by Lisa Tucker
Matthew nodded through it all, but he didn’t ask any questions. He’d already decided that he couldn’t accept this promotion. He told Walter, “I’m sorry. I appreciate your confidence, but quite honestly, I wish you hadn’t pushed them to choose me. I think McNeil is a much better fit.”
It was true; Charles McNeil had been grooming himself for the top job in the usual way: by rotating areas every year. He’d started in product development, then moved to regulatory, then finance, and now IT. Matthew had stayed where he was because he thought his division had more impact.
Which, apparently, he’d been right about.
“I didn’t push them, son. Hell, I didn’t have to. The success of Galvenar made this inevitable. Tegabadol is our miracle molecule, and you’re the man behind the miracle.” Walter smiled. “They knew you could walk on water long before I told ’em so.”
He reminded Matthew that if he passed on this opportunity, he’d be off the track for good. He’d be stuck where he was, and eventually he’d lose power. It was the way the game was played, and Matthew knew it as well as anyone.
Finally, Matthew relented. He said he would accept the job, but on one condition. “You have to stay on to advise me for at least a year. You can travel with your wife, but you need to be available by phone. I can’t do this without you.”
“Son, I wish I could, but I’m afraid that’s not an option.” He paused and Matthew finished off his scotch, already sensing that he didn’t want to hear the rest. “The problem is, I have lung cancer. That’s why I have to take my wife on this trip now. I don’t have a year. I may not have three months.”
Matthew was positive it couldn’t be true. Walter was only sixty-three. He’d quit smoking years ago. He never coughed, at least no more than anybody with a cold did. “The doctors are obviously wrong. Have you gotten a second opinion yet? I know a great pulmonary specialist at—”
“I’ve done all the second and third opinions. I’ve known about this for almost a year. Tried radiation last summer, but it didn’t shrink it. Chemo was a long shot, and I decided it wasn’t worth the aggravation.”
A year? A year???
“I wanted to tell you, but I knew it could put you in a difficult position. Before they brought in Harold, the board did offer me CEO but I turned them down. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay for long and you wouldn’t be ready to step in for me. This way I can leave you in my job, and in a few years you can take Knolton’s.”
Matthew refused to let himself feel anything. He couldn’t break down now; it wouldn’t be fair to Walter. “You have to let me know what I can do to help you and your family. Anything at all.”
“Take the job, run with it, and make me proud. That’s all I ever wanted from you, and it’s all I want now.”
“I wish I knew how to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” His voice was breaking, but he swallowed hard. “Fifteen years. It’s been a hell of a ride.”
Walter cried then, but Matthew kept it together, though of course he got up and hugged his boss. Noticed how fragile Walter felt underneath his shirt and sweater. How old he seemed. Finally, he gave Matthew a shoulder slap and said, “Now, I’ve got to quit this, or Cynthia will worry.”
They talked for another minute, but then his wife was back, insisting again that he eat something, soup perhaps, and rest for a while. Matthew knew it was time to leave them alone, though he didn’t want to. He wanted to sit there until this stopped being true.
Before he left, Walter asked him what he’d wanted to discuss. The email he sent last night? What was the problem?
“I’ll handle it,” he said. “Go eat soup with your wife.”
Walter’s wife smiled and touched Matthew’s arm. “Thank you for coming,” she said, like he’d done something, when he hadn’t done a goddamn thing.
Heading back through the horse farm country, with the sun setting behind him, he drove so fast that he could only concentrate on staying on the road. Once he was past Great Valley and onto the expressway, he darted in and out of traffic, slamming his hand on the steering wheel every time someone slowed down in front of him, getting up to ninety, then ninety-five, daring a cop to stop him. When he got into his apartment, he gave his wallet to Danny. “Pay Hannah and send her home.”
“Ma-ew!” Isabelle said, running to him.
“I have to do something now,” he said to Danny. “Can you keep handling everything?”
“Yeah,” Danny said. “What—”
“Thank you,” Matthew told him. And then he went into his room, shut the door, and got into bed. It was that or finish the tequila he kept for Ben, and probably every other bottle of liquor in the house. The scotch had reminded him of what he’d decided at a beer party in high school: he could become an alcoholic if he wasn’t very careful.
Lying in the dark, he thought about the time he’d bragged to Ben that he was obviously brilliant since he’d known there was a gene for alcoholism long before JAMA said so on April 18, 1990. They were third-year med students, but Ben was already Ben. He said the research was wrong and gave an argument about dopamine receptors that was so convincing that even some of their professors started calling the research a hoax. At the time, Matthew wondered what Ben would think about all the other research he’d read on alcoholism: the countless studies that showed that sons of alcoholics, in particular, are more likely to become drunks because they have inherited everything from abnormal brain waves to deficiencies in coordination and perception, and even diminished intellectual capacity. But he never considered asking Ben to look over any of the articles and books he’d collected over the years. He used to be so afraid of finding out that it was true, that he could never escape his destiny as his father’s son.
Walter had changed all that for him. So hell yes, Matthew was going to have his own private pity party right here, right now. He really didn’t have a choice; this pain was so fucking bad. Walter himself always said that it was the hardest part of the job, accepting that all good things have to come to an end: the most profitable patent, the longest run in the market, the closest partnership. Whatever you think you can’t stand to lose, the boss warned, that’s your weakness, that’s what will kick you in the ass. So prepare to lose it. Plan for the worst-case scenario. Be ready.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fairly Odd Parent
At first Danny tried to convince himself that it didn’t make any difference. He and Isabelle had been just fine before, with the house all to themselves. They didn’t need Dr. Connelly for anything. The problem was that Isabelle didn’t see it that way. Danny wore himself out trying to distract her, yet every time he looked away for a minute, she was back at Dr. Connelly’s bedroom door, banging on it with her fists, yelling for him, crying for him, throwing herself on the ground and even kicking Danny when he tried to move her back into the loft.
His sister’s weird attachment to a guy she barely knew might have bugged Danny if she wasn’t so pitiful about it. She never once mentioned their mom, which was just as well, since there was nothing he could do if Isabelle was missing Mom. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about Isabelle’s reaction to Matthew being unavailable, either. Even on Sunday afternoon, when Isabelle showed just how smart she really was by pushing the plastic slide to the door, climbing to the top, and turning the door handle without falling; even when she got in the bedroom—because, to Danny’s surprise, the door wasn’t locked—Matthew didn’t move or speak or even look at her. His sister managed all this while Danny was in the bathroom, and he came out and discovered her up on Matthew’s bed, kneeling next to Matthew’s pillow, patting his face. No reaction, not even what Danny expected, which was “Get the hell out.”
After that, Danny left Matthew’s bedroom door open. He was afraid Isabelle would hurt herself if she kept using the slide to get in, and at least she could see that Danny wasn’t keeping her from anything interesting. If Dr. Connelly wanted it shut, he could shut it on one of his trips to the bathroom. He didn
’t, so he obviously didn’t care. Or didn’t notice. Or whatever was going on, which Danny really couldn’t figure out. He knew that some grown-ups spent days in bed, but those grown-ups were addicts, and Matthew wasn’t on anything, Danny was almost sure. Something had happened to him, but what it was Danny didn’t know, though he found himself thinking about it, not because he really cared but because it was so strange. On Saturday morning, Matthew had been his usual self: a little tired and grumpy, but smiling and laughing with Isabelle, even throwing her in the air and catching her as she squealed. While he made apple sausages for their breakfast, he ordered Danny around, as always, but he said “Use the Force, Luke” when Danny didn’t know how to work the fancy toaster, which was like a joke of some kind from a movie Matthew liked called Star Wars . After they were finished eating, he sat down at his computer. When he stood up, he said he had to go see his boss later. For the next few hours he was quieter than usual, but still normal. He came whenever Isabelle called him. He told Danny to brush his teeth and take a shower. He said Hannah was a “lost cause,” but he was going to call her again for the afternoon because he didn’t have a choice.
When he got home, everything had changed. He stopped being Matthew and became the guy in the bed. He didn’t move the rest of Saturday or all day Sunday; he didn’t even react on Monday morning when Isabelle came in and discovered the remote control and hit all the buttons until the TV came on, blasting some news channel and scaring her to death. She cried and Danny came in to turn the TV down and find a better show for her to watch. She picked Teletubbies , which Matthew had called “Telerubbish” on Friday, but now he said nothing. Isabelle sat next to him and bounced and laughed and talked along with Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Laa-Laa, and Po—and Matthew rolled over. That was it.
Around ten-thirty, his cell phone started ringing, and then his regular phone started ringing, and after that one or the other was ringing constantly, every five minutes or so. Isabelle learned to ignore it somehow, but the ringing drove Danny crazy, and it worried him, too, as he wondered what would happen when Dr. Connelly didn’t respond to all this. If anyone came here and saw the way he was just lying in bed, they’d know Matthew wasn’t taking care of them and he and Isabelle would be back to where they were before, having to run away or be stuck in foster homes. And someone was going to come here looking for Matthew, Danny was sure of it. When they did, they’d discover his car parked in the garage downstairs, and they’d tell the guard he might be sick or dead or something bad, and the guard would let them in. This was the way the world worked: the people in their house could disappear and no one would notice, but someone like Dr. Connelly would be searched for until he was found. Even if the guy wanted to leave his life behind, he couldn’t. His life would bust through the door and get them all.
All afternoon, as the phone kept ringing and ringing, Danny was hoping Amelia would show up first. She’d told Matthew she was going to check on them every few days, and this was the fourth day; why wasn’t she here? She could protect them from whatever was about to happen. She could even take them home with her.
When he’d told Amelia he’d rather stay with Matthew, he was thinking how much Isabelle loved it here. But Amelia’s house would be okay, too. Wherever they’d be safe.
By seven o’clock, when the phone was still ringing—not as often, but often enough that Danny felt like he would never stop hearing that stupid sound—he decided to call her. She’d given him her cell number before she left on Friday, and told him to call her anytime, day or night. He hoped Matthew wouldn’t be mad, but he figured even mad Matthew was better than in-bed Matthew. He hadn’t minded the griping, but he sure hated the silence. It was like living with a dead person.
Danny didn’t tell Amelia anything except he had a problem, but she said she’d be right over. After he hung up, he decided to go in and tell Matthew what he’d done. He thought it was only fair, but he also had a feeling that if anything would get the guy up, this was it. On Thanksgiving, before Ben and Amelia came over, Matthew had spent more than an hour in the bathroom, blow-drying his hair and putting on cologne and shaving again, even though there was nothing to shave off that Danny could see. Now his face was so stubbly that Isabelle didn’t want to touch it anymore. And he smelled, not bad like the people in their house, just a little sweaty, but even that was really noticeable for him since he was such a clean freak. He made them wash up before they ate and after they ate, and he constantly told Danny to blow his nose or wipe his face or change his shirt, even if it just had a tiny stain.
Matthew had been sleeping off and on, but he was awake now and he looked right at Danny when Danny said, “Amelia is coming,” loud, like a warning. Matthew rolled over on his stomach and mashed his face into the pillow, but still he didn’t say anything. Danny went back into the loft area to clean up some of the toys. He tried to get Isabelle to come with him to help, but she wouldn’t budge from her half of Matthew’s bed, where she’d arranged all the Barbies against the headboard and was talking to them. He wished he’d made her come with him because when Amelia knocked on the door about twenty minutes later, Matthew got up and shut his bedroom door. After Danny let Amelia in, he told her to wait while he got his sister, and that’s when he discovered that Matthew had not just shut the door; he’d locked it.
“Danny?” Amelia said. She’d taken off her coat and she was right behind him, watching him shake the knob.
“Let Isabelle out,” he shouted. “You can lock the door again. I promise, we won’t come in.”
“Matthew has your sister locked in his bedroom?”
“Yeah, but he didn’t mean to. I think he was just trying to make sure you didn’t see him.”
“What?”
“I have to get Isabelle. She’s safe in there, but she won’t be when she gets bored with her dolls.”
Amelia looked at him. “She won’t be safe? With Matthew?”
“He’s not really there. I mean, he’s in there, but he’s in bed. He hasn’t moved since Saturday. He’s not watching Isabelle. He didn’t even say anything when she kicked him. Accidentally.”
“Matthew!” Amelia knocked several times, much harder than Danny had. “Open this door right now!”
Danny whispered, “He won’t do it if he thinks you’re coming in.”
Her voice stayed loud. “I have to come in. He might have had a heart attack. If he didn’t go to work today, something is seriously wrong.” She tried to turn the knob, shook it, pounded again. “Matthew, can you hear me?”
A heart attack? Danny hadn’t thought of that.
“I’m going to call the police.” Amelia was still yelling; she sounded really scared, which scared Danny. “Get them to break the door down and send the paramedics.”
“No,” Dr. Connelly shouted. “Leave me alone.”
At least he said something for the first time in days. Danny felt better, but Amelia said, “It doesn’t matter what he wants.” She was quieter now, maybe so Matthew couldn’t hear her. “We have to make sure he’s all right, and we have to get your sister. I still think I have to call for help.”
Danny didn’t want the police to come if there was any way around it. “I can get the door open,” he said. “I’ll do it really fast.” This lock wasn’t a dead bolt; it was the regular push-in knob type. Danny had learned to unlock this kind of lock long before the kid taught him about the nail and the street-sweeper bristle. Some old man used to live in their house who was always shutting the bathroom door with the knob pushed in, so he could come back whenever he wanted and have the bathroom to himself. Danny watched this guy and discovered how easy it was to get in; all you needed was something hard that wouldn’t bend, like a credit card.
He told Amelia, and she gave him her Visa. “I won’t break it,” he said, but she said she didn’t care. While he was pushing the card against the latch, Amelia asked him to tell her what happened on Saturday. He told her he didn’t know, that Matthew had gone to see his boss and come back like this.
Before he could say anything else, the door opened.
Isabelle was fine, but Danny grabbed her and ignored her protests. Amelia came into the room, too, but she hesitated before she walked closer to the bed.
“Get out,” Matthew said, but he didn’t sound mad. He sounded like…nothing. It was creepy, like he’d turned into a zombie. Even Isabelle must have noticed because she stopped complaining and just whimpered.
Amelia came closer. “I just want to help you.”
Danny took this opportunity to grab the iPod off the dresser where Isabelle had left it. He wanted to give his sister something to do because he had a hunch Amelia would tell them to go wait in the loft. And he was right; before Amelia sat down on the very edge of the crumply bed, she asked him to take his sister into another room. But she didn’t say how far he had to go, so he stopped right outside so Isabelle could still see Matthew while Danny put the iPod earbuds in for her and started it up. His sister had a special playlist that Matthew had made of songs she liked, and Danny tried not to be jealous of the way the guy had basically given Isabelle the precious iPod. It was a good thing at the moment, because his sister sat and listened without moving while Amelia talked to Matthew. Danny sat down, too, and leaned against the wall around the corner, waiting for whatever was going to happen. He didn’t care whether Amelia took them to her house or fixed Matthew and left them here, as long as nobody called the cops.
