The Perfect Son

by Barbara Claypole White

  Harry bounced up. Valentine’s Day in two weeks, and he actually had someone to spend it with! If only he could get his license, he and Sammie could go on proper dates. He’d hated that her mom had to taxi them last night. Totally not fair on Mrs. Owen.

  What could Eudora teach him to cook next? Mac and cheese, so he and Sammie could have a romantic dinner! For Mom’s welcome-home dinner, he was going to make french toast. Mom’s favorite! Their lives were so topsy-turvy—why not have breakfast for dinner? Dad had already given his approval—when he had actually been talking as opposed to grunting.

  Harry grabbed his phone and texted Sammie: whatcha doing

  English essay.

  i <3 you

  Me too.

  bored

  Work.

  can’t

  Go bother your dad, not me. ☺

  His stomach twisted. Was he bothering her? Did he text too much? Some of her replies were kinda short. But he did text her a lot. Like, all the time. Like, every few minutes when she didn’t answer him. Like, nonstop. Text less, Harry. But his fingers started magically typing again.

  haha right we’re still only exchanging guy grunts

  Apologize.

  him first

  Aren’t you always telling Max to apologize and move on when he’s ranting about his mom?

  Then she sent him a heart emoticon, and he sighed his biggest love sigh and everything from his toes up tingled. Also: instant hard-on.

  How many hours till he could kiss Sammie? Harry counted. Too many. Ms. Lillian was on lunch duty tomorrow. She was cool, a great human being, but she had zero PDA tolerance. Would have to wait till pickup. Shit.

  Harry fell facedown on his bed. That morning, Ms. Lillian had let him sleep on the couch in the staff room because Dad had done drop-off ridiculously early. Some important breakfast meeting with Robert. Before-school care was depressing. Not that Harry cared about being with little kids—so many degrees of adorableness—but it was a big, flashing statement about how much life had changed with the Mom Situation. He’d overheard Ms. Lillian arguing with the school director. They were trying to keep it down, but his hearing was freaky good. All his senses worked in overdrive. Never had figured out why. “Yes, I’m making an exception for this kid because his mother is critically ill,” Ms. Lillian had said. The words critically ill rocketed back to hijack his brain waves.

  Harry bounced back up. Bounced on the balls of his feet.

  If only Sammie were here, snuggling and filling his world with supernova fireworks. Taking him outside the Mom Situation. For Sammie, he might have to start writing poetry. Love sonnets! When they were apart, it was like he was being stretched on a rack, bones snapping. Harry cracked his knuckles, tried not to imagine his fingers twisted through her hair, tried not to imagine inhaling Sammie. She smelled like summer.

  off to apologize to dad but only for you

  He sent a row of heart emoticons—one, two, three, four, five, six! In assorted colors.

  Harry pulled out a chair and flopped down at the dining room table. Messed with his hair, cleared his throat. The outside security light came on and flood-lit the patio. The deer must be out. If Mom were here, she’d be banging on the doors, yelling.

  Dad looked up over his glasses, those blue eyes chilling. The Dad Vader death stare. Sammie was right. One of them needed to man up and apologize. Apparently, it was not going to be the parent. And people thought teenagers were immature.

  “I’m sorry, Dad.” Harry chewed the skin around his thumb. “I didn’t mean all those things I said when we got back from the Nasher. I was just lashing out.”

  “My experience is that people normally speak the truth when they’re angry.”

  Harry sighed. “Since things are heating up with this deal, how about we put off talking about the college shi—stuff until Mom’s settled back home and your life’s less manic? We could mark off a whole afternoon for a college summit.” Okay, that was one huge olive branch. Even Dad had to accept it. And it would buy some time. When Mom came home, he would go to the source, consult the oracle on all things Dad. Mom would know how to fix this.

  “Will you promise to give me your undivided attention?”

  Harry raised his right hand. “My attention, my whole attention, and nothing but my attention.”

  “A week from Saturday.”

  “Done.”

  Dad pulled out his phone, typed in their date. “Noon.”

  Harry leaped up and pushed the chair back into place. Look, Dad, I’m putting it in exactly the right spot. Happy? “Are we good?”

  “Yes, Harry.” Now it was Dad’s turn to sigh.

  “Come on, Dad. Can’t we just kiss and make up?”

  Dad put both palms on the table. The tips of his fingers turned white, with half moons of jagged, angry red underneath. Which was ghoulishly freaky. Harry swallowed. Was Dad going to start smashing glass again?

  “I gather you want to live with your girlfriend’s family.”

  “What?” What the fuck?

  “You left your laptop open after you ran off to Sammie’s. I was attempting to shut it down when it sprang to life, and there on the screen was a message that declared your wish to go live with your girlfriend.”

  “You read my private messages?” His head snapped into that sideways tic again, the one that had started at the airport. Shooting pain filled his head, pain almost as hot as the anger boiling over in his brain.

  “It wouldn’t have been an issue if you’d turned your computer off. You need to learn to conserve energy.”

  “Conserve energy? Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? You invade my privacy, and you want to lecture me about the battery power of my laptop?” Right before she’d gone to Florida, Mom had joked, “When you go to college, you’ll escape. I’ll still have to deal with him.” Why couldn’t it be Dad in the hospital?

  “So we’re not good, then?”

  “No. We’re not,” Harry said. “We’re far from good. Intergalactic far. And I think it’s your turn to apologize for once. I’m going outside to shoot hoops. And then I’m going to change all my passwords. Stay out of my room. In fact, just stay out of my life.”

  Dad muttered something, but at least two words were crystal clear: “With pleasure.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Three hours of sleep did not make for a functional investment banker. Felix had achieved nothing in the last hour. Not so much as a doodle.

  Yes, he was still miffed that he’d been cornered into an apology. It was hardly his fault that Harry had failed to shut down his ruddy computer, but as the parent, he had crossed a moral line, which was beyond reprehensible. Why had he not kept his mouth shut? Clearly, being a full-time father brought out the worst in him. Going for the jugular had been a deliberate move. Harry had accepted his apology, but their détente was, at best, shaky. From now on, however, he would imagine an electric fence around the nuclear wasteland that was Harry’s room. Harry didn’t want him inside? Fine.

  Felix laced his fingers behind his neck. Damn, he was overdue for a haircut on top of everything else. He stared up at his office ceiling—the same pale gray as the walls, a shade lighter than the carpet, and two shades lighter than the desk. He was cornered in a monochromic world devoid of pictures, photographs, and cute desktop gadgets. He had chosen to not clutter his work space with the personal, and he’d never questioned his office décor until today.

  Piles of paper lay everywhere—on the floor, on the table, on the desk—but the room was blank. How many hours had he spent alone in this space with the angular wall of glass that magnified the intensity of the afternoon sun?

  The hands of the black-and-white clock on the wall opposite inched toward twelve thirty. Robert, as predictable in his adultery as he was in all areas of his life, would be out with the mistress until at least two. One partner should always remain in the office during market hours, but that theory was based on the assumption that the partner was present in mind as well
as body. If a client called, Felix would be useless. He texted Katherine.

  Free for a quick coffee?

  Sure. I’m doing research at Duke today. Somewhere close?

  How much research could a bodice ripper require?

  Scratch. The bakery on Orange Street. You know it?

  Be there in ten.

  Felix buzzed the front office, and within seconds Nora Mae stuck her head round the door. Until Ella’s heart attack, he’d found the office administrator’s daily attempts at pleasantries to be an irritant, although listening to her ramble on had always given him a chance to contemplate the many cacti lined up on her desk. Their needles screamed Don’t touch, but the bright desert blooms seemed to say, Oh, give it a go.

  “I need to pop out for about forty-five minutes. Something related to Ella. Can you cover for me?”

  “Sure thing. If Curt asks, I’ll explain you had to go and see a client.” She winked.

  The strangest thing about crises—they revealed allies in unlikely places. The expressions Nora Mae, a widow and devoted grandmother, fired toward Robert’s back whenever he left for a lunchtime special had long betrayed her opinion of extramarital activity. What Felix hadn’t realized until the last few weeks was that Nora Mae also had no patience for phonies. This had proved useful, since whenever Curt was within spitting distance of Robert, he became more obsequious than Uriah Heep. Evidently, Curt had designs on a partnership. The one that belonged, at least for now, to Felix.

  He had grown fond of Nora Mae. A gift might be appropriate. “I’m going to Scratch. Can I bring back a pie for card night? My treat.” He would ask Liz, the young barista who always said, “The usual, Mr. Fitzwilliam?” for her recommendation, since he wasn’t a pudding person.

  “Oh, you’re good,” she said. “You remembered Friday is girls’ card night.”

  “Indeed. I’ll text you the specials.”

  “You’re a gem. Thank you.”

  Head lowered against the cold and the murmur of incessant thoughts, Felix strode onto the brick-paved pedestrian street protected by arching, mature trees. He glanced sideways into the narrow alley that always reminded him of a medieval Italian street, possibly because of the huge terra-cotta pots. They were stuffed with what he could now identify as heucheras.

  He looked right and there was Katherine, sitting at one of the metal tables outside Scratch, typing into her phone. She glanced up and smiled. The smile was the best thing that had happened to him all day, which was sad considering the she-devil’s opinion of him. Antihero didn’t sound like a desirable role, but he wasn’t here to be liked or disliked. He was here for one reason: Katherine had earned his trust.

  “I thought we’d be more private outside, but the temperature’s dropping.” She stood and pushed her funky green reading glasses onto her head. They mirrored the color of her eyes.

  “Yes, it appears last weekend’s spring weather was an aberration. It’s definitely a little exposed out here.” He craned toward the road at the end of the street, checking for Robert’s silver BMW. Brilliant—he could add paranoid to sleep deprived.

  Felix held open the glass door. A warm, spicy smell and the hubbub of chatter greeted them. “What can I get you?” Felix stared at the blue chalkboard wall. Lunch—real food—might be advisable, but he had no appetite these days.

  Katherine marched up to the register, despite the spiky-heeled boots that seemed utterly impractical for walking, and smiled at Liz. “Cappuccino, please.”

  Decisiveness. A good quality. He was gradually coming to understand why Ella had chosen Katherine as a friend. She made things easy. There was no drama and no oversharing. She liked you; she didn’t. She spoke her mind, and if you didn’t agree, it was not her problem.

  Felix ordered a cappuccino, too. Why not?

  “Not going for the London Fog with Earl Grey?” Katherine nodded at the specials listed on the wall. “I thought you were a tea drinker?”

  “That’s my usual.” Felix smiled at Liz. “But the parameters of my life appear to be shifting.”

  “Have you had lunch?”

  He shook his head. Katherine turned back to the counter. “The snack plate with the assorted pickles, cheeses, and meats is locally sourced, I assume? Fantastic. We’ll add one of those, please.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Felix said. Nor do I appreciate people choosing my food.

  “No offense, but you’re looking a little malnourished.”

  His stomach replied with a loud growl, and Katherine raised her eyebrows. “I rest my case.”

  Felix paid, then hesitated by the glass display case, checking the pies before pulling out his mobile to text Nora Mae.

  “Am I keeping you from something more important?” Katherine said.

  “I promised to take the office administrator a pie for her Friday-night poker game. Liz?” Felix raised his head. “What do you recommend for a whole pie?”

  “The chocolate chess. Always,” Liz said. “Can I get you one?”

  “I’ll let you know before I leave.”

  Katherine hooked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “You’re full of surprises, Felix Fitzwilliam.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Still trying to figure that one out.”

  Meaning?

  Katherine turned and led him to the table in the window, the table he would have chosen since the adjacent one was empty. She picked the seat with the view of the café. His view would be of Katherine and a brick wall, which seemed highly appropriate. He removed his coat; she unwound her scarf and unzipped her leather jacket. Felix resumed his texting.

  “Which pie did she choose?” Katherine said, watching the counter. Was she willing Liz to hurry up so she could do this and escape?

  Felix pocketed his phone. “The chocolate chess.”

  “Good choice. So tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “I never thanked you properly for persuading Ella to see Harry. It made a huge difference to him.”

  “And to Ella.”

  He stared through the plate-glass window to the quiet street, to the empty concrete planters, to the cars jammed into the small parking lot beyond.

  “I need to ask you a rather large favor.” He was on a path of no return. Felix Fitzwilliam was going over the top, crawling out of his trench to be pinned down by gunfire in No Man’s Land. He was issuing a formal invitation for help. Next he’d be opening his front door to salespeople. “I’m bringing Ella home tomorrow.”

  “I know this.” Katherine leaned her elbows on the table, slotted her fingers together, and rested her chin on her hands. She wasn’t going to make this easy, was she?

  “I’m about to hit crunch time with this Life Plan deal. D-day is one week and counting, and I have no idea how much care Ella will need. I do know, however, that she’s frightened of being alone. Eudora has offered to help out, and I was hoping you could fill in the gaps until the deal is done.”

  “Reverting to form, are we? Work comes before Ella?”

  He crossed his legs and started swinging his right foot back and forth like a pendulum. Above Katherine, there was an alcove in the brick wall with a small window and a vase of colorless dried flowers. Dead flowers. “No. I’ll take the night shift and continue to ferry Harry around.”

  Liz appeared with the snack plate. “Can I bring you some forks?” she said.

  “Just one, thank you.” Katherine smiled up at her.

  Moments later, Liz returned with the cappuccinos, a fork, and napkins. Felix thanked her and then devoured the half biscuit smeared with pimento cheese.

  “And what happens after this week?” Katherine dipped her finger into the cocoa swirl on top of her cappuccino and then sucked the foam off her finger.

  “Once the Life Plan deal is done, I will be taking an off-ramp out of the partnership, which will allow me to stay with the firm, but in a less stressful role. After the transplant, I plan to set up on my own.”

  Katherine scooted forward to the edg
e of her chair. “Taking clients with you?”

  “No. It doesn’t work that way. I’ll be taking nothing but what’s left of my reputation.” Felix wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “And starting over as a corporate financial consultant.”

  “Is that what you really want?”

  “Of course not. I love my job, but as Eudora has pointed out, it’s time to adapt.” Felix speared a pickle. Katherine was right; he was starving. He chewed slowly, savoring the vinegary taste, then swallowed. “I don’t see an alternative, and this way I can be more in control of my working life. What I’m doing now, to get through this one deal? Cobbled together at best. And I have no idea what Ella’s diagnosis will mean for the family long-term.”

  “What does Robert think?”

  “He doesn’t know. I haven’t told anyone.”

  “Except for me.”

  “Except for you.”

  She tossed back her head, and her dangly earrings tinkled softly like tiny bells. How could she bear to wear such large earrings with all that hair? As if reading his mind, she combed her left hand through a few stray locks and smoothed them behind her ear. Katherine had fabulous hair, he’d give her that: layered, straight, and auburn, although the color was chemically enhanced.

  “What’s your take on Ella’s progress?” she said.

  “She seems more distracted than usual. And increasingly less able to do anything.” Was he being disloyal?

  “What does Dr. Beaubridge say?”

  “That her lack of energy and mobility is normal for class three heart failure.” Felix massaged his forehead, pinching the skin between his thumb and pinkie finger. Another headache was taking root. Most days, it was a toss-up between which bothered him more—his head or his stomach. “Everything is so fucking normal.”