“What do you mean by that?” she asked, alarm bells sounding.
Michael shrugged. “Nothing in particular. Just remember those Sunday school lessons about reaping and sowing.”
The alarm bells sounded louder in Deborah’s ears as her brother led her out of the office and to the elevator. She had no idea what they meant or what to do about them.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Isaac rubbed the back of his neck as he entered his condo later that evening. He’d worked nothing but long hours since coming back to MEEG, and he knew that was what his future held for him as long as he worked with or for his father. Those were Abraham’s rules. Owners worked longer, harder, and smarter than everybody else combined. There was a time when he had lived by that motto in his need to gain his father’s approval. Those times ended when he found out about his father’s other children. Approval from a liar and adulterer didn’t seem to mean much. He tossed his briefcase on the kitchen counter, loosened his tie, and opened the refrigerator.
“This is stupid, Isaac,” Rebecca said.
He looked up over the refrigerator door and saw her leaning against the frame of the entranceway to the kitchen. “What’s stupid?” he asked, pulling out one of the covered baking dishes.
“This,” she said, moving away from the wall and toward the island where he’d placed the baking dish and a can of diet soda. “You come in late each night after I’ve gone to bed, sleep in the guest room to ignore me, yet you eat the leftovers I leave for you. Now that’s stupid.”
He pulled down a plate and forked some of the casserole onto it. He then covered the plate with a paper towel and put it in the microwave. “Not stupid,” he said, after he punched in the cooking time. “Practical. No need to let the food go to waste.”
She sat on a stool at the island. “Neither is there a reason to let our marriage go to waste.”
He popped the tab on the soda and took a long swallow. “Let’s not get into this tonight, Rebecca,” he said, feeling a headache coming on. He reached into his pocket for his pill bottle and remembered he’d tossed it after he’d taken the last pill at work earlier today. He needed to call in a prescription.
“If not tonight, when?” she asked. “You ignore me, don’t talk to me. When are we supposed to talk?”
The microwave sounded, and he walked over to it and took out his food. He grabbed a fork, came back to the island and sat. “This is good,” he said after one bite. “You’re a very good cook.”
“What? A compliment from you? I can’t believe it.”
He eyed her. “Cut the sarcasm, Rebecca,” he said. “I’m trying to be cordial.”
“I don’t want cordial,” she said. “I want a long and loud fight where we air all our grievances, and I want to follow it up with a lifetime of never hurting each other again.”
“You don’t want much, do you?”
She met his eyes with hers, held them. “I love you, Isaac. I want it all.”
He didn’t say anything. What was there to say? He was tired of words. Words brought expectations and he was tired of trying to meet the expectations of others. His father expected him to lead MEEG with his arms open to a brother and sister he hadn’t known existed until a few months ago. His mother expected him to bunker down in war formation and hold the fort against the infidels. His wife expected him to forgive the unforgivable. He’d lived all his life meeting the high expectations set for him, and now he was tired. All he wanted was rest. He didn’t have the energy or the will to even try to be what his father, his mother, or his wife wanted. He finished his meal, rinsed out his plate and glass, and put them in the dishwasher.
“Don’t walk away, Isaac,” Rebecca said, when he would have left her sitting at the island.
He turned back to her. Though she had hurt him terribly, he didn’t take any pleasure in hurting her. “I don’t have anything inside me to give you, Rebecca. I can’t fight for our marriage because there is no fight in me. I’m so tired of all of this. All I want is peace.”
“I want that, too,” she said. “Peace between us.”
He shook his head. “Have you seen a lawyer?”
“I don’t want a divorce so I don’t need a lawyer.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s no value in drawing this out. If your lawyer doesn’t contact me in a week, I’ll have mine contact you. Let’s get this over as painlessly as possible.”
“That’s impossible,” Rebecca said. “I still love you.”
“Words again,” Isaac said, as the voices of his mother, his father, and Rebecca battled each other in his head. He raised his hands and covered his ears. Instead of blocking out the sounds, the action seemed to confine and intensify them in his head.
“Isaac,” Rebecca called. “Are you all right?”
He opened his mouth to tell her that he wasn’t sure, but slumped to the floor as darkness overtook him.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Abraham had been holed up in his study since he returned from his visit with Leah. To say that visit hadn’t gone well was an understatement. He was getting it from all sides. He seemed unable to please anybody, including himself. He lifted his eyes heavenward. “Ma,” he called. “I’ve accomplished everything in my life I set out to accomplish. Why can’t I pull this off?”
Before he could get an answer, a knock sounded at the study door. “Mr. Martin,” Mrs. Hall called. “You have a delivery.”
Annoyed by the unnecessary disturbance, he called back, “Sign for it, then, the way you usually do.”
“You have to sign,” she said through the door that he knew she wouldn’t open unless he gave her permission.
“Okay,” he said, wondering what the package could be. When he pulled open the study door, Mrs. Hall was standing near the front door. She opened it when he reached her.
The deliveryman said, “Abraham Martin?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
The man gave a wry smile and handed him a manila envelope. “You’ve been served,” he said. Then he turned and jogged down the steps.
Mrs. Hall closed the door as Abraham opened the envelope. The heading on the first page sent him rocking on his heels: PETITION FOR FORMAL SEPARATION. He looked at the paper and then up at Mrs. Hall. He saw the question on her face but didn’t answer it. “Where’s Mrs. Martin?” he asked.
“Upstairs in her bath,” she said.
He nodded. “That’ll be all,” he said. “Why don’t you call it a night? I’m going up myself.”
She nodded. “Good night, Mr. Martin.”
He muttered a good-night and headed up the stairs. Petition for Formal Separation! He couldn’t believe Saralyn had gone this far. The woman had definitely crossed the line. “Saralyn,” he called to her when he entered the master suite. He closed the door behind him and followed the strands of music to her bath, a huge sunken tub flanked by a stereo system and plasma television. It was all a bit much, in his opinion, but it was what she wanted so she had it.
He found her as he expected, as relaxed as ever, eyes closed, head resting on the back of the tub. “Saralyn,” he called again.
“I heard you the first time,” she said, no change in her position. “You know I don’t like to be disturbed when I’m in my bath.”
Abraham sat on the side of the tub. “And I don’t like being served separation papers by some young buck thinking it’s some big joke.” When her eyes fluttered open, he waved the papers in her face. “What is this supposed to mean?”
She closed her eyes again. “You can read,” she said. “You know what it means.”
He wanted to snatch her out of the tub and shake some sense into her. Instead he got up and paced around the tub. “I don’t believe this,” he said. “You actually had me served with separation papers. I didn’t even know you wanted out of this marriage.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I don’t want out of our marriage. What I want is your attention.”
“Well, lady,” he said,
“you’ve got it. Now what are you going to do with it?”
“Wrong question,” she said, her eyes closed again.
The more she maintained her calm, the more agitated he became. “Wrong question? What are you talking about?”
“The question is not what am I going to do. The question is what are you going to do about Deborah and Michael and MEEG.”
Abraham dropped down on the side of the tub again. “Is that what this is about? You’re threatening a separation if I don’t do what you want?”
“I’m not threatening anything. Those papers give you time to choose.”
“Open your eyes, look at me, and tell me what you’re talking about.”
She did as he asked, albeit reluctantly. “You’re being dense, Abraham. It’s perfectly clear what I’m doing.”
“Forgive me, wife,” he said. “I’ve never received separation papers before so I don’t understand the protocol.”
“I’ve got a tip for you. Sarcasm is not the appropriate response.”
Abraham sighed. They were going around in circles, getting nowhere fast. “I’m listening,” he said.
“Those are separation papers,” she said.
He bit down on his lip to keep from telling her to hurry up and tell him something he didn’t know.
“Those papers stop any major transactions at MEEG that might reduce the value of my share of the marital property. They’re an injunction preventing you from making any hasty decisions about MEEG in regard to those kids of yours.”
Abraham could only stare at his wife. When he found the words, he said, “You went to this length to stop me from sharing MEEG with Michael and Deborah.”
She nodded. “Exactly. You’ve been acting like the sheriff in a two-person town, making decisions without consulting me. Well, those separation papers end your reign of autonomy. Either we reach some agreement on MEEG, or we sell it and split the proceeds. Or I could buy you out.”
He didn’t bother to respond to that nonsense. Instead, he asked, “Do you really think separation papers were necessary?”
“I filed them, didn’t I? I had to do something to save this family.”
“Save the family? You’re destroying it. People don’t separate when they’re fighting for their family.”
“The only thing those papers change is how you operate MEEG. I’m not moving and you don’t have to. I’m bringing in a third-party mediator to help us make decisions.”
Abraham stood. “You’re crazy. No way is some paper-pushing mediator going to tell me how to run my business.”
“Our business, Abraham,” she said. “The first thing you need to do is stop thinking of it as your business. It’s mine and Isaac’s as much as it is yours.”
Abraham didn’t know what to say so he said nothing. When the phone rang, he was happy to answer it. “Hello,” he said.
“It’s me, Rebecca. You need to get down to DeKalb General immediately. Isaac was rushed here about thirty minutes ago.”
“What? Isaac? What’s going on, Rebecca?”
Saralyn grabbed a towel and jumped out of the tub. “What’s going on?” she asked, tugging on his arm.
Abraham shushed her. Rebecca babbled on, clearly distraught and in tears. “We’re on our way,” he told her. “We’re on our way.”
After he hung up, he turned to Saralyn and said, “Isaac passed out. He’s in the Emergency Room at DeKalb General.”
“Oh, no,” Saralyn said, “not my baby.” She weaved on her feet as though she were going to pass out herself. Abraham reached out and gave her a quick hug.
“The boy’s strong, Saralyn,” he told her. “He’s going to be fine. Now get dressed so we can get down there.”
As Saralyn did as she was told, Abraham prayed for his son’s life.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Abraham spotted Rebecca as soon as he and Saralyn stepped into the Emergency Room waiting area. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, rushing into their arms. “I was so scared. He fell to the floor right in front of me. I thought he was dead.”
“Don’t say that,” Saralyn chided, stepping out of the group hug. “My son is not going to die.”
Abraham shot a hot glare at Saralyn while he tried to calm his daughter-in-law. He led her to a quiet corner of the waiting area. “Tell me everything,” he said, settling her into a chair and sitting next to her while Saralyn went to the desk and talked to the nurse.
“We were arguing,” Rebecca choked out. “We were arguing, and then he grabbed his head and couldn’t talk. He just sank to the floor.” She buried her face in Abraham’s shoulder. “He has to be all right,” she said. “He has to be.”
Abraham rubbed her shoulders, calming her and calming himself at the same time. “Have they let you see him since they brought him in?”
“For a brief moment,” she said, “but his eyes were closed and he didn’t say anything.” She lifted her head and her fear-filled eyes met his. “What if he’s in a coma the way you were?”
“Let’s not ask for trouble,” he said. “We’ll wait and see what the doctors say.”
Rebecca seemed to get ahold of herself. “Thanks for coming so quickly,” she said.
“Of course, we’d come,” he said. “He’s our son. Where else would we be?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying,” she admitted. “I was so scared when I was here alone.”
“Well, we’re here now,” he said. He looked up to see Saralyn coming toward them. “What did you find out?” he asked her when she reached them.
“Nothing really,” she said. “All the nurse would say is that they’re running tests and the doctor will speak with us shortly.” She looked at Rebecca. “What happened?”
Rebecca sighed and Abraham knew she didn’t want to go over it again. “We were arguing,” she explained.
“Arguing about what?” Saralyn accused. “Please tell me it wasn’t about you and Michael Thomas.”
“Saralyn!” Abraham chided.
“Don’t Saralyn me,” she said. “We both know Isaac and Rebecca are having problems in their marriage because of her relationship with your other son.”
Abraham felt the condemnation he heard in her voice.
“The argument wasn’t about Michael and me.”
“What was it about then?” Saralyn probed, unwilling to let the subject drop.
“Isaac wants a divorce and I don’t.”
“I knew this was about Michael Thomas.”
Rebecca shook her head. “We were arguing and then Isaac was grabbing his head, mumbling something about high expectations and how tired he was and how he wanted to rest.”
“I should have known,” Saralyn said to Abraham. “All this stuff with those Thomas kids got to him. I told you to get those people out of our lives,” she spat at him. “Look what you’ve done to our son. Is this what you wanted?”
Abraham refused to be baited by Saralyn. He knew she was scared and itching for a fight as a way to deal with her fear. He wanted to hold her, give her comfort, and take comfort from her, but he knew reaching for her would not be a wise move.
“Mrs. Martin.”
The three of them looked up to see a young doctor standing before them.
“I’m Mrs. Martin,” both Saralyn and Rebecca said.
“Mrs. Isaac Martin.”
Rebecca stood, and he and Saralyn stood with her. “I’m Mrs. Isaac Martin,” Rebecca said. “And these are his parents, Abraham and Saralyn Martin. How is my husband?”
The doctor acknowledged Abraham and Saralyn with a slight nod. Then he said to Rebecca, “Your husband’s condition is serious. We’re running tests to find out how serious.”
Rebecca and Saralyn both slumped back against Abraham at the doctor’s words. It seemed they would have sunk to the floor in despair had he not held them up. He probably would have sunk right along with them if he hadn’t needed to be strong for them.
“Is he going to die?” Saralyn asked, voicing the fear she
’d earlier chided Rebecca for expressing.
“Not if I can help it,” the doctor said. Abraham liked the arrogance he heard. The doctor’s stature increased in his eyes. “The initial tests suggest your son has signs of liver disease. We have to run some additional tests to figure out how severe it is.”
“Can it be cured?” Rebecca asked.
“Once we know the severity, we’ll know the treatment options. The best case is if we can treat it with oral medication. The worse case is a liver transplant.”
“Transplant?” all them of them echoed.
“That’s the worse case scenario. We should know within the next couple of hours where we stand. I’ll come out and give you an update as soon as I know more.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Rebecca said.
“Take care of my son,” Saralyn added.
Abraham nodded, man-to-man. The doctor’s answering nod told him his plea had been understood.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Deborah and Alan sat at the small conference table in her office eating the Chinese food they’d had delivered. Deborah dunked a fried wonton in a small plastic cup of soy sauce and then popped it in her mouth. “This is one part of the job that I could do without,” she said.
“Welcome to the big leagues,” Alan said. “Power always comes with a price tag.”
“So I’m learning,” she said, looking at the three short stacks of contracts before her. They represented contracts she was going to continue, contracts she was going to terminate, and contracts that were on the borderline. The borderline stack held the most contracts. “I’d like to go ahead and let the writers in the first two stacks know their status.”
Alan nodded. “The legal department will get the letters out within the next week.”
She looked at the second stack, the contracts for termination. “Those writers are going to be crushed,” she said. “Making dreams come true is certainly a lot better than killing them.”
Alan chuckled. “I think you’re exaggerating our power. You aren’t killing dreams. You’re giving those writers a chance to resell their work. Remember that those termination letters will each go out with a check for the remaining balance of the advance specified in the original contract. Some of the writers will probably be glad to be able to explore other opportunities for their work.”
Sins of the Father Page 22
