist. “Come on. Let’s go. The sooner we get this little conversation over with and make Ma happy, the sooner I’ll get out of your hair.” He eyeballed the ’fro again. “And I know how seriously you take your hair.”

  Isaiah glowered. “I got bored. I want a new challenge. Happy?”

  “So what’ll you do?”

  “Start a foundation.”

  “To do what?”

  “No idea,” Isaiah said, reverting to tapping on his keyboard.

  Just then, a female arm appeared in Daniel’s line of sight, deposited a glass of red wine and quickly retreated. Daniel looked up. “Thanks, Alyssa.”

  She nodded, gaze lowered. “Can I get you gentlemen—”

  “I ordered my trout half an hour ago,” Isaiah said, still tapping. “Any chance of me getting it before my body starts to cannibalize itself?”

  “Isaiah,” Daniel said.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” Alyssa said, her voice cool but professional. “There’s a small, ah, issue in the kitchen, but Chef said it would be ready in another five minutes or so.”

  “I could be dead by then,” Isaiah said darkly.

  “I’m happy to bring you an appetizer, sir.”

  “If I’d wanted an appetizer, I would have ordered one back when you tried to up-sell me the bowl of seafood bisque.”

  Alyssa bowed her head. Waited.

  Isaiah tapped away.

  “Well,” Alyssa said, backing up a step. “I’ll go see how Chef is—”

  “Bring me another basket of bread, then,” Isaiah said. “And another dirty martini. But not quite so dirty this time.”

  “Sorry,” Daniel quickly told Alyssa, cursing his mother for putting him in this position. This was what happened when you were with Isaiah in public: you wound up embarrassed and apologetic for shit you hadn’t even done. “He’s smart, but he’s got no social skills. You know how it goes. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”

  The funniest thing happened then. Alyssa made eye contact with Daniel and, lo and behold, there were bright amber eyes behind those bottle-bottom glasses. Plus, she had a pair of dimples that hinted at a nice smile.

  “No need for you to apologize,” she said, heading for the kitchen.

  “Jesus,” Daniel said as soon as she was gone. “You’ve really perfected the art of being a jackass, haven’t you? You’re like Picasso.”

  “I just want people to do their jobs,” Isaiah said. “It’s not that hard. If you’re going to do something, do it right. Take pride in it. I didn’t build my company by doing things half-assed.”

  “Perfectionist, much?”

  “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Must make life difficult. Only God’s perfect.”

  “I like to give God some competition,” Isaiah said, picking up the earbud again.

  “Yeah. And look how much fun you’re having with your life.”

  Isaiah hesitated, his forehead crinkling into a frown. “Is that a dig?”

  “You have any hobbies? Do anything to unwind?”

  Isaiah blinked. “I grow bonsai trees.”

  Daniel snorted. “Got any friends you hang out with back home in Seattle?”

  Bewildered look from Isaiah. “I don’t have time for friends.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Daniel scrubbed a hand over his chin. “That’s my point. You could use some rounding out.”

  Isaiah dropped the earbud and focused all the laser intensity of those unblinking eyes on the dead center of Daniel’s face.

  “I see,” Isaiah said, his voice devoid of all inflection. “You think I should be more like everyone else in the family.”

  Daniel shrugged.

  “Which one of you should I be like? Mom and Dad? With their failing businesses?”

  “Hang on—”

  “Like Dad, who scraped through a near-death experience and managed not to learn anything from it? Maybe I should be like Edward, who ditched his baby mama and hooked up with some other woman ten minutes later. Or like Ethan, who made a fortune with me and turned around and lost most of it in his divorce. Now he plants shit like some farmer and probably can’t afford decent health insurance. I’m guessing he’s one bout of appendicitis away from bankruptcy. You want me to be like that?”

  “I’d be happy if you started acting like a decent human being,” Daniel said quietly, somehow mastering the urge to lunge across the table and throttle him the way he had back when they were teens and Isaiah had casually noted that he’d seen Daniel’s first girlfriend kissing some other kid behind a row of lockers at school. “Why don’t you start there?”

  “I could be more like you,” Isaiah continued with all the warmth and kindness of Darth Vader. “Guilt-ridden over Caroline’s death and probably telling yourself you should have saved her even though she was dead the second she hit the water. Working as a lifeguard every summer to protect other kids because you couldn’t protect her. Anger Boy. Pretending you’re mad at the world, when really you’re mad at yourself.”

  Daniel froze, the words hitting him like a brass-knuckled punch to his throat.

  “Spending your whole life trying to get your disapproving father’s approval when everyone else knows he can barely stand the sight of you and you have a better chance of surviving a direct meteor strike. Being mad about that. Too stupid to know when you’ve met the love of your li
fe, then blowing the relationship up for no good reason and leaving town with your tail between your legs. Joining the Air Force not because you want to be in the Air Force, but because you’re a hothead nowhere near smart enough to engineer the life you really want. Pining after your little lost love for years because you don’t have the balls to come back and make things work.” Isaiah smirked. “What a role model you are, Anger Boy. The perfect person to give me advice on my life.”

  Daniel stared at his brother through a red haze, all but choked on his impotent anger. Worse than the anger was the galling knowledge that Isaiah was right. About all of it. The man had the unerring instincts of a polar bear tracking the scent of a wounded seal.

  This was, and always had been, the problem with Isaiah: he sat in the corner and observed. You thought he was minding his own business, but the whole time he was silently cataloguing your greatest shames, failures and weaknesses, stockpiling them for later use against you the way rogue dictators stockpile weapons of mass destruction.

  Daniel thought about all the hateful words he longed to fling at Isaiah’s face (no one but Ma likes you, man, and half the time I think she’s faking it; or do you ever get tired of being such an unmitigated dick?) and how satisfying that would feel. Then he thought about how the words would likely bounce right off Isaiah (hard to wound someone with no heart and no soul, right?) and ricochet to their mother, who’d be wounded in the crossfire.

  Not worth it.

  So he settled on something else.

  “Every now and then I forget why it’s so hard to like you. Thanks for the reminder.”

  Isaiah’s gaze flickered. “I am who I am. I won’t apologize for it.”

  “That’s exactly the problem.”

  A shadow fell over the table before they could resort to blows.

  “Here we are,” Alyssa said crisply, startling them as she reached across the table to set a basket down.

  Grateful for the interruption, Daniel grabbed his wine and drank as if his life depended on it.

  “Fresh bread,” Alyssa said. “Steamed trout with lemon juice. No butter. Smashed potatoes with plain yogurt, also with no butter. Broccolini sautéed in olive oil and truffle oil. No butter.”