Page 67 of Whatever Will Be

Alvie scowls, which not his usual inclination. “Liam’s wife is throwing him a birthday party.”

I don’t miss the contempt in his voice. “I see.”

His expression switches to eagerness. “There’s a rumor going around that you’re going to have a role in the company. Is that true?”

“Maybe.”

One of the furniture movers calls out, “Alvie, can you help us here? The boss is real specific on how he wants the room laid out.”

Alvie scowls again and shakes my hand one more time. “Hate to cut this short but I don’t want anyone to get a taste of Liam’s temper if it can be avoided.”

“Take care.” I watch Alvie walk over to the perplexed worker who is waving around an elaborate diagram and shaking his head.

I’ll wait for Liam upstairs in my father’s office.

I’ve jogged up this staircase many times before. When I was small, my mother used to pack up a basket of food and we’d come here to have lunch with my father. If she needed to run errands that would be boring for a little kid, she’d bring me here where my dad was always glad to look after me. I had the run of the place and I was probably a little obnoxious about getting in everyone’s way but no one complained. When I grew older, I’d balk at stopping by for any reason, always on the prowl for something a hell of a lot more exciting than the family business. By then the only benefit I saw from being connected to my dad’s brewery was that I had access to the final product, which I wasn’t above stealing in the name of good times up on Rosebriar Hill.

I’m sorry about that now.

I take a seat in one of the leather armchairs, likely the same one Gretchen occupied this morning. As she cried in my living room she kept repeating that she was sorry, saying she shouldn’t have come here and challenged my brother without tipping me off first. She has nothing to be sorry for. She had every right to confront Liam.

The echo of footsteps climbing the stairs reaches my ears and I recognize Liam’s plodding gait. I’m expecting him to be wearing one of his shit-eating grins when he strolls through the office door. Instead, he looks weary and guarded.

“Have a nice lunch, bro?” I don’t bother to keep sarcasm out of my voice. We’re long past that.

He shuts the door. I can smell the booze on him now. Lunch must have been served in liquid form.

The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, freeing a splash of unsightly chest hair. He tosses his blazer carelessly onto an ottoman and settles heavily behind his desk.

Liam coughs and leans back with a grunt. “I’m sure I don’t need to repeat what the Aaronson girl already told you.”

“Nope. You have two innocent daughters you don’t give a shit about and now you’re going to use them as a bargaining chip. So go ahead and name it. What the fuck do you want from me, Liam?”

He lowers his eyes, perhaps not expecting me to cut right to the chase or maybe thinking I was going to start out by making threats, which would have been easier to oppose.

Then he scowls. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but I had no intention of interfering in their lives, especially now that their mother’s gone.”

“You had no intention of being a father either.”

“Never wanted to be. Julianne knew that.”

I jerk my thumb at the trashy painting on the wall. “I take it Mrs. Cassini doesn’t know about the twins.”

His jaw hardens. “And I take it you don’t want your girlfriend to lose custody of those girls any more than I want to lose my brewery. And I would get custody. After all, I’ve been willingly providing financial support since the twins were born. I can easily argue that it’s not my fault Julianne Aaronson wouldn’t allow me near them. Any judge would hand them over in a heartbeat. You know it’s true. It’s why you’re here.”

“You’re one sick motherfucker, you know that? You’ve also lost your mind if you think I’m going to stand by and let you do to those two little girls what you did to me.”

He throws up his hands. “Fuck off with that. You were out of control. There was no one else around to set you straight.”

“I was a dumb kid. You exiled me to a nightmare and you fucking left me there.”

“Ah, quit the drama queen act. You shaped up, didn’t you?”

Wrath obscures my judgement and I yank my shirt off. “Yeah, take a look at how I got shaped up, you bastard! They did this. And then they did worse. Think your soft ass could have handled that treatment?”

It’s a bad move, preying on emotion, and I’m expecting him to laugh.

Liam, however, proves to be squeamish about some things and he looks away from my scars. The chair creaks under his weight. “This isn’t supposed to be your goddamn therapy session, Trent.”

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