Page 9 of The Older Brother
When our server comes, my father orders three lobster tail salads, so I close my menu and toss it on top of Caleb’s. My brother never even bothered to open his. I stare at his face until his eyes shift to meet mine for a beat, and I blink slowly and shake my head. Caleb quickly glances the other way, though. There was a time when my brother was just as annoyed by myfather’s controlling ways as I am, but I guess the promise of power and money was too alluring for him. Hell, the kid gave up college hoops to make our dad happy. We both wanted to play, but I lost my right the second I confessed to dropping a match in the Malibu beach house. Caleb traded a possible run in March Madness for creased dress pants and a pathway to securities management exams. I’m not sure when he cashed in his dreams for my father’s, but I’d guess it happened around the time he told the detectives working my case that he couldn’t vouch for me on account of my criminal past. That was enough to get a judge to approve unsealing my arson conviction.
Feeling antsy, I flatten my palms on the linen-covered table and lean in.
“So, what’s the occasion?” I have a million other places to be. Well, places I’dratherbe.
“We can talk business after we eat. I want to hear about my boys.” My father must have a doozy for us. He’s laying it on thick.
He stands to take his jacket off to lay it over the back of the chair, but Rob flies in before my dad’s pulled his second arm free. My father pulls a thick envelope from the inside pocket and sets it on the table, along with a gold pen, before Rob rushes his coat away to the closet.
“That guy deserves a raise,” he chuckles.
I smile faintly, wishing he would actually do something to make that happen. He won’t, though, because helping Rob in no way serves him.
“Caleb, did you like your party? Your guests seemed to have a good time. I think the last one finally crawled out of the house an hour ago, according to the security cameras.”
My brother breathes out a short laugh and nods. My attention, however, is divided between their conversation andthe envelope that is clearly the reason why we’ve been summoned.
“It was perfect.” Caleb’s response is confident and clipped.
My dad’s gaze lingers on my brother for a beat, though, and the longer it lasts, the more my brother begins to squirm in his seat. Caleb and I have both endured that look enough times to know that it’s masking something. Caleb’s feet shift under the table, and he straightens his spine in preparation.
“Good. I hope Saylor enjoyed herself, too. I know it must have been awkward for her. You certainly didn’t help make her comfortable.”
And there it is.It’s not that my dad has some special regard for Saylor. It’s more the fact that he has a complicated relationship with her mom, Allison. Nobody holds more dirty secrets about my dad close to their chest than her. He wouldn’t want her to be unhappy, and making her daughter unhappy is a bit of a threat to the peace he’s miraculously been able to keep with her. But these are nuances my brother hasn’t been old enough to notice. When he was busy with club basketball practices and running for homecoming king, I was growing up fast and taking notes.
My father doesn’t like people causing a scene that might reflect poorly on him. And the irony of that isn’t lost on me, given the choices he’s made. I suppose when you’re the king, you’re privy to all the resources required to bury ugly little secrets. My dad clears his throat as he shifts his gaze to his empty wine glass and the bottle of red being presented by our server at his other side.
My dad swirls a sample of the wine in his glass then swallows it.
“That’s fine, yes.” He nods while reading the label. Our server pours a glass for three of us, and I push mine toward the center of the table when he leaves. My father wrinkles his nose.
“You have a problem with wine?” he says.
I shake my head.
“Just trying to keep a clear head,” I say.
“She didn’t have to come,” Caleb says, finally responding to my father’s jab about Saylor being cast aside at her own party. I grab the water glass to my right and take a sip to keep myself from snickering.
My father’s palm slams down on the linen-covered table, the silverware and water glasses buzzing with the sudden tremor. Caleb jumps in his seat, and I sink back, getting more comfortable for the show.
“Allison has been loyal to this family . . . to me.”
I cough out a short laugh that earns me a sharp glare, my father’s nostrils flaring. Maybe even smoking.
“Sorry, loyal. Continue.” I lift my hand and swallow down all the bullshit I know about how far Saylor’s mom’s loyalty goes. Besides, I know better than to deflect for Caleb. My days of taking the heat so he could skate by are long gone. He’s a big boy.
“Allison pulled your little party together. Every little whim you had, she made happen. You’d be wise to remember that,” our father continues, his ire back where I’d like it to stay. Directed at my brother. “And maybe have a little respect for her daughter, who I believe was shacking up in your room only a week ago?”
My brother’s eyes haven’t left the center of the table since my father’s hand came down on it, but he manages to squeak out, “Yes, sir.”
The cloud of tension settling over us bursts with the delivery of our salads, and my father shifts his personality again, pretending to give a shit about Caleb’s fraternity bid when he gets to college. My gaze drifts back to the envelope, which has been pushed aside to make room for our meals. But its presence is everything. I know it in my gut. I nudge the leafy greensaround my plate and pick out some nuts and tomatoes until I can’t handle the small talk that doesn’t involve me any longer.
“I’ve got a busy day, Dad. Can we get to the point of this?” I wipe the corners of my mouth with my napkin then toss it on top of my barely eaten lobster salad. My father’s gaze remains fixed on my slight for a breath before he sets his knife and fork down and dabs the corners of his mouth with his own napkin. He sets the linen to the side and brings his elbows to the table, rubbing his hands together as his head falls to the side and his eyes zero in on me.
“I’m sorry, Rowan. I didn’t mean to interrupt your booming oil change business?—”
“Okay, you know what?” I get up from my chair, not really in the mood for my father’s insults about the direction I decided to take my life.
