“Well, James, have you found a buyer yet?”
“I have a few nibbles, Dad, but not someone interested in purchasing the entire operation.”
Thomas harrumphed.
“I should have an announcement by December fifteenth. The lawyers on both sides are looking over the details.” Danny’s mouth bore a new smugness. He’d changed his hair too, favoring the increased length but combed straight back look that the Fordham brothers both wore. James brushed his hand against his short hair. Danny had broadened his gut too, looking more and more like a partner, and like more of a prick than ever. “You might want to start advertising for a roommate. You know how Fordham, Fordham and Schmidt feels about dead weight. I’m not sure you’ll afford the rent once I move to nicer digs.”
The clouds of smoke burned his lungs. He set down his glass, not wanting to add anything to his churning stomach.
“There’s still time. I could out profit you. Different industries, right? And you have fewer regulatory bodies to deal with.”
Danny scoffed. Thomas stared at the ceiling and Daniel sipped his whisky. James glanced around the room. The brown leather wingback chairs clustered together in groups were as bland as the conversation. Deals happened in rooms like these, cabals making decisions far removed from the world at large.
Becoming partner meant these rooms would be part of his landscape and not merely on Thanksgiving. The parade of girlfriends and occasional wives would continue. The menus would rarely change, even if the restaurants did. The deepest conversations would boil down to money and status. If he thought the scenery in Belkin was crumbling, at least it had a reason fail. The structures of these rooms were decaying with the same speed, but the façades of wealth and power hid their rot.
“Why must everything be a competition?” The words tumbled from his mouth before he realized what he had said. His hand twitched, ready to grab the antacids, but no. Not this time.
“I beg your pardon.”
James straightened and bore his gaze into his father. “I wonder, why is it that you and Uncle Daniel have pushed Danny and I into competition? We could never work together on a school project, we always had to compete for the better award and now it’s the partnership. And the two of you are no better. Sure you cooperate at work and orchestrating rivalries but look at you two, dating sisters. Daniel covets the affection Illyana shares with Thomas so he brings her sister. Dad covets Cassia’s youth so he flirts with her during dinner and ignores his long-suffering fiancée. It’s absurd.”
“Being in the hinterlands is not good for your temperament.”
“There’s no place for the irrational if you want to be a success.”
“He needs a swift kick in the ass or he’ll never be anything.” Their similar sounding voices of the Fordham men overlapped and lost all distinction. It didn’t matter who said what. They were all phrases he’d heard from this same group too many times before.
“His mother was way too.”
“Never applies himself.”
“Melodramatic.”
“As weak and useless as a woman.”
“Second place is first loser.”
“Never plays hard because he can’t work hard.”
As the other Fordhams spoke over each other, an indistinct cloud of criticism swirled around him some words spoken aloud and some echoes of past declarations of his shortcomings. They wanted to destroy him in the same way they destroyed everything they touched, in the same way he was trying to destroy Adena and Belkin. He was them, all of their awfulness. If he opened his mouth to protest, he’d falter. Or vomit. He wanted to disappear into a little ball and roll away from cruelty but that would only prove their point.
He rubbed his temples trying to make it all go away. His mind flashed to another time, another place where he once again stood on the outskirts, watching and listening, but not participating. He had cancelled the display and yet people came together to make it happen because they needed it. Claire had been there, shouting words of encouragement and moving forward in spite of his efforts to ruin the display. Mr. Schmidt’s words echoed in his ear: there are many paths to the same place. Those little trains weren’t in the same place, but they would run all the same because of vision and cooperation.
The other Fordham voices droned on, an endless loop to an ugly place.
James stood. “Fuck this.”
He tucked his unlit cigar into his jacket pocket and left the room. His path to his suitcase in the coat check took him past the dining room. Illyana and Cassia sat side by side, nearly identical blond heads tilted together in hushed conversation. Kaitlyn wore a look on her face like she’d rather be getting a root canal. He went to the table.
“Illyana, I must be going, and I’m really sorry I won’t be able to go to that gallery with you.”
“Why not?
“I need to get back to Ohio. You could come visit. There’s an amazing artist in town. You’d like what she does.”
Illyana stood and then wrapped him in a hug. “Come back soon. We miss you. Thomas is so worried about this whole work thing. With you gone and him working, no one goes to galleries with me and Cassia. Well, Danny, but...” She rolled her eyes, and then gave him a warm smile. “Hurry home.”
Home was a weird word. He didn’t have a home. He had a rental and an apartment. He gave Cassia a kiss on each cheek. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
He went to the other side of the table where Kaitlyn sat.
“You could leave.”
She raised her head and met his gaze, her brows drew together. She was beautiful, but nothing stirred inside him, no speeding heart or rebellious fingertips reaching out to touch. Kaitlyn struck him as a decent human being. The
