Page 97 of Second Time Around
“If anyone can beat that bastard Frank Winslett, it’s you,” Twain said.
Schuyler looked surprised. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”
So their father didn’t hand out compliments any more freely now than he had when they were children.
“How are things at Cronus?” Twain asked. “Any new projects?”
Will smiled. “Dog food, in fact. Fresh, hypoallergenic, gourmet dog food.”
“Well, why not?” Twain said. “Your mother loves those dogs of hers. She’ll probably be your first customer.”
Will and Schuyler looked at each other. Their father hadn’t pooh-poohed the dog food idea as ridiculous and a waste of money.
“That would be ... gratifying,” Will said. “However, it will only be offered in affluent urban areas, at least for the initial release period.”
Twain nodded. “Makes good business sense.”
Will felt himself relaxing with his father for the first time in years. Now that he had the time to look at his dad as a human being, he realized with a shock that Twain’s hair was more white than blond and his jowls had the sag of an older man. Even his formerly square shoulders appeared rounded.
Will had been so busy battling his father that he hadn’t noticed the changes. Sadness and regret hollowed out his chest. He thought of Kyra, who had no parents left, and he knew what she would tell him to do.
“We should meet more often,” Will found himself saying. “Next time, you both could come to my office. I’ll make sure the bar is stocked with rye.” He met Schuyler’s astonished look with a sardonic twist of his lips.
Twain’s face lit up. “I’d like that. Next week?”
Will nodded, the look on his father’s face affecting him in a way he hadn’t expected. “Let’s get it on the calendar.” He stood. “I have a dinner meeting so I must bow out now.”
“Of course,” Twain said, but disappointment laced his voice.
“I’ll see you to the door,” Schuyler said, rising from the chair.
Will refrained from pointing out that he’d found the door just fine on his way in when she fell into step beside him, accompanying him past her assistant’s desk and into the hallway.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” his sister hissed. “Suddenly, you want to have family gatherings in your office. When did we turn into the Waltons?”
“He’s gotten old,” Will said. “I didn’t notice until just now.”
“Trust me, he’s just as sharp and critical as ever during the workday,” Schuyler said.
“I find that reassuring. But maybe we need to give him a chance to be less sharp and critical as a father.”
Schuyler shrugged. “It’ll get me out of work earlier if we’re trekking over to your office, so who am I to argue?”
“Maybe after a few more meetings, he’ll be receptive to our new career directions,” Will said.
“Go ahead and dream your unicorn dreams,” Schuyler said. She surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him fiercely. “I’m getting maudlin like Pops, but I’m glad you stopped by.”
Guilt slashed through him. In avoiding his parents, he had avoided his sister, too.
He held the hug, even as she loosened her grip. “I should have done it sooner.” He let her step away but cupped her shoulders. “No more letting parental pressure push us around.”
“You say that now because Pops is feeling mellow.” Schuyler gave his forearms an affectionate squeeze. “But I’ll try, big bro.”
“I’ll have your back.”
