Page 126 of Share with Me

Chapter Forty

On Monday morning, two days after Brinley had arrived home in Atlanta, she was back in the city, going to work at Brooks Investments for the last time.

Peachtree Street was honking loud and its Midtown sidewalks crowded with pedestrians going here and there, completely oblivious to Brinley and the thousand things filing through her head as she rehearsed for her meeting with Dillon and Dad. She had prepared for this, and Dad had agreed to meet after his European trip. Now she had to remember what she wanted to say to them.

Starbucks in her own travel mug in one hand and her laptop tote in the other arm, Brinley left the chilly January sunshine and entered Brooks Tower, a glassy twenty-one-floor salute to opulence and all that Ivan and Yun would be uncomfortable with, the bubble that lords of the manor were in and the peasants needed not apply.

Yet Brinley saw things differently than before. Now everyone was equal at the foot of the cross of Christ, where wealth and birthright didn’t mean a more prominent place at the table.

That birthday suit we all came in is the same suit we all go out in.

Brinley didn’t remember who had said that, but it reminded her that her life had to count. Her Bible reading had gone well, but Yun had reminded her that she would learn more as a new Christian if she were in a teaching church and a good Bible Study regularly.

Atlanta had many churches, and Seaside Chapel pastor’s wife, Olivia Gonzalez, had made some suggestions for her. For instance, Midtown Chapel was a sister church to Seaside Chapel. Maybe she’d check it out soon. Then again, Brinley wanted to be back on St. Simon’s Island as soon as possible.

The elevator opened and disgorged Brinley on the penthouse level, where Dillon had staked his office claim. The hallway was rich with old burled walnut walls that Dad had salvaged from somewhere, a reminder of the past and things of old. Brinley passed by Mom’s touches to the decor, urns and pitchers and vessels.

Above her, Dvorák’sHumoresque in G-Flat Majorplayed through the speakers, its undertone a reminder of Ivan. When his wrist healed, could he play this? If not, then what was he going to do? Ivan’s entire career, and possibly life, was wrapped up in his violin.

If she were in his shoes, what would she do? Would she be so attached to an instrument, a job, a career, that if it were taken away from her, she would be dysfunctional?

Brinley found her brother in his throne room flanked by walls of glass. Outside were other tall office complexes and hotels, a veritable jungle of deals and transactions and sales and gold and money. Things that Brinley no longer found as important as they used to be when she was jetting around the world cutting deals for Brooks Investments. Been there, done that. To be sure, she’d been thinking it since before she met Jesus in December, but more so now that her perspective had changed.

She studied Dillon.

He was busy at his iPad, not looking up. But that’s Dillon for you. Always working, always pushing for that last sales figure. He had worked harder since Dad semi-retired to Sea Island, but all that could change with this meeting. It probably wouldn’t help Dillon make more time for his own kids, but perhaps it could remind him—ha!—that there was life outside of the family business.

Life, like Ivan. For me.

Brinley inched toward the custom glass table through which she could see Dillon’s shoeless feet in his favorite wool socks. She waved in front of Dillon. “Hey, Dillon Brooks.”

“Did you see Jared a few weeks ago?” Dillon still didn’t look up. “Jared Urquhart?”

“Has it been that long? Let me see.” Brinley checked her iPhone. “Oglethorpe Charity Dinner. December 15. Why?”

“He wants Brooks Investments to invest in some new properties on St. Croix.”

“So?”

“He asked for you specifically. Could you go down there to assess what he’s got and see if we can be a part of it?”

“No.”

Dillon looked up. “You’re still working here through January.”

“I’m transitioning out, remember?” Brinley sat down in one of the plush armchairs.

“Fly there for a day of business, a day of R&R.”

“No, Dill. Why don’t you send Kanisha? She’s taking over my position. Give the account to her.”

Dillon sighed. “I guess you don’t get it that I don’t want you to leave.”

“Well, I don’t want her to leave either.” Dad walked in. Took the other armchair. “But what you think is best might not be best for your sister.”

Brinley greeted Dad and found herself staring at a new painting on the wall behind the chair he sat on. Another Picasso, Dillon’s favorite—

TheDora Maar Au Chat?

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