by Bryan Mooney
“I can’t believe this. My one and only daughter is marrying a fine young man, and you’re going to boycott the wedding?”
Eian looked up slowly and spoke softly. “If my brother isn’t going . . . then count me out too. I stand by my brother.”
Ryan’s Scottish temper flared as he attacked them. “Both of you are not going to attend Graw’s wedding? I can’t believe this. How dare you! She loves the both of you. You were there for her birth, and now you won’t be there for her wedding? Unbelievable!”
They nodded in silence as he strode back and forth in front of them.
He stopped pacing. “She will never forgive you . . . nor will I,” he yelled. “What would Tess say about this? Or Alice? They would be ashamed of you, both of you.” Silence.
“Which one of you is going to tell Graw? You?” he asked Robert, who lowered his head. Silence.
He turned to look at his other brother. “Then Eian, I guess it’ll be you, right?” Silence. “And what about Mickey? You’re going to hold his last name against him? I, for one, think he’s a great guy, a better man then either one of my brothers, apparently.”
The brothers were quiet in their shame but remained firm as the youngest of the three paced in front of them. Finally he turned to them, asking them one last time, begging that they reconsider. “I have never asked anything of you two before in my life, but I’m asking now . . . no, I’m begging you . . . please rethink your decision.”
Eian gulped and spoke first. “I stand by my brother. Through thick or thin.”
“I’ve never asked anything of either of you, and now you won’t attend my family’s wedding, Graw’s wedding? I spit on you.” Ryan spit on the floor in front of them. “You should be ashamed of yourselves.” He turned his back on them, his fury spent.
“Aye, younger brother. You don’t know what your elder brother has done for you,” Eian began to say until Robert gently touched his arm. “Quiet, Eian. This conversation is over. Don’t go any further. Let it be,” said Robert. Please, his eyes begged him.
“It must be told. He needs to know.”
“What? What do I need to be told?” Ryan asked, glaring at both of them.
Eian started to say something, but Robert interjected. “Nothing,” he said, glaring at his sibling, saying, “Perhaps we should leave now. We have enjoyed the generous hospitality of our good brother long enough. He needs to get on with his life. Thank you for having us as your guest in your home, good brother. We will leave now.”
Ryan stood before them. “Wait. Tell me now what I should know, or so help me God I will . . .”
“Sit down,” said Eian, waving away Robert’s hand as he tried to silence him. “Sit and listen.” He took in a deep breath. “You were young when Father became ill and died. Mum went to work to earn money cleaning houses, and somehow we managed. She worked hard, but she wanted her youngest, her brightest, to go on to college. To this day, I think all those hours killed her. Up at four a.m., and then finally falling asleep at midnight. It was too much for her.”
Robert nearly shouted, “Eian, stop.”
“No, he must be told.”
Robert slumped into his seat, quiet.
“Well, as your mother lay on her deathbed with Da gone, she made the two of us promise that you would finish college. Your brother Robert dropped out of school to work to support the family and put you through college. He bought used clothes at secondhand stores and flea markets. He fixed up old run-down cars with hundreds of thousands of miles on them and then sold them to make money. He bought powdered milk and eggs and mixed it with water to help stretch the budget. Anything to make money, all for your schooling. He believed in you, and he made a promise to Mum and Da to take care of you.”
“Eian . . . ,” Robert started. “Stop.”
“No, Robert, he’s gotta know what you did for him. He put me through school as well, giving up his college dreams so we could have ours. When I went on to play baseball, I sent money home to help out, but at the time, I wasn’t making much money at all in the farm clubs. Brother Bob shouldered most of the burden by himself. Then when you were accepted to medical school, he kept his frugal ways, all to put you through medical school. To make your dreams come true.”
“I never knew. You never told me,” Ryan said, his voice cracking.
“That was Bob’s idea. He didn’t want you to know. You had this idealized dream that Mum and Da saved the money for you and paid for everything. Well . . . Robert didn’t want to shatter your dreams. He wanted to keep your dreams alive.”
“I always thought Dad had set aside money for my schooling. I had no idea that the two of you paid for it all.” He plopped down on the sofa next to them.
“Ryan, you had to know, so for you to say that your brother—”
“Brothers,” Robert interjected.
“Thank you. So to say that your brothers have never done anything for you is wrong. Very wrong. If my brother, who I love dearly, is saying he is not going to our wonderful niece’s wedding . . . I have no choice but to defer to his judgment . . . I’m not going; I owe him that for everything he’s done for me.”
Ryan looked at both of them and then stared at the silent television and said, “I’m not going either.”
They all sat there together, in silence, the three Macgregor brothers—always brothers, until the end. How were they going to tell Mary Katherine? Or more important, who was going to tell her? And what about Alexi? Coleen? And Rose? Their dates. The gravity of the situation and their decision settled on their shoulders. They were looking for a way out, but unable to change the truth of the situation. What to do? How to change reality? They sat there in the quiet not saying a word.
The front door swung open wide, and in walked Patti. “What the hell is going on here?” she asked. “Did somebody die and I not find out about it? Come on, will somebody help a pregnant lady out here, or do I have to do this all myself?” she asked, holding a freshly baked pie in each hand. “There are more pies outside in the car,” she said as she disappeared inside the kitchen with the three of them in hot pursuit.
“What’s going on?” asked Robert as Ryan and Eian went outside and soon returned with more pies and two large brown paper bags.
She took comfort on one of the counter stools. “Ahhh,” she said in relief as she settled onto the stool. “This one is an apple pie, and this is peach. All freshly baked. In the one bag are fresh croissants—delicious, I might add—and the other bag is filled with delicious cranberry scones.”
“You baked all of these?”
“Good heavens, no. Coleen baked them. She dropped by the house earlier today, and we had a long girl talk at my place. We drank some coffee, some tea, and she brought plenty of pies. She baked me an absolutely delicious boysenberry pie.”
Patti glanced at the time on her phone and said, “Gotta go. Lots to do before the wedding. Bye for now, guys. Enjoy the goodies.” The brothers crowded around the fresh-baked goods.
She grabbed her purse and started walking for the door when she turned and said, “Oh, Uncle Robert . . . by the way, that Coleen of yours is such a lovely woman. We have so much in common. She’s Scottish,” she said with glee. “Did you know her mother’s maiden name was . . . Campbell? Small world, isn’t it? A Campbell? Gotta go. People to see and places to visit. Watch out, pregnant lady coming through,” she shouted and was gone. As Robert watched her walk to the front door, he smiled.
Ryan poured them each a glass of milk as Eian cut one of the pies and slid the pieces onto plates. As they ate the delicious pies, Robert said to no one in particular, “Hmmm, Mickey’s last name is actually Thompson, isn’t it? So he’s really not a Campbell at all,” he mused before saying, “Delicious pie, isn’t it?”
“Wonderful,” chimed in Ryan.
Eian ate in silence as Robert said, “Eian, they called and said my tux would not be ready until Saturday morning, something about the alterations on my tux taking longer than expected. Since you�
��re going to be near there with your new baseball league, would you mind picking up my tuxedo for me?”
“No problem, bro. Happy to do it.”
“Should be a grand wedding. A good old-fashioned Scottish wedding,” said Ryan.
“Aye, that it should be, little brother, that it should be,” responded Robert. “Good pie. That Coleen of mine is a great baker. Aye? And Scottish at that, what a bonus. She’s a good lass, that Coleen.”
They all laughed at the irony of the situation. One crisis averted, thought Ryan. Let’s just get through the rehearsal, the dinner, and finally the wedding. Then peace and quiet, hopefully.
Chapter Forty-Four
The phone rang on the bedside table; it was after nine on Friday morning as Mickey rolled over in bed. I could get used to this life of the unemployed, he thought. Friday morning and not a care in the world. The phone rang again. Better answer it, he thought. “Hello?” he said, still half-asleep.
“Where the hell are you?” It was Angus. He was perturbed.
“In bed.” Then he thought for a minute. Why is he calling me? “Where the hell are you?”
“In your office, that’s where. It’s nine o’clock, and if you don’t get your ass in gear, you’ll be late for your ten o’clock meeting.”
“What ten o’clock meeting?”
“Your meeting with Fabian Rumpe. That meeting.”
Ten o’clock meeting? What?
He was about to hang up and said, “Hey, wait a minute, I don’t work for you anymore. I quit, remember?”
“You can quit a job, Michael . . . but this is family. You’re always going to be family. You never can quit that. Now get dressed and get a move on. We have a lot to discuss. Hurry . . . please.”
Angus Campbell was there waiting for him and took him into the conference room. He was all business. Bashir, as was his way, stood in the corner watching and waiting. He nodded and bowed at the waist, happy to see Mickey again, removed from his self-imposed exile. “Good morning, sir,” he said to Mickey. “Good to see you again. Tea?”
Mickey nodded. “Yes, please.” He was happy to see his longtime friend and companion.
Angus spoke first. “I went through all of your notes, and detailed analysis. You were right on the money. But I do have a couple questions for you.” They sat, talked, and reviewed the notes repeatedly until the older man finally said, “Now I think it’s time to see what Mr. Rumpe is made of. Are you ready? It’s your meeting, and this deal is your call.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s go, then.” They walked down the hallway, two generations of Campbells, shoulder to shoulder. Angus, the tall, stocky, aging Scotsman with the thick white beard and equally thick mustache, wearing a Campbell tartan plaid tie, and Mickey, the thin younger man in his Italian-cut suit and brightly shined English oxford shoes, walked to meet Fabian Rumpe. They were ready to do battle or do business with the brash New Yorker. They knew he had talked to some of their banks and the unions and had tried to turn them against the firm and, more important . . . against the family.
They turned the corner and saw through the glass walls that Fabian Rumpe was sitting in the main conference room. He seemed surprised to see both of them.
“Angus, I didn’t know you would be here,” he said with a swallow. “How good it is to see you again, sir. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Fabian, but I’m only here as an observer. I’m in town for my son’s wedding, and he asked me if I would care to join you. You see, although it has not been announced officially, I will be retiring soon, and my son, Michael, will be taking over as president of the company once we move our headquarters to Florida. I am here strictly as an observer. But please don’t let me hold up your meeting.”
Mickey tried to hide his amazement. One surprise after another. Retiring? Me as president? Moving the corporate headquarters? This was all news to him. Focus, Michael, focus. His father always moved quickly and was constantly full of surprises.
Mickey took control of the meeting as his father sat off to the side on the sofa. Bashir brought him his tea and moved to wait in the corner.
“Fabian, after our last meeting,” Mickey started, “I looked over the financial numbers for our project and the plans we have made for the future. We are seeing tremendous growth in population and businesses here in South Florida, and that is why we will be moving our corporate headquarters to this building. I presume you are seeing the same growth prospects that we do and are excited by the possibilities.”
Once again, even the unflappable Rumpe seemed surprised. “I see an opportunity here to expand the Rumpe brand to the backwaters of Florida,” he bellowed. “I have long believed that in South Florida there is a tremendous . . .”
“Cut it, Fabian. There are no cameras or reporters here today. We’re all businesspeople here. So let’s get down to it. It’s a good marriage between our companies to work together as equal partners. I say we both share in the risk, the glory, and the profits . . . or the losses. If you want in on this deal, it’s a fifty-fifty deal or nothing else. Your end will cost you a little over three hundred million dollars. The lawyers can hammer out the details. All I want today is a simple yes or no. What will it be?”
Rumpe turned frantically to Angus on the sofa, sipping his tea. The old Scotsman smiled, held up his teacup, and said, “Great tea, isn’t it?”
The New Yorker was cornered. He knew it was a great deal that Mickey had crafted, and he finally put his hands in the air and said, “I give up. It’s a good deal. Count me in. Let’s do it.”
They shook hands on it. “Oh, and Fabian, we will make a joint announcement . . . together . . . here . . . to the press . . . once the lawyers are done with the legal paperwork. Agreed?”
“Agreed. Good to do business with you, Michael. I think this will be the start of a long and fruitful relationship.” He nodded to Angus and said, “Good to see you again, sir.” He saw Bashir in the corner and gently nodded in his direction before leaving and returning to his helicopter for his trip back to the airport.
Angus stood and shook his son’s hand. “Well done, Michael. Now let’s go have an early lunch with your mother.” He grabbed his briefcase and added, “I know it’s short notice, but . . . perhaps your future bride, Mary Katherine, would care to join us?”
“I think she would like that, Father, I think she would like that very much.” He glanced at the old man and knew he was trying to make an effort to change; he smiled and patted his father on the shoulder. “Shall we go? Don’t want to keep Mother waiting.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Mary Kate reread the note she had given to her boss and saw his response written at the bottom in his distinctive and elegant handwriting:
MK—
Have Ms. Terrell call me and I’ll see what I can do about helping her find a job.
No promises, but I’ll make some phone calls.
Sonny
She smiled; she knew she could count on him. Calley had to have a job. What good would it do to get her out of her situation at home and not be able to support herself? She knew that one way or another she could rely on Max to get her out, but she was getting worried. It had been days since she had last met with him, and she had heard nothing. Should I call him? No, that is probably not a good idea. Wait one more day.
Her phone rang. It was Mickey. “Hiya. What are you up to, Mr. Thompson?” she asked giddily.
“Not much, Mrs. Thompson,” he said with a chuckle. “I just met with Fabian Rumpe, and we’re doing a business deal together, on my terms.”
“You’re going to work for Rumpe?”
“No. I’m back with the company.”
“Ahhh . . . really? What does your father think about all of this?”
“He was the one who set up the meeting with Rumpe and sat in on it, but only as an observer. I got my job back and a promotion. I have so much to tell you, I don’t know where to start, but first . . . do you want to do lunch? With my parents?”
“Your parents? They’re here?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Now or as soon as you can get away. Casual attire.”
She had so much to do to prepare, and so many details left to handle, but she so wanted to meet his parents before the rehearsal dinner that night. “Okay, sure. I took off work today to handle the last-minute details of the wedding with Gloria, but we’re just about done here. Where do you want to meet?”
“They’re staying at the Breakers. Angus is on his way back to the hotel, so he suggested having lunch there, say in ninety minutes?”
She glanced at her watch; that time was tight but workable. “All right, see you there.” What do you wear to meet your wealthy future in-laws at the most exclusive resort in Palm Beach? Maybe I should just put on a bathing suit and tell them we should have lunch by the pool near the ocean. Ugh. Casual chic? What an oxymoron.
“Gloria, help!” she shouted.
Chapter Forty-Six
“What a wonderful restaurant, Dr. Ryan,” Alexi said jokingly.
“I’m glad you like it. Great food and great atmosphere, and you can watch the boats go up and down the Intracoastal and see them open the drawbridge every hour.”
A waiter approached them. “Welcome to Prime Catch. I’m Jeff, and I’ll be waiting on you today. Our lunch special today is blackened grouper or bronzed swordfish served with our signature Maytag salad.”
“Maytag salad?”
“Yes, sir . . . it used to be called the Stilton salad.”
They both looked through the menu, and finally Alexi closed hers and proclaimed, “I know what I’m having—grouper and the Stilton salad. Sounds wonderful.”
“Me too. But in the meantime I want to show you something.” Ryan reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out some papers. He held them up in the air and proclaimed, “Passport—check. Airline ticket—check. Hotel reservations—check. Car rental—check. That’s so we can go out and see the French countryside if we ever get tired of Paris. Who said the phrase, ‘He who tires of Paris, tires of life’? Voltaire?”