Page 11 of Maybe
Really? Were we doing this now, in the car? “And I’ve said I’ll happily give you some of it. The flat, too, if you like. Mi casa es tu casa, or whatever the bloody saying is.”
God, I felt weary. Nothing good ever came of arguing with drunk people. Even less fun when the booze wore off and they turned grumpy. Every time Ezra opened his mouth, I wanted to reach for a sharp implement. “I’m not sure he liked any of us, Ez. Even my mother. Or cared. Henry Fitz-Henry was about himself and about winning.” I rubbed my throbbing temples. “Listen, are you coming inside or not? I’ll make you a coffee.”
Still a little unsteady, he clambered out of the car and sniffed the air like a dog getting his bearings. He must have been cold; I wore a suit jacket and was still keen to get inside.
“Ez. I had nothing to do with that will, and you know it. The solicitor hadn’t known it was coming either. He wouldn’t have worked so hard to track you down, otherwise.”
He huffed in disbelief, drumming on the roof of my car.
“Honestly,” I added. “I want you to have some of the cash. I’m going to speak to my mother, and to the solicitor. Ed and Saffy have already said yes. It’s not okay. So we need to put things right. And… and I want you to believe I mean it.”
He lit his cigarette, eyes shuttering closed as he blew out a long string of smoke. “I do. You wouldn’t be part of something like that on purpose. I was the stupid fucking idiot, to have turned up at that solicitor’s office, hoping... whatever.” He patted the car roof again. “Don’t forget to plug this thing in. A whole hundred miles. Wow. See you around, Isaac Fitz-Henry.”
And with that, he sauntered toward the garage entrance, throwing me a careless, backwards wave.
“What the hell?” I called after him in stunned disbelief. “Is that it? After ten years? Don’t we, like, need to exchange numbers or something?”
Halting, he slowly swung around on his heel. “So we can meet up and rake over the good old days? Because you know something, Isaac? They weren’t that good for me.” His eyes roamed around the half empty parking lot. “Anyway. I know where to find you, should I ever require a lift back from a fucked-up memorial service in a mid-range electric car. See you later—alligator.”
Though I blushed scarlet, I wanted to keep him here, keep the conversation going. Something told me I wouldn’t see him again for a while, maybe never.Learn to fly. Fly away.I forced a laugh. “God, I can’t believe you remembered I used to say that.”
A brief, sad smile stole across his face. “I remember everything about you, Isaac Fitz-Henry. You were the only reason to come home from school.”
So why did you leave me?“I find that very hard to believe. I was a nerdy dork.”
He barked a laugh. “Yeah, maybe. But you were my nerdy dork. My baby bro. Someone had to show you the error of your ways.” He gesticulated towards the car. “But you don’t need to be anymore. The big man’s dead. You’re free to fuck things up for the first time in your life. Buy a Porsche, drive too fast, try not to crash it. Do some blow. You’re young and rich, Isaac. Start living.”
Sudden, raw panic engulfed me. “Stay in touch, Ez? Please? Just… once in a while, so I know you’re alive?”
He shrugged, muttering something under his breath.
“What?” I shouted, still falling for it.Stillfalling for him.
“I said maybe,” he sang back.
CHAPTER 4
ISAAC
The week after Ezra walked out of my life—again—my mother invited to me to lunch at a restaurant in Richmond she frequented with my father. She was off on a cruise around the Caribbean in a couple of days, and what with work and everything, we’d hardly seen each other between the interment and the memorial. After the obligatory condolences and fawning (it never occurred to my mother I might be having a tough time too), I launched my pitch.
“I think we should track Ezra down and persuade him to accept some of the money.”
“After that little performance?”
“He’s upset and angry. Ezra’s?—“
“He’supset?” My mother’s lips thinned in a tight, disapproving smile. “You’re worried he’s upset? I’ve never been so humiliated in my life, Isaac!”
“Yes, but… I sense he needs the money.”
“He should have thought of that before he waltzed out ten years ago then, shouldn’t he?”
“Probably, but he was, you know… young? Couldn’t we give him something, at least? Even if it’s merely enough to… I don’t know.”
And that was it—I didn’t know. I didn’t know if he had a good job, no job, a shit job, a wife, rich in-laws, a megabucks import business, a criminal record, or was running a bloody drugs cartel.
“He’s always been a bad apple, Isaac.”
