Great and Precious Things

by Rebecca Yarros

  “Go with what?” he asked.

  “Could you move to the left there, Dorothy? Thanks.” I climbed up on the folding chair.

  “Sweet Lord,” Dorothy muttered.

  I wobbled when the chair did, but Cam grabbed my waist. Probably not the best imagery, but we were already condemned, so I might as well get the perks. “If you’re a voting member, could you stand?”

  About ten people did.

  “Come on. Stand up. Don’t you want to hear which of them is willing to let a personal vendetta against Camden Daniels deny this town the chance to raise our income by fifty percent? You saw the projections. James Hudgens, you have two sons who live in Alba, but you can only leave the historical firehouse to one of them. Don’t you want to see if the other can make a living in the season running the tours or shuttling tourists?”

  James looked past Oscar’s scowl to his younger son, Ian. Then he stood.

  “Jennifer Halverson, you make money on one thing. Don’t look at me like that—you know it’s true. Can you imagine how much more money you’ll make for your kids when we have another thirty thousand people come through in the summer?”

  She openly glared at Cam but stood.

  Funny how moral judgment went out the window when personal finances got involved.

  One by one, I called out the remaining five voting members until all seventeen of them stood with Camden as the eighteenth.

  “If you’d like to move the council to a verbal poll, please lift your hand and say ‘aye,’” I called out.

  They unanimously did.

  Cam lowered me to the ground, using it as an excuse to whisper “Thank you” in my hair.

  “I just got you here. You have to poll them. You’re the one who called for it.”

  “Great,” he muttered.

  “They can’t answer the poll until you finish calling their name. First and last,” I told him.

  “How do you even know that?” He looked at me with a combination of awe and confusion.

  “Dad,” I explained with a shrug. He’d made a game of learning council rules and quizzed us at the dinner table as kids, certain that one of his daughters would take his place as a county judge.

  “So call their name really slowly?” Cam asked as Walter urged the crowd to quiet.

  “Just keep talking until they’re convinced,” I suggested. “Go for the throat, because they sure went for yours.”

  “You want me to change their minds.”

  “You don’t have to do much,” I promised. “They’re facing a room of angry neighbors, and you only need two to flip. Just remember, founders can outvote them all.”

  Cam nodded.

  “You ready?” Walter asked.

  “I am.”

  “Begin.”

  “Genevieve, I can’t imagine that you would deny all our townspeople the chance at increasing their income. Especially seeing that their income goes back into your jewelry store the rest of the year. My own father bought my mother’s engagement ring at Dawson’s. You definitely aren’t one of those nays, are you, Genevieve Dawson?”

  She was redder than her cranberry sweater when he finished. He’d sure chosen to start with a dragon.

  “Of course not. I say aye,” she finished.

  One down.

  “Walter Robinson?”

  “Aye,” Walter voted with a grin.

  We only needed three more.

  “Julie Hall?”

  “Aye,” she replied and winked at her husband.

  Down to two.

  “Mary Murphy?” Cam guessed.

  “Aye.” She nodded.

  He was only going for the ayes, and he needed to flip one more vote.

  His eyes landed on Dad, and I stiffened. “Noah, I could come back to Alba as a millionaire with a Nobel Prize and you’d still shut me down, right? How did you vote, Noah Bradley?”

  “Nay.” Dad leaned back in his chair.

  Cam nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

  A murmur went through the crowd. “That was for you,” Cam whispered.

  He’d turned the tables on my dad and called him out publicly, just like Dad had done to me in the diner. Dad let spite rule over public interest…in an election year.

  “Alexander.”

  I sucked in a breath as Cam addressed his brother.

  “You and I have discussed how the proceeds from opening this mine to tours will allow us to generate enough income to keep our father in his own home with proper care. It will let us keep the promise we made to him. Surely you wouldn’t vote against keeping our dad in his home, would you, Alexander Daniels?”

  Xander didn’t look out over the crowd, simply leaned forward and stared right at Cam. “I’ll do anything to keep our dad happy and healthy. Aye.”

  The crowd applauded, and Cam clutched me in a quick hug, but I took one look at Dad and Xander and couldn’t help but feel that though we’d gained a win, we’d lost something, too.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Camden

  “Take it easy, Dad.” Xander tried like hell to ease Dad into his seat in the dining room as I took the one on his left.

  “I’m not a child. I can do it.” He waved Xander off and stared at the pasta in front of him.

  “It’s your favorite. Shrimp fettuccine,” Xander said with a forced smile.

  “I know it’s my favorite. What, did you think I forgot or something?” he grumbled but picked up his fork.

  Xander and I glanced at each other before starting our own lunch. There was a tentative truce between us for moments like this, but it felt like the Cold War. We put on a good face in front of Dad and built up our arsenals behind the scenes.

  “Where’s Dorothy? Why aren’t we eating in the kitchen?” Dad’s brow furrowed.

  Xander sighed, so I jumped in.

  “Dorothy only comes on Thursdays or whenever she wants to stop by now,” I told him again. He’d been home from the hospital for two days, and they hadn’t been the best in terms of his memory. “You have a team that comes now, remember?”

  “I don’t need a team.”

  “Nikki is with you Monday through Thursdays, and since it’s Wednesday, she’s here today. You’ve got Dan and Sandra taking over nights and May taking the other days. I’ve got a schedule with their pictures posted by your bed, your seat in the living room, the refrigerator, and the message board in the hallway. Do you want me to put it anywhere else?” Not arguing back was my new thing. I wasn’t entirely sure it was going well.

  “I don’t see any Nikki.” Dad took a bite and then looked around the dining room. “And why the hell are we in here? I hate this room. Pointless to have an entire room we only use at Christmas, but your mother says that’s the way it’s supposed to be.” He shook his head.

  I inwardly flinched, just like I always did when he talked like Mom was still here. “We thought Nikki could use a break, so Xander and I are having lunch with you. And your walker isn’t as easy to use in the kitchen, so until you’re back to one hundred percent, we thought this would be easier.”

  He glared at his walker, which rested next to him. “I don’t need that damned thing. Or any of this.” He ripped the oxygen tube from his nose.

  Xander moved, but I stopped him. “Let him eat first.”

  “Doctor says the oxygen is only for a few more days, Dad. They just want to make sure your lungs are back up to snuff. You gave us quite the scare.” Xander’s gaze hit the table, and I wondered if he was thinking about the ventilator—the restraints. Because I sure as hell was.

  “Fine, then I’ll just drive down to Doc Myers and have him clear me, because this is ridiculous.” He attacked his pasta like it was personally responsible for the oxygen.

  “Dad, Doc Myers died about eight years ago,” Xander told him.

&nb
sp; Why? I mouthed across the table. There was zero reason to shove it in Dad’s face that his mind was going. There were fights you picked and fights you walked away from.

  Xander glared in response.

  Great. It was childhood all over again.

  “Fine, then I’ll just drive down—” Dad stood, bracing his hands on the table.

  “Dad, no.” Xander and I both stood.

  “I can go where I damn well please!” He slammed his fist on the bare wood of the table, making the silverware jump.

  “You can’t.” Xander’s voice broke.

  “Why the hell not? In case you forgot, Alexander, I’m your father. I don’t care if you think you’re a big man running off to the army because Colorado State rejected you. I’m your father.”

  I blinked, and my eyes snapped to Xander, who flushed. Colorado State rejected him? That was never the story we were told. He chose to serve his country, chose to be selfless over serving himself. Xander shot me a look, and I lifted my hands like I was under arrest. I wasn’t going there.

  “Like you aren’t going to throw that at me,” he snapped.

  “Seriously? I wish the worst thing I had going against me was that I didn’t get into the college I wanted. I’ve done far worse.”

  I knew he was still pissed at me—we were at war, for crying out loud—but at least his posture softened.

  “You have no room to talk, Camden. I’m still paying the school for what you did to the bathrooms.” Dad swung a finger at me.

  I barely stopped a laugh, but when Dad’s weight shifted, I moved quickly and caught him.

  “Who even does that? Cherry bombs the girls’ bathroom. Like you’re in some kind of movie or something.”

  “A thirteen-year-old boy looking for the wrong kind of attention.” I helped him back into his seat.

  “I swear that stuffy principal charged me double because I laughed,” Dad muttered.

  My chest constricted. He’d laughed? Really? Because he hadn’t been laughing on the way home or when he’d threatened his belt.

  Dad picked up his fork again, and we took our seats. I exchanged a tense smile with Xander. See, we could do this. We’d be—

  “And where are my car keys?” Dad asked, glaring at Xander.

  All that red from Dad’s CSU comment drained from his face, leaving my brother instantly pale. “Right. About the keys.” He looked to me.

  “I took your keys, Dad,” I said matter-of-factly and took a bite, forcing myself to chew and swallow. It wasn’t the food. The army taught me not to be picky. But I knew how to spot an avalanche, and Dad was ripe for one.

  “You what? Whatever for? You can’t even drive, Camden.”

  So about that picking fights thing… This was the one I had to pick.

  “I’m twenty-eight, Dad.” I swallowed a mouthful of ice water.

  “You’re… That’s not right,” he muttered. “You still shouldn’t have my keys. Give them back.” His blue eyes narrowed on me.

  “I can’t do that.” I wound another piece of fettuccine around my fork, hoping he’d let it go. That he’d forget this as easily as he’d forgotten my age.

  “You sure as hell can and will! Those are my keys.” He jabbed his fork in my direction, punctuating his words.

  “They are,” I agreed.

  “That’s my car!”

  “It is.”

  “Do I have to call Tim Hall? Teach you a lesson about stealing other people’s property?” he threatened, leaning forward.

  “Dad, you’re not safe driving it. I can’t give them back to you in order to keep you safe.” I spoke slowly, calmly, using every trick I’d learned over the years to talk him down. I’d dealt with warlords less stubborn than my father.

  “I’m a better driver than you’ll ever be!”

  “That might be so,” I agreed. “But, Dad, you started the car, ran it into the garage door, then got out to fix it and almost died.” My throat closed on the last part, and I had to clear it, then take another swig of my water to ease that lump.

  “That’s nonsense. I would never hit the garage door.” He waved at me, fork still in his hand. “You’re lying. You just want to steal my car.”

  “No, Dad. I have my own car.”

  “You’re thirteen!”

  “I’m twenty-eight.” I looked to Xander for a little help, but he stared at the table in defeat.

  “Cam, you know triggering his emotions is just going to make him spiral,” Xander warned.

  Thanks for the help. “Dad, you’re not safe behind the wheel anymore.”

  “That’s bullshit! You say you’re a man?”

  “I am,” I agreed, even though some days I wasn’t quite sure where that line really was anymore, because I sure as hell felt like a child the minute I walked into this house. Hell, even this town.

  “Then, you know I need my keys. A man drives! He has control! Who is going to take your mother to the library when it snows? You know she hates that driveway.”

  Shit, that hurt.

  Xander’s eyes squeezed shut. Fine, okay, I could be the bad guy. It was pretty much the role I’d been born to play anyway.

  “Dad, Mom passed away a long time ago. You don’t have to drive her anywhere. Both Xander and I are grown. We can drive you wherever you need. Your nurses can, too. They’re extremely capable. Xander and I made sure you have the best people around you. You don’t need to worry about driving. Let us make this easier.”

  “I want my goddamned keys!” The fork flew from his hand, skidding down the honey oak table and landing in Mom’s empty chair.

  “You. Can’t. Have. Them.”

  He roared in frustration, and my chest clenched like I was a kid.

  “Fine, I’ll just ask Sullivan to get them. He’s the only one of you who ever listens,” he grumbled.

  That was a fight I refused to have.

  We ate the rest of lunch in silence, until Nikki arrived, all smiles in her green scrubs.

  “There you are!” She waved to Dad, then turned to Xander and me. “Thanks. It was great to grab lunch with my boyfriend.”

  “Who are you?” Dad asked.

  “Nikki,” she answered like it was the first time. It wasn’t. “I’m here to spend the day with you. How about we pop this back on”—she looped the oxygen back under his nose—“and get you set up for a little relaxation time? Your boys tell me that you love Band of Brothers, so I’ve got the first episode queued up.”

  Dad’s eyes narrowed as he watched her take his empty dish from the dining room.

  “I’m supposed to watch movies with this girl?”

  “She’s just here to help, Dad.”

  “She’s bossy.” He thumbed his oxygen tube.

  “So are you,” I countered.

  “Okay, we’re all set. Want to come with me, Art?” Nikki asked.

  “Well, I guess you’re pretty enough,” he commented and stood.

  “Dad, you can’t call her pretty.” I cringed in Nikki’s direction. “Sorry.”

  “No worries. I’ve been called worse.” She shrugged it off.

  “Why not? Look at her. Red hair, nice skin. I like pretty girls. We’ll get along just fine if you don’t talk through the show.” Xander moved his walker, and Dad stepped into it, leaning heavily for support.

  Nikki smiled and took Dad to the living room as Xander and I carried the remaining dishes to the kitchen.

  “So you’ll take his keys to save his life, but you’re going to take me to court for a DNR so he can end it,” Xander accused as I washed what was in the sink.

  “Not the same thing,” I argued, loading the dishes into the dishwasher.

  “Really. Because if you think he’s lucid enough to say he wants a DNR, then he should be lucid enough to drive, right?”

 
I shut the dishwasher and turned to face my brother.

  “What? No answers to that?” He shoved his arms through his suit coat and stared me down with an open disdain he’d hidden from our father.

  “You still don’t see?” I asked quietly. “After everything in the hospital, when he woke up screaming because he didn’t know where he was or why there was a tube down his throat. You think he wants to live like that? Tied down with restraints while his own sons hold him prisoner?”

  “Twelve days!” Xander snapped. “It was twelve days in the hospital, and now he’s home. And half the time, he’ll be Dad. So yeah, I’m willing to take those shitty days so we can have the few good ones that we do. Because I love him and I will keep him on this earth as long as I can.”

  “You’ll take the shitty days?” I shook my head. “You didn’t take the shitty days, Xander. He did. You watched. At some point you’re going to see that this has never been about what you want—what I want. It’s about what he wants.”

  “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, all the time using our family mine to try and sway public opinion to your side, try to convince everyone that you’re some kind of reformed hero. That’s all about Dad. Sure. I’m telling you, brother, they’ll be grateful for the income, but it won’t work to get the people or the judge on your side. I know Alba a little better than you do.”

  He couldn’t have hit the mark any closer yet been further off. I didn’t give a fuck if Alba saw me as their tourism savior. I cared that they trusted me enough to give Dad what he wanted.

  He left after saying goodbye to Dad and giving me another glare as he walked out the door.

  I leaned back against the doorframe to the living room and watched quietly as Dad settled in, his breathing easier now that he wasn’t moving as much.

  Was this really as good as it was going to get for him? How could such a beast of a man lose himself to his own mind?

  “Hey, Dad, I have to go up to the mine.”

  “The mine? I know that place better than anyone.” He turned his head to reply, looking over the side of the blue recliner he loved.

  “Yeah, I know, Dad. I’m getting it ready to reopen for tours, remember?”