He pulled in and stopped next to the light pole he’d hit late one Friday afternoon.
Through the truck’s windshield Corbin watched the bright neon signs that decorated the front of the bar, and the Budweiser sign blinking in an explosion of flashing light. He contrasted the fear he felt outside the church before the AA meeting with the pleasant pull to join the party.
Corbin glanced down. The light from the pole illuminated the passenger seat floorboard. A glint of something shiny caught his eye. He leaned over and picked it up. It was Billy’s new fishing lure that hadn’t made it back into the boy’s tackle box. The garish colors of the lure were as bright as the neon signs and more likely to attract the interest of a young boy than convince a fish to strike. Corbin held the lure in his open palm for several moments, then laid it gently on the seat. Turning on the truck’s engine, he carefully pulled away from the light pole. Like a wily old bass, he wasn’t going to be tempted by neon colors.
At least not tonight.
TWENTY-TWO
Corbin continued his evening battle with the bottle by watching a movie and going to bed early. The stress and tension of the day had worn him out emotionally, and it didn’t take long for his body to catch up. He didn’t wake up feeling refreshed, but at least his headache was gone. The bruising on his cheek was less purple and more yellow. When he arrived at the office, Janelle was there.
“Are you feeling better today?” she asked when he entered the reception area through the rear of the office.
“No headache, if that’s what you mean,” Corbin replied.
“And how did it go with Ray and Cindy?”
Corbin didn’t want to get into a detailed conversation with his secretary about the personal issue and regretted venting to her in the first place.
“They’re going to work with me,” he replied cryptically. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“You have a deposition at the Simpkin firm at 10:15. I put the file on your desk so you can review it.”
Corbin arrived five minutes early for the deposition. Simpkin, Brown, and Stamper was located in a twenty-year-old brown brick building. It was a utilitarian structure with a row of boxy offices for the lawyers on the left side of a long hallway and support staff on the opposite side. Depositions were held in one of the firm’s two conference rooms, neither of which had windows to the outside.
As he waited for an associate attorney, Corbin wondered which office would be Ray’s new home. It didn’t really matter because all the spaces, even those occupied by the partners, were the same size. Corbin shook his head. It was a desperately depressing work environment, without an ounce of flair.
The deposition continued right through the lunch hour, and when Corbin finally said, “No more questions,” it was the middle of the afternoon. The Simpkin firm’s client owed fifteen hundred dollars to their lawyer for time spent watching Corbin talk. Best of all, Corbin had gotten what he wanted, a pattern of fraud regarding the valuation and sale of antique furniture owned by an estate.
The adrenaline was still flowing as he drove back to his office. He walked briskly into the reception area.
“Where have you been?” Janelle asked.
“Taking a deposition.”
Janelle pointed at the clock on the wall. “You left at ten this morning. It’s three o’clock. Are you sure you didn’t take a detour to one of your watering holes?”
“They had plenty of water at the Simpkin firm,” Corbin replied. “At least they’re not stingy with that. Any calls while I was gone?”
“Yes, the important one was from Millie Watson. Josh’s most recent blood work wasn’t good, and the oncologist is recommending a more aggressive form of treatment. Millie was in tears. I told her I’d request the updated medical records.”
“Getting that complaint filed is number one on my to-do list,” Corbin said. “But I want to wait until I’ve had a chance to review the information at the attorney general’s office before pulling the trigger.”
Janelle was silent for a moment.
Corbin rubbed his hands together. “I just busted a crooked appraiser who was buying antiques below market value from nice old ladies. I think I’m ready to force Colfax to change the way it does business before other little boys get sick and die.”
Roxy played out several possible scenarios for her father’s visit to the firm, most of which ended badly. Her biggest fear centered around possible contact with Mr. Caldweller. Thankfully the senior partner was scheduled to be out of the office for a late afternoon social event with a client. Roxy checked her watch, popped a caramel into her mouth, and continued to stare out the window.
A male voice interrupted her. “I assume you’re meditating about a litigation matter and will bill your time to a legitimate classification code,” Mr. Caldweller said.
“No, sire,” Roxy replied.
“What did you say?” Caldweller asked, raising his eyebrows.
Roxy suddenly realized her slip. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why that came out ‘sire,’ ” she replied sheepishly.
Caldweller nodded. “I like it, but it would engender an EEOC claim if I insisted on everyone using it. I understand your father is stopping by the office for a visit. He’s a lawyer, isn’t he?”
“In Alto.”
“I’d like to meet him, but I’ve got to leave for cocktails with some executives from the Castille Group who are in town for the golf tournament.”
“That’s okay,” Roxy said with relief.
Caldweller paused. “It’s going to be a large gathering. Would you like to bring your father? The company’s corporate counsel is going to be there, and I’d like her to meet you. They’ve sent us business to beta test the firm, and I want to give them the best impression possible of our staff.”
Roxy’s heart jumped into her throat. The idea of taking her father into a room full of free liquor would be an invitation to disasters far worse than any she’d considered.
“I’m flattered, but no, thanks,” she said. “We’re going to dinner with the man I’m dating.”
“An associate who can maintain a social life,” Caldweller replied. “Impressive. Just make sure you have the memo in my inbox first thing Monday morning on the issues I asked you to research in the Roxboro case.”
“It’s at the top of my list for tomorrow.”
Corbin cinched his tie up closer to his neck. Normally by this time on a Friday afternoon the tie would be off, along with his shoes. He’d selected his nicest suit because he wanted to make a good impression at the attorney general’s office and avoid his daughter’s ire. Roxy considered criticism of his slovenliness both a right and a duty.
The receptionist at Frank and Donaldson eyed Corbin in a way that made him wonder if he’d not properly straightened his tie. He touched it again to make sure and brushed his hair out of his eyes.
“I can see the family resemblance between you and Roxy,” the young woman said.
“You’re kidding,” Corbin responded. “Roxy is the spitting image of her mother.”
“Maybe, but she has your jaw and some of your mannerisms.”
Before Corbin could unpack what unfortunate mannerisms he might have passed down to his daughter, Roxy came into the room and quickly inspected him.
“Come on back,” she said.
“Have a nice tour,” the receptionist said to Corbin, then she turned to Roxy. “Seeing you beside your father is so much fun.”
Roxy gave the woman a puzzled look before entering the security code for the office suite.
“What did she say to you?” Roxy asked as she led the way past cubicles occupied by busy people who didn’t look up as they passed.
“That you have my jaw, and we share mannerisms. I have no idea what she meant.”
“Neither do I,” Roxy said as she brushed her hair back in a way similar to her father. “They’ve moved me to a different office since you were here. I have a window now.” She slowed down and gestured toward a doo
r. “That’s Mr. Caldweller’s office.”
Corbin casually stepped through the open door.
“Don’t go in,” she said quickly.
“Why not? Is it under video surveillance?”
Roxy glanced over her father’s shoulder at Mr. Caldweller’s enormous desk and private sitting area.
“That’s a good question,” she said. “I don’t know.”
“What about your office?”
“That’s a better question. The IT department keeps a log of every click we make on the computers, but it would be weird if someone is watching me every time I blow my nose or touch up my makeup.”
They continued to walk side by side. The hall was wider near the partner’s offices.
“I installed a camera so I can keep an eye on Janelle,” Corbin said.
“No, you didn’t,” Roxy replied. “But she ought to have a peep-hole drilled through your wall so she can tell when you’re propping your feet on your desk and taking a nap or pulling open the bottom drawer where you stash a fifth of whiskey. Ray and I found your bottle one day when you left us alone. You were supposed to be watching us after school, but you weren’t there.”
“There’s no whiskey in my drawer now.”
“Only because you finished the bottle. Right?”
“Not exactly. I’ve been to two AA meetings this week.”
Roxy stopped and faced him. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
She led the way into her office.
“The view’s not bad,” Corbin said, glancing out the window. “You see more green than I would have suspected.”
Roxy sat in the chair behind her desk. “I like it. Are you going to tell me why you went to AA?”
Corbin was prepared to rehash his presentation to Ray and Cindy but suddenly doubted his ability to pull it off in front of Roxy. She might have his jaw, but she had Kitty’s eyes, and Ray had never successfully fooled those eyes.
“Why do you think I’d go to AA?” he asked defensively.
“Because Ray and Cindy threatened to cut off your alone time with Billy.”
“You know about that?”
“And totally agree with them. Drinking and your grandson don’t mix. If your dabbling in AA is a pretext, it won’t last.”
“Who said it was a pretext? Ray?”
“No, but it would be terribly wrong for you to deceive him and Cindy in an effort to manipulate the situation. You’ve always had the power to jerk Ray in the direction you want him to go.”
It was a harsh indictment.
“I want what’s best for Ray and Billy,” Corbin said in a subdued voice.
“Then prove it by your actions over time.”
Corbin opened his mouth to further defend himself, but the cold look in Roxy’s eyes stopped him. Though similar to Kitty’s, his daughter’s eyes lacked any hint of the compassion that had marked her mother’s countenance. Corbin desperately missed Kitty’s eyes. He suddenly became teary. Roxy stared at him.
“Are you about to cry?” she asked.
“If I did you’d think I was faking it,” Corbin said, standing up and wiping his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Coming to see you was a mistake. Tell Peter I couldn’t stay for supper. I’ll find my own way out.”
If Roxy said something as he left, Corbin didn’t hear her. He blinked his eyes to clear them as he quickly retraced his steps. He didn’t slow down or respond when the chatty receptionist wished him a good evening. Roxy’s harsh judgment was a cruel bookend to Ray and Cindy’s threats to his relationship with Billy.
Once in the elevator Corbin pressed the button for the ground floor and leaned against the wall. He wished the elevator would malfunction and drop twenty floors in a pain-ending free fall.
TWENTY-THREE
And then he stormed out without giving me a chance to explain myself,” Roxy said to Peter. They sat across from each other at the coffee shop she’d substituted for the nice restaurant where Peter had wanted to take her and her father.
Peter sipped his latte.
“Well?” Roxy asked. “What do you think?”
He lowered his cup and stared for a moment at the brown liquid. “Do you care what I think?”
“Of course I do!” Roxy exploded, then quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed her outburst.
“First, I’m trying to put myself in your father’s skin,” Peter responded in a calm tone of voice. “When I do that—”
“You don’t want to go there,” Roxy interrupted. “And how can you possibly imagine what that would be like? My father’s brain is a mix of alcohol-diminished brilliance and diabolical subtlety.”
“You’re right.” Peter held up his hands. “I won’t go there.”
They sat in silence. Peter took two more sips of his latte. Roxy vigorously stirred the hot chai tea she’d ordered.
“Okay, tell me about your deep identification with my father’s psyche,” she said.
“I’m not claiming anything like that, but it’s obvious he wanted to see you. He could have finished his business and gone straight back to Alto. And based on what you’ve been feeling, there are obviously issues you need to work through with him.”
Roxy stared incredulously at Peter for a second. “You make it sound like we had a disagreement over the color of the dress I wore to the high school prom.”
“Who took you to the prom?” Peter sat up straighter in his chair. “You should have waited to date until you met me.”
Roxy managed a slight smile.
Peter leaned forward and cradled her hand in his. “Look, you’re right. I have no idea what it’s like growing up with an alcoholic parent. However, when there’s a chance to fix something, we ought to give it a shot. If a software program doesn’t solve a client’s problems, we don’t send them on their way and tell them to have a good life. We find out what it takes to make it right. I don’t know the real reason why your father went to a couple of AA meetings or wanted to see you this evening, but something is stirring in him, and I think you should put as much effort into that as you are into twirling the plastic stick in your tea.”
Roxy glanced down at the stirrer and took it out of her cup. Peter released her other hand.
“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.” She shook her head. “I left all that behind years ago, and with my mother’s death I buried it deeper. It takes a ton of effort to talk to Ray. And with my father—” She stopped.
Peter leaned back in his chair. “I have a selfish reason for bringing this up,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Because I don’t want the woman I love to carry such a huge weight of past pain into our future relationship.”
Once again unexpected tears rushed into Roxy’s eyes. She grabbed the tiny square napkin that came with her drink. Peter walked to the counter, grabbed another napkin, and put it down in front of her.
“And I’ll keep doing that until there are no tears left to cry,” he said.
“That’s an odd way to say you love me,” Roxy managed after a few moments passed.
“I’m not in this to impress you. Just to be with you.”
Roxy’s eyes reddened again. “I need more napkins, please,” she said.
Ray sat in the waiting area of Cindy’s ob-gyn. She’d asked him to drive her to the doctor’s office so they could swing by a house she was interested in looking at on the way home. As none of the women’s magazines on the table interested him, Ray called his father’s office to let him know the time for Billy’s soccer game the following morning.
“He’s in Atlanta,” Janelle said. “He had an appointment with a paralegal at the attorney general’s office and then was going out to dinner with Roxy.”
Ray was surprised by both statements. “Why was he meeting with someone at the AG’s office?”
“Uh, you’d have to ask him the details.”
Suddenly Ray suspected what his father was up to in Atlanta. He cupped his hand ove
r the phone and spoke in an intense whisper. “Is he investigating the chemical spill by Colfax? I told him to leave that alone. Has Branson Kilpatrick been by to see him?”
“Ray, I shouldn’t have said anything at all. Please don’t let Corbin know I slipped up. I let down my guard because it’s you asking the questions.”
“I won’t bust you, but I can’t believe he’s thinking about tilting at that windmill. It would be terrible to get Branson’s hopes up and then not be able to deliver any results.”
“I told him the same thing. And it’s not just Branson. There’s another family with a sick child involved.”
Ray exhaled. “Is he conducting a preliminary investigation or is he actually going to file suit?”
“I’d better not answer that either. Can we forget this conversation happened?”
Janelle’s refusal to provide more information told Ray what he needed to know.
“Okay. I’ll send him a text about the soccer game.”
After the call ended, Ray sent the text to his father. A few minutes later Cindy emerged from the examination area with a bright smile on her face.
“Everything looks great,” she said.
“Good.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look worried.”
Ray stood up. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
Cindy was worse than a persistent detective, but Ray didn’t want to get trapped in a discussion about Colfax and childhood cancers.
“I called Janelle and found out my dad is having supper with Roxy in Atlanta.”
“Really?” Cindy responded in surprise. “Let’s hope they don’t start a second civil war.”
Corbin tried to leave behind his imaginary attempt at suicide by malfunctioning elevator as he walked across the parking lot to his truck. Roxy had needled him, and he’d reacted like a blubbering old man. He headed north on the expressway away from the city. Trying to force a relationship with her that she obviously didn’t want was pointless. And he didn’t really know what healthy interaction with his daughter would look like, or whether he even wanted to make the effort.
A House Divided Page 16
