Page 25 of Share with Me

Chapter Nine

Brinley nearly collidedwith Mom in the hallway connecting the sunroom to the living room. It looked like Mom had come out of the living room in a desperate attempt to get away from Dad. Her voice was harsh.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a baby, Ned.”

“It’s her portfolio I’m worried about.” Dad went after her, but Mom walked faster than his walking stick could catch up.

“They’re in love, Ned.”

“Without a prenup, it’s just lust.”

“You’re impossible!” Mom disappeared into the elevator in the kitchen they’d added to the house after Dad’s stroke.

Brinley didn’t go after her. Mom could take care of herself. Dad was the stability of the Brooks family. Mom was the sinew of persistence in the family. It was Dad whom Brinley was worried about. He’d shown himself strong through the stroke recovery, but he tired more easily these days, couldn’t remember things sometimes, and preferred an uncomplicated life.

Those years of his being on the go and multitasking in several companies were gone. Dr. Endecott had insisted the family kept Dad’s life simple so he could heal. His speech and physical therapy were coming along very nicely, but there were still other internal recoveries and discoveries to come.

Dad made a U-turn in the hallway, heading for the family room. “See what I had to put up with the last forty years?”

Brinley followed. Fake skinny Christmas trees were here and there, framing large windows that opened to the dark outdoors. In the daytime there was a bougainvillea garden outside those windows.

Dad took up his usual seat on his old leather smoke chair circa 1880. It’d been reupholstered. If Mom had her way, it would’ve been gone, replaced by some European finds. Mom was allergic to smoke, and the whole idea of where the chair had been in the past somehow made her quite pixilated. Dad just laughed it all off. He hadn’t smoked in years and had no intention of going back to that old habit.

Brinley sat across from Dad on a more modern sofa. Still antique but more Edwardian. From where she was sitting, she spotted the Napoleon chess set to Dad’s right. It had been Grandpa Brooks’s, the same one he’d taught Dad and then Brinley to strategize life on. Dad and Brinley used to play chess a lot. And then she went to college. Now it was Dad’s travel chess set. He never went on vacation without it.

To Dad’s left there used to be a tray of imported spirits, but it was gone, replaced now by a couple of books and Dad’s iPad where he checked stocks and kept tabs on his international corporations.

“What do you think?” Dad asked.

“About Mom?” Brinley kicked off her shoes.

“About Zoe.”

Oh. The elopement. Dad wanted her to take sides. “Well, it’s Zoe’s way of doing things. Spontaneous, vagarious, skittish.”

“You agree with her.”

“No, Dad. I don’t. I only respect her freedom to choose.”

“Freedom to choose poorly.” Dad was beside himself. “With my money.”

“You gave her a trust fund.”

Dad winced at Brinley. She saw it then, his continued efforts to keep the family stable in spite of his own medical conditions. The stability had rested on his shoulders, like it or not, but tonight it had begun to fray. Not enough to disintegrate the family, but Dad had always wanted to keep the Brooks ship sailing on an even keel, and to have everyone in their proper little rowing spot, working in unison to move forward.

Zoe had upset that equilibrium.

“Why can’t she be like you, Brin? You’re easy to live with, demanding little. I don’t worry about you.” He paused. “Except for that violinist. What’s his name?”

“Ivan.”

“Yes, Quincy’s brother. What was he doing on our terrace?”

“You don’t miss a thing, do you, Dad? Ivan walked me home. That’s all.”

“That’d better be all. Those McMillans are dirt poor. Who knows what they want.”

Brinley gathered her thoughts. Both Yun and Ivan McMillan didn’t seem like gold diggers. Quincy might be an oddball, but he seemed harmless. What was Dad worried about?

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