The setback, p.5
The Setback, page 5
What kind of work could she be rushing off to? A waitress? A janitor? The second she’s gone, I’m going to make Ethan make some kind of sense of all this.
“I’ll see you for dinner?” he asks.
She nods.
But the second she’s out of earshot, I can’t help pouncing. “So are you dating? Or not?”
Ethan starts walking toward the house immediately, like I’m an insurance salesman he can’t shake. I’m forced to trot after him. Prada boots are not made for trotting. “Ethan Brooks, turn around and talk to me.”
My nephew turns around, but he doesn’t look inclined to chat. His eyes flash. “You barged into my breakfast date, upset my girlfriend, and suggested she get an abortion. So pardon me if I’m being a little rude.”
“If no one has suggested an abortion before now, then I’m certainly not going to apologize for mentioning it. The woman carries every ounce of the responsibility for pregnancy, and really most all of the bad risk of—”
“I’m aware,” Ethan says. “But Beth isn’t all women. She’s not a cause or a crusade. She’s a person, my girlfriend—”
“Yes, you said.”
“And that’s a pretty upsetting thing for you to imply, that we’re being irresponsible.”
“Oh, I think it’s irrefutable that she was irresponsible.” I can’t help chuckling. “But I never blame the woman. It’s totally unfair that they’re the only ones who suffer.”
“Aunt Helen,” Ethan says, “it’s not my baby, but if Beth decides to keep it, it will be. While she’s trying to decide what to do, she’s trying to keep it quiet. She doesn’t want everyone pressuring her about it. Okay?”
“If it’s not yours, why would you date her?”
His eyes are steady and entirely calm as they meet mine. “I love her. Some people don’t have just two settings: attack or run away. Some people know how to stick around for the long haul, wherever the road goes.”
I think my teenage nephew, whose girlfriend is pregnant, just lectured me on how to live my life. It should tick me off. For some reason, I find it utterly hilarious. “Alright, Ethan. Alright.” I pat him on the shoulder and walk back to the house by his side.
He probably needs extra money more than ever before, especially if she keeps the kid, but for some reason, I don’t bother asking him about the ranch tours. Maybe, even for me, having a baby puts some things into perspective.
Is he right? Am I someone who runs away?
In business, they call me a bulldog. I go for the throat and never take prisoners. Maybe in my personal life, I’ve been a bit of a lone wolf, but that doesn’t mean I run from things.
Does it?
When my phone bings, I can’t help my smile. My team never fails to come through. It’s David Park’s sister’s phone number, email address, and physical address. The next few hours are long as I wait for eight in the morning to roll around in Korea, but I make good use of them. It gives me some time to assemble all my documents on David’s retreat, his American holdings, and every weakness I’ve been able to identify. He’s a pretty conservative guy, businesswise. He’s been able to be, since he was born to a wealthy family, but even so, I found a few things.
I’m a little surprised when Ji-Hye answers on the first ring. I know a few Korean phrases, but not many. “Annyeonghaseyo,” I say.
“This is an American number,” Ji-Hye says in English, thankfully. “Is it about my brother? Is he alright?”
“Uh, yes. I’m calling from the United States,” I say. “David’s fine, but I am calling you because of him.”
“Who is this?” She doesn’t sound very happy, which is hardly a surprise. I’d be ticked, too, if someone I didn’t know called my private number and just started talking about Abby.
“I’m actually calling to ask for your help.” I inhale and exhale slowly. People evaluate your importance by how quickly you rush things. I’m not a beggar, and if she hangs up on me, she’ll discover that quickly. “My name’s Helen Fisher. I own the largest private equity firm in the United States.”
“Why are you calling, Helen?”
“I’ve known David for a while. We went to Harvard Business School at the same time.” I pause again. “But he’s really getting on my nerves right now, and when I get annoyed, I get. . .destructive.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Your brother has just built a resort in a small town called Dutch John. It’s in the middle of nowhere—near a natural landmark called the Flaming Gorge. He came out here because he liked a friend of my sister’s, but she’s getting married. My sister also lives here, which is why I’ve taken an interest in the area, and I don’t play well with others.”
“The town’s too small for the both of you?”
Lots of impressive business people in other countries learn English. Most of them don’t learn it well enough to really understand when and how to use our dated clichés. I have a newfound respect for Ji-Hye. “Something like that. I’ve offered him very generous terms of purchase for a small ranch he bought very close to my sister’s home. He’s refused me, repeatedly.”
“What about his resort?”
“I’d happily buy it as well, but I don’t really care whether he keeps it or not. I just want him to sell me the ranch and leave us alone.”
She makes a soft sound that I assume means she’s considering my offer. “Would you say my brother is your enemy, Helen Fisher?”
Is she getting defensive? “That’s a strong word,” I say. “He’s a nuisance.” I sigh. “Have you heard of Disney?”
Ji-Hye laughs. “I live in Seoul, not Timbuktu.”
“Disney’s famous for pursuing copyright infringement cases, both small and large. If you’re a little old woman living in a tiny town and you dress up as one of their characters and start earning money for it, the second they hear of it, and they’re always searching, they’ll sue you. They do this to protect their ongoing intellectual property rights. No matter how minor, no matter how small the case, Disney’s expensive lawyers march in and treat it like a murder trial. Everyone always folds. They all know they can’t go against Disney, because Disney has deep pockets. They can outlast any of these people who might want to stand against them.”
“And?”
“I’m twice as vindictive and nearly as rich,” I say. “Your family is very wealthy, but this isn’t a fight you want your brother to pick for you.”
“I feel like we may have something in common, Miss Fisher.” She pauses, too, clearly another control freak like me. “Maybe several things. But the most relevant at this point is that my father is about to make a decision about his successor. He’s been waiting for years for David to return home and get married, and the pressure on my brother to finally cave is about to rise. Korea’s not very progressive yet, and fathers want their holdings to be run by their sons whenever possible. As I’m sure you can understand, that’s frustrating to me.”
“I might murder him, if I were you.”
“I don’t think I’ll need to go quite that far.” I can practically hear her evil smile. “But if you managed to send me anything you could turn up that would demonstrate his incompetence, the weakness of his position in America, or the ways in which he might have mismanaged the company—such as building a resort in a ridiculous location, for instance—I would appreciate it.”
“Appreciate?”
“Is that backwards? How about this? I’ll sign the papers that will sell you the ranch, and then I hope that you’ll show your appreciation.”
We talk about a few more details, but I’m smiling as I hang up the phone.
5
Amanda
For most of my life, I’ve been almost painfully embarrassed about my parents. After Paul proposed, we went back to meet his parents. I wasn’t surprised that such gracious, well-spoken, intelligent people had raised someone as brilliant and talented as Paul. If anything, I was surprised by how considerate and empathetic they were.
Paul was a genius, but he wasn’t especially kind.
But after we got back to New York City, he asked me when we should go back to visit my family. I changed the subject. He brought it up again a few days later, and I realized that I might not be able to avoid introducing the man who meant to marry me to my parents.
I did what anyone in my situation would do.
Just before the trip I set up to see my parents was set to happen, my family became deathly ill with a stomach bug. We ate the cost of the tickets, and I felt a bit guilty about the lie, but if I hadn’t come up with a way to prevent Paul from meeting my parents, I’m absolutely positive we’d never have gotten married in the first place.
Who wants to marry someone, especially someone who’s already not good enough for them, when their family is worse than a literal millstone around their neck? They’re more like a toxic-waste-filled barrel of garbage that has always been hiding, waiting to drag me down with them.
I only escaped by cutting the chain and never looking back.
Only, now I’m starting to wonder whether that was less of a necessity and more a sign of my own cruelty. Mom’s been coming over every day and helping out while the repair shop works on their car. Today alone, she wiped the counters off, swept and mopped the floors, and now she’s scrubbing toilets. She used Fabuloso, that floor cleaner, for all three things, but at least she’s trying.
“Mom, you don’t have to do that.”
“You’re paying for our hotel,” she calls back. “It’s the least I can do.”
I wonder what happens to counters when they’ve been coated in floor cleaner. And toilets, for that matter. Is it bad for the plumbing?
At the same time, my dad’s cleaning out Mandy’s shed—the place where she’d moved most everything she didn’t want to have burn when she set her own barn on fire. She couldn’t really go out there and clean it out beforehand, so it’s now full of a strange mix of things Mandy valued and also old corroded tools and rotting boxes of farm equipment.
“Dad really doesn’t have to go through all that stuff, either.”
“You know he and your brothers go crazy when they can’t do something with their hands.” Mom’s not even standing up to talk to me. She’s still face down, scrubbing the side of the toilet.
Also, she’s making no sense. In the years I was home, I don’t recall my dad or brothers ever doing much that could be considered ‘using their hands,’ unless she means changing the TV station by pressing a button on a remote or dumping piles of trash on the floor.
I do remember them drinking beer. Lots and lots of beer.
“Last summer, they spent their evenings building a new animal shelter, you know.”
Is Mom just making things up now? There’s no way they did anything like that. “Uh-huh,” I say. “Neat.”
She finally comes out of the bathroom at the same time that Mandy turns out of her room and shoots down the hall. Why does such an old lady move so fast? She plows into Mom’s elbow, knocking the dirty-water-and-Fabuloso bucket sideways.
Water careens out of the bucket and splatters all over the flooring. At least Mom’s language when she’s shocked comes out just as I remember it. Of course, that makes me cringe big time.
It also sends Maren and Emery shooting out of their rooms.
Emery can’t stop fast enough to avoid the spill, so she slips on the puddle in front of her room and pinwheels her arms, trying to avoid falling backwards on her butt. At the last second, she grabs the door trim, clinging to it like a victim of the Titanic clutching the closest life raft. Her feet splay outward as she slides slowly to the ground.
“Now it looks like you peed your pants.” Maren’s smirk is pretty familiar. Just when I think the two of them are getting along a little better, Maren’s bratty flares up.
Emery’s face scrunches up, turns bright red, and I realize that a meltdown is imminent.
“Knock it off, Maren. Help your sister.” Mandy’s glare is as effective as a slap, and Maren springs forward to yank Emery back up to her feet. “And you,” Mandy spins around to glare at Emery. “Go change. No one should have wet pants this time of year.”
“I’m so sorry,” my mom says. “I didn’t realize this hallway was a rocket launching facility.”
That’s actually pretty funny. I can’t really help my laugh.
Mandy doesn’t seem very amused, but she can get over it. It’s not like she scrubs the toilets. Now that Abigail and her army of hard-working minions don’t live with us, I’m the one who gets stuck doing it. If my mom’s efforts mean that she needs to exercise a little more care when she comes flying out of her room and into the hall, well. She should be doing that anyway.
“Hey, when’s your next doctor appointment?” I ask.
“Thursday,” she says. “Why? Are you taking me?”
“Of course,” I say. “When have I not? Other than that time you left me and went to California.”
Mom’s watching our interchange like a bloodhound scenting a fox, so I drop it. I like tormenting Mandy—I feel like she deserves it. I’m still upset, and I don’t think she realizes how hard her supposed death hit me. But this probably isn’t the time for it.
Luckily, Abigail arrives before Mom can pry. Roscoe does his job as our doorbell, barking and jumping up on the door the second he sees her from the windows set along the sides of the front door.
“You’re going dress shopping?” Mandy asks.
I nod. “Abby has been working like a crazy person, trying to get all her cases taken care of before her baby comes, but she finally found a time.”
“Isn’t it due in like, March?” Mandy asks.
"No, sooner than that. I think it’s the end of January.” I grab my purse. “But she’s got the holidays coming, too, and the kids have all kinds of things they’re doing. Plus Whitney’s in the school play, like Emery, and Izzy has a horse show Steve’s taking her to. Abby’s not sure how much time she’ll have as things get closer, so we’re stuck going on a Saturday.”
Mandy shrugs. “It’s not like Salt Lake City will be such a bustling metropolis that you can’t deal with it on a weekend.”
I snort. “No, I guess not. It’s just the closest city with any decent bridal boutiques.”
“You could fly,” Mom says. “I’m sure plenty of fancy places would love to have you wear one of their dresses.”
She’s not wrong. “But Abby’s pregnant, and commercial travel—”
“There’s always Helen. She’s got a jet.” Mandy’s voice is flat. She loves Abby to the moon and back, but she’s never been delighted with Helen. Now that she’s part of our business deal, things have only gotten worse. Even so, it’s hard to deny that Helen brings some perks.
I open the door. “Hey, Abby. You ready to go?” I don’t really want Abby to hang out chatting with my mom for very long. I’m not sure why I don’t want the two of them together, but it feels like a bad idea.
Her hand’s lifted like she’s about to knock.
“Roscoe’s a good early warning system.” I ruffle the top of his back as he shoots past me to lick Abby’s hand.
“Looks like your family’s all here,” Abby says. “Should we reschedule? I don’t want to get in the way of family time.”
“Oh, we aren’t going nowhere,” my mom says. “Don’t worry. You can go, and we’ll stay here and watch the girls.”
Abby’s face is marvelously calm—she has a killer poker face. Mandy, however, looks a little ill. “I already told Amanda that I’d keep an eye on them,” Mandy says.
“I’m almost seventeen.” Maren has come out of her room again and she’s leaning against the couch. “And Emery’s almost thirteen. I really don’t think anyone needs to watch us.”
Mandy snorts.
“Mom and Dad are leaving soon anyway, I’m sure,” I say, hoping Mom will take the hint. “They’ve been hard at work since breakfast this morning.” I made them breakfast in an attempt to pump them for info about why they’re really here. Unfortunately, other than watching them eat all the pancakes and fried eggs I tossed on the frying pan, I got nothing out of them.
“Your dad’s cleaning out the shed?” Abby looks impressed. “It’s pretty cold outside today, but at least he has a warm coat finally.”
She must have seen them downtown, probably going to work or lunch. I’m a little embarrassed that they hung around improperly dressed for so long.
“They’re wearing my dad’s old clothes.” Mandy’s trying to suppress her laugh, but not very successfully.
“That’s why they all look like old men. . .from the eighties.” Abby’s grinning.
“Hey, my dad was pretty trendy.” Mandy mutters something else I can’t quite catch, but I do get a few words. For the area.
I actually find it pretty humorous too, seeing my freeloading brothers wearing coats borrowed from a much smaller, much older man that were probably not really in style thirty years ago, either. Luckily, they were carefully stored in mothballs, so they aren’t full of holes. They do smell like mothballs, though.
It’s not a scent that I really enjoy.
Or even tolerate well.
Which makes it funnier that they’re essentially marinating in it. I wonder whether it’ll make them more eager to finally come clean about what they came for. Or maybe it’ll be bad enough that they’ll just go home.
I’d accept either one.
“If you don’t need me to watch the girls, maybe I could come to the dress fitting,” Mom says.
“Actually,” Abigail says, “a few of the boutiques we have appointments at only gave us a dressing room big enough for two people.” She frowns. “I thought Mandy might want to come, but they told me they couldn’t accommodate a larger party. I don’t mind sending you in my place, though.” Her smile looks genuine.
“Oh, I wouldn’t even think about taking the maid of honor’s spot.” Mom looks pointedly at Abby’s belly. “Unless you’re worried about making such a long drive.”
“She’s not.” I grab Abby’s hand and shoot out the door.
