23
Matisse
Something shifted in their relationship after Seok had asked Matisse to join him on his business date. Each time they ran into each other and had more than a minute to talk, they processed their situations and considered ways to control their lives.
Seok, Matisse decided, was fucked. He had to be boots on the ground, 24/7 available for his family’s company. He wouldn’t even get to stay in Montreal. Once he finished his degree in May, he’d be expected to live in Vancouver, or Moose Knuckle, or some place closer to the big trees.
Matisse was luckier. Speaking on the phone to his grandfather, who promised not to tell his father what he was asking, he found he could contribute to a branch of the company remotely. Pepere had shifted his attention from the telecommunications side to research and development. In his semi-retirement, he found his passion was finding talented engineers, business start-ups, and designers, and investing in them. Each day he went over business plans and proposals, considering if they could bring something unique to the other branches of his business. If they had sound plans and forward thinking, he’d help them network.
But Pepere was a people person, and Matisse struggled with that. Still, he was willing to risk it with his only grandson and had already sent him a business proposal he’d received, which had promptly put Matisse to sleep after the first page.
“Solved our problems yet?” Seok asked one morning when he caught him reading the same business proposal for the third, or thirtieth, time.
“Almost,” he replied distractedly. He was good at numbers, but damn, these projections taxed even his calculation-happy brain.
“Well, I was thinking of something.” His bag fell with a thunk on the ground next to the door, and he reached into his back pocket to remove a kerchief. Nervously, Seok twisted the material in his hands.
“Yeah?” Something clicked, and the numbers suddenly fell into place, and with it, the entire plan made sense. “Ha!” he squawked. “I’m calling Pepere. These guys are full of shit.” His heart raced and stomach clenched with excitement. He’d figured it out. Flinging the papers away from him to rub his eyes, Matisse basked in his success. “Sorry, what?” He’d forgotten about Seok. He threaded his fingers through his hair, drawing the long strands to the back of his neck to secure with the purple elastic that had come with their asparagus.
Seating himself next to Matisse at the bar, Seok dropped the kerchief in front of him. He spread it out then folded it carefully into a perfect square. “I had a thought,” he started. “About our situation. And I came to a conclusion.”
When Seok hesitated, he leaned over and nudged his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“I’m finishing school, and then I’m moving.”
“I know.” He snorted. “To Bear Nards or some equally piney town.”
“No.” Voice quiet, Seok reached across the top of the bar to drag his long fingers across the smooth surface. “No. I’m going to leave the business. I’m moving to the States.”
Straightening, Matisse twisted to stare at his friend. “And your family?”
Seok swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “They’re not going to like it.” He barked a laugh and dropped his head into one hand. From between his fingers, he looked at Matisse. “Successful children reflect positively on their families,” he said. Holding his hands out, he stared at his hands before drawing them closer to his body to rub his fingertips together.
“What do you want to do?” Matisse asked quietly.
His friend continued to stare at his hands. Finally, when Matisse was sure there would be no response, Seok sighed. All the weight he’d been holding on his own was audible in one breath. “I want to build. Furniture, houses. I want to work with my hands and make my own way.”
“Do it.”
Snorting, Seok shook his head. “Because it’s so easy? What do you want to do, Matisse?”
He honestly had no idea. His grandfather’s business definitely challenged him in a way he liked, and he wanted to explore it. Truth was, he’d already bled for his family, and he didn’t feel the need to open another vein.
“Anything,” he answered. “I don’t care what it is as long as I’m true to myself and with people who don’t use me.”
Pausing in his fidgeting, Seok fixed him with a serious gaze. “Me, too.”
“What if—” An idea occurred to him. “What if we go to the States together? My trust fund kicks in in three years. I’ll transfer to a state college or university for the fall. My grades are good. I think I can get in.” Matisse paused, considering. “I’m not going back to the south.” Glancing away from his friend then back, he cleared his throat. “We could be roommates wherever I go. I’ll take care of the living expenses while you get on your feet.”
Eyes wide, Seok shook his head. “I couldn’t ask—I couldn’t let you do that.”
“If this is what you need to do, then we’ll do it. It’s what friends do.”
Quickly, his friend switched his gaze to the table. “I need to do this.” He nodded his head. “If you can help me, when it’s your turn, I’ll be there for you.”
Matisse clapped his shoulder. “Then we have a plan.”
24
Nora
Present
* * *
Nora held onto Matisse. They lay lengthwise on the couch, with her head propped on his chest. In her mind’s eye, she could see him and Seok make plans for the future and figure out a way to support each other. She smiled, playing with Matisse’s fingers. “So you came to Vermont.”
“We did.” His voice vibrated his chest and tickled her ear. “And here we stay.”
“Your family…” She trailed off, trying to figure out the best way to ask her questions. “You’re not close?”
“I’m close with my mother and sister. Mostly. It’s hard because of my father.” He lifted her hand and held it up to his mouth, keeping it against his lips.
“He never apologized?”
His chest reverberated with his laughter. “No. I’m sure he’s still waiting for me to apologize for getting caught.”
“What happened?” Nora asked quietly. It felt like something that should be whispered in case someone was listening. Any minute, FBI agents would swarm the house. In the blink of an eye, they would arrest and handcuff Matisse.
“With the patent?” He kissed her hand again, and she clenched his fingers. “I shouldn’t have told you. You must think—”
“I think you’re a loyal and caring,” she interrupted heatedly. “You’ll do anything for the people you care about.”
“I did it to you, too.” Uneasy, he shifted beneath her and slid away, scooting up against the arm of the couch.
Nora sat and tucked her legs beneath her. “You were protecting your friend, and as much as I didn’t like it, I understood. You don’t need to feel guilty about it.”
Bringing his legs to his chest, Matisse propped his elbows on his knees and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I still do,” he mumbled.
“Tisse.” Gently taking his hands in hers, Nora pulled them away from his face. “Please. Don’t. I forgive you. If you’re looking for forgiveness, you have it.” Leaning forward, she kissed him softly and sat back. “Okay?”
Firm lips puckered against hers. “Okay,” he replied, drawing away. “And nothing. They never found the patent. The employee who stole it from the company never brought a lawsuit—which I always thought was weird. Why’d he let it go? It would have been worth millions.”
“Who knows? Maybe he did. If your family kept you out of prison, maybe they worked something out with the person who stole the idea in the first place.”
“Huh.” He huffed. “Maybe.”
“I’m glad you’ve decided to use your powers for good and not evil,” she joked.
“Yeah,” he whispered distractedly. In a flash, he grabbed her and pulled her back into his arms. Settling her against him, he kissed her head and played with her hair. “Call
me Superman.” His voice sounded off, and Nora glanced at him sharply. Eyes fixed on the door, he suddenly peered at her as if he felt her watching him. “What?”
He wasn’t acting like himself, but he’d just laid his past bare for her, so she shook her head. “Nothing. But thank you for telling me.” Lying back on his chest, she tilted her head to kiss his neck. “So this means we have to figure out Thanksgiving.”
“Merde. You’re right, cher.” The constant stroking of her head had her eyes closing. “Would you come?”
“To Mississippi?” she clarified. “Meet your family?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Would you?”
The nerves in her stomach were hard to ignore, but she nodded. He was asking her to take the natural next step in their relationship. “I would. What about the other guys?”
“I’d like them to come, too.”
Nora would as well. “We’ll ask them, then.” Things were bound to be tricky, but they’d figure it out. Whatever Matisse needed, she’d make sure she gave him.
She left Matisse at home idly checking flights from the nearest airport in Montréal to New Orleans. Six seats. It was going to be expensive. Nora planned to visit Cai, but when she stepped out into the sunshine, she hesitated.
A trip home with Matisse meant introductions.
And introductions meant explanations.
“Argh,” she mumbled. Each success was met with a new hurdle. She hoped she had the endurance and the smarts to figure it out, because she wasn’t willing to give them up. Family was important. No matter what Matisse’s father had done, his mother and sister clearly had his loyalty, and he cared for them deeply. Taking another deep breath, Nora started toward the hospital. Part of her was excited to meet Matisse’s family and see where he came from.
She wanted to see where all the guys came from. She wanted to meet Apollo’s grandmother, and Ryan’s parents, see Cai’s home, and travel across the ocean to meet Seok’s parents or to Canada, if they moved there.
Arriving on Cai’s floor, she went to the nurse’s station to check in, relieved to hear he’d had another good night and that there was a possibility of him being released that afternoon or evening.
“Hey!” she said brightly, practically skipping to his bed to kiss his rough cheek. “Today’s the day!”
He smiled big. “Thank goodness. I can’t handle another night away from home. I’m feeling completely better, except for a little rash left, I’m recovered.”
Sitting on the stool, she spun a little from side to side. “Matisse talked to me.”
He pushed himself up. “He did? He wasn’t supposed to.”
“What do you mean?” she answered defensively. “Of course he should have. We’re together now. We need to talk about things.”
“I wasn’t ready for him to tell you. We agreed,” Cai replied quickly.
“Wait.” She shook her head. “Are we talking about the same thing?”
His face paled, golden eyes flicking to the blanket suddenly. “I don’t know.”
“Well,” she encouraged when it was clear he was going to remain silent. “Matisse talked to me about his family—his dad. Meeting Seok.”
“Oh.”
“But you meant something else.” She considered whether or not to push. Whatever it was Cai worried about had to do with her. “You going to enlighten me?” Her voice came out harder than she meant it to.
“I will. But I’m not ready yet.”
Thoughts churning, she played with her hair to give herself time to think.
“Nora?”
Did she always have to be understanding? Why couldn’t she push? Why couldn’t he trust her? “I don’t like this.”
He held out his hand, and she hesitated a moment before taking it. “I only want to protect you. Can you trust me?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask the same. But she did trust him. “Yes. I can.”
He squeezed her hand, lifting it to his face to press against his cheek. “Thank you.”
His skin was warm, and she immediately touched his forehead with the back of her other hand. “You’re feeling okay?”
“Yes,” he said and tugged her hand. She stood and climbed onto the bed with him. “What’s your plan this week?”
“No plans. Figure out Thanksgiving with Matisse. I work Sunday. I haven’t heard from Dr. Murray.”
His body tensed beneath her when she said his name then relaxed as she went on. “Good,” he replied.
“Knock, knock.” A nurse stepped into the room, smiling when Nora sat up quickly and slid from the bed. “Oh, you’re fine. Just want to check on your guy here. Doctor will be here after lunch, and hopefully we’ll be sending him on his way. Pushing the baby bird from the nest, if you will.”
“He’s not feverish, is he?” She touched his face again, first her palm then the back of her hand.
The nurse took the thermometer mounted on the wall behind Cai’s bed, gestured for Nora to move her hand, and rolled it over his forehead. It beeped. “Nope, 97.7. Cool as a cucumber.”
She let out a breath, relieved. He really was on the mend. While he no longer wore the hospital gown, Ryan having brought a bag full of his clothes and books, his illness had done a number on him. The rash had faded slowly. A ruddiness he hadn’t had before lingered along his collarbones, and his face was thinner, cheekbones and jawline sharper. When he got home, she would make sure Apollo gave him shakes to fatten him up.
She chuckled.
“What?” he asked.
Smiling wickedly, she answered. “Apollo is going to have so many vitamins for you.”
His eyes widened. “The oregano shakes.”
Nora nodded. “You’re going to get oregano shakes.”
“Fish oil,” he added. “There are so many combinations of oils it’s not even funny. You’ll have to stay forty feet back. You’ve never smelled oregano-breath.”
She smiled against his lips. “I have, actually. I had a cough the other day. Apollo made me a smoothie from hell. Matisse let me know.”
“He’s good for that. Honest.”
A note sounded in his voice, and he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were on the nurse as she typed his stats onto her laptop, but Nora got the sense he wasn’t really watching her either.
“All right Mr. Josephs. You’re set. Let’s hope the doctor gets in here soon.”
Blinking, he came back to himself. “Great.”
The nurse left with a last tap on his leg. As soon as the door shut, Nora climbed onto the end of the bed, but hopped off again to find her bag. Turning it upside down, she shook it then lined up the card games she’d brought.
“Spidey-8s.” She fanned her hand as if a game show model. “Uno. Old Maid. Choose your poison.”
“Tough choice.” But he grinned, and his eyes sparkled. “Say the first thing that comes to your mind.” Lifting her eyebrows, she held out two choices. “Old Maid or Spidey-8s.”
“Old Maid,” he answered quickly.
She nodded sagely. “Good choice. Now for the hard one. Uno or Old Maid?”
He screwed up his face, pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side, considering the choices.
“Too slow!”
One at a time, she shoved the cards toward him. “Old Maid? Uno? Uno? Old Maid?”
“It’s not an easy choice. They’re two very different games.”
“Do you need me to choose?” she asked, infusing her voice with equal parts amusement and teasing.
“No.” He huffed. “Maybe.”
She stuck the cards behind her back and shuffled them. “Pick a hand.”
He tapped her left. Nora sprung forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him with a smack on his lips. “You chose wisely.”
She started to shift back, but he stopped her, cupping her neck in his hand and threading his fingers in her hair. “Come back.”
Eyes on hers, he urged her closer. She pushed herself higher, angling her head to kiss h
im. It stayed chaste. Their lips pursed and released, touching gently. Unused to the exertion, her arms shook, and she let herself drop. Lightly, she touched her forehead to his chin, and Cai tugged her closer.
Peace filled her, and she took a deep breath.
“Uno,” he whispered, and she giggled.
“Uno it is,” she said after a moment and scooted back.
When she met his eyes this time, he wasn’t as tense, though his face was serious. But when he smiled, it didn’t touch his eyes.
25
Matisse
Matisse stared at his computer a long time before opening it. Drumming his long fingers on either side of the laptop, he stared at the shiny, black cover. It wasn’t that he hadn’t hacked into sites before to gather information, but this felt riskier. He’d agreed to communicate more openly, and this was in direct contradiction to that agreement.
Even though he would share the information.
And Cai’s worries might be nothing.
They’re not nothing.
He opened the laptop, and went directly to the staff website at Brownington College to find Dr. Daniel Murray. It was easy enough to start the hacking process. He simply emailed Dr. Murray an innocuous looking attachment. Inside the attachment, however, was the virus that would let him into any part of the computer, and his files, he wanted. With nothing to do but wait for the email to be opened, Matisse went to Dr. Murray’s staff site, reading his curriculum vitae. Some of it was unremarkable—undergraduate degree, graduate degree. But it was his published articles that drew Matisse’s eye and turned the burn in his stomach to a yawning pit of dread.
A Comprehensive Summary of Brainwashing Tactics Used on Prisoners of War
Symptoms of Battering Fatigue: A Review
Learned Helplessness, Victimology, and Brainwashing
The list went on, and Matisse had to stop. Anxiety strung his nerves tight, and he jumped to his feet, desk chair flying backward to hit the end of the bed. He didn’t need to find more evidence—though he would. He’d sneak past Murray’s firewall and whatever else he had in place. Whatever he found, Matisse planned to use for nailing him.
Finding Truth Page 13