His father, too, appeared to be taken aback by their striking similarity. Isaiah wondered if Mama had ever sent his father a photo of him. There was so much his father didn't know about Isaiah's own life that it drove him crazy.
"You look. . " His father started.
"Like your son," Isaiah finished for him. He sat next to his father on the bench. He shivered; he had goose bumps from sitting so close to this man who had haunted his and Mama's lives.
His father studied him. "Christ. I haven't seen you since you were an infant. You're a good-looking kid."
"Good-looking man," Isaiah said. "You can drop that kid shit. Those days are over-you missed 'em, Pops"
Isaiah used the address "Pops" with as much mockery as he could summon. Gabriel called their father that bougiesounding shit. Isaiah had decided to use it, too; every time it would pass his lips, he would feel a twinge of anger and remember why he wanted revenge.
"Fair enough," Pops said soberly. "I thought about you a lot, you know. Wondered how you were doing."
"Give me a motherfucking break. You don't need to tell me that shit to make me feel better. Let's get down to business."
Pops winced, looked around as though worried who might be overhearing them. "Do you have to curse so much?"
"What? You see me for the first time in thirty years and want to criticize my foul language?"
"Forget it," his father said, "You want to talk business? All right, then. Why are you here?"
Isaiah tossed the empty drink bottle toward a nearby trash can. It missed and tumbled onto the grass. "Damn, I'm a terrible shot. Probably because Daddy wasn't around to teach me"'
"Let's not get into that. I don't have time to rehash old issues with you. I want to know why you came. We had an agreement"
"`We had an agreement,"' Isaiah said, mimicking him. "You can't buy me off, man. My life isn't one of your business deals. I don't accept payoffs"
"You took the money"
"Of course I took it. You think I'm gonna turn down fifty grand? As far as I'm concerned, that loot was like past-due child-support payments. My only regret is that it came too late for Mama to truly enjoy it."
His father wiped his lips with his handkerchief. "I'm sorry about her."
"Whatever. You didn't give a fuck"
His father looked pained. Then, "What do you want from me, Isaiah?"
"You really want to know?"
"You want more money, is that it? How much more would it take for you to leave? A hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand? Half a million?"
"It's not about the money!" Isaiah leaped to his feet. He was about to lose control, and he had to catch himself. This wasn't the way he wanted this conversation to go.
"If it's not about money, then what is it?" His father spread his arms. "Tell me-what is this all about?"
His father didn't get it. He thought Isaiah only wanted money, as though money alone could solve life's problems, as though money mattered now that Mama was dead.
Isaiah wished he could kill his father then. But this wasn't the time or the place.
Isaiah sat down again. Counted to ten. Slowed his racing heartbeat.
"I want to be a part of your family," he said softly. "I want to be like you and Gabe are together, want the kind of relationship with you that you have with him." And I want everything else Gabe has, too.
His father looked at him, measuring. "You're serious."
Isaiah nodded.
"Shit." Now it was his dad's turn to get to his feet. He put his fists on his waist, pacing through the grass.
"I'm not going back to Chicago," Isaiah said. "There's nothing left for me there. I want to stay here with you ... Pops"
His father glanced at him, eyebrows arched.
"I have a life here, Isaiah, an image to uphold," he said. "I'm well established in the community, an elder at my church. I'm a role model for a lot of people."
"So now it's time for you to be a role model for me "
Isaiah's words seemed to hit his father like a punch to the stomach. Pops grimaced, lowered his head. Shoved his hands deep in his pockets.
"I'm not the sole decision-maker on this," his father said. "I need to talk to my wife, Gabe ... Nicole .. "
"Come on, you're the man of the house," Isaiah said. "Lay down the law."
"It's not that easy."
"You mean to tell me that T.L. Reid, legendary entrepreneur and millionaire, has to go to his family and ask if his own flesh and blood can be a part of his life?"
"Stop trying to play to my ego" Pops rubbed his lips, pondering. "I'll think it over. I'm going to have a talk with everyone this evening."
"Good enough. What time should I be there?"
"You shouldn't be there tonight. Telling them about you is going to be rough on everyone. I don't think they could handle meeting you tonight."
"Fine. Tomorrow, then"
"I'll let you know."
Isaiah would have to be happy with that. Patience, he reminded himself. Take it slow
Now that he'd set things in motion, why rush?
He had plenty of time to destroy his father's family.
Chapter 17
r abriel had no desire to be anywhere in his father's orbit, so he avoided returning to the office. He drove to Decatur to visit his physician, Dr. Louis Robinson. Dr. Robinson, a Morehouse man like Gabriel and his father, had a thriving family practice on Wesley Chapel Road. He'd agreed to squeeze Gabriel into his schedule on short notice.
A medical assistant weighed Gabriel and took his blood pressure, both of which were normal. When the woman asked the purpose of Gabriel's visit, Gabriel mumbled, "I was in an accident a couple of days ago. I only want to have a physical, get my head bandage checked, make sure everything's in order."
He didn't mention his tingling palms or the visions in the mirror. Now that he was there, sitting on the exam table, surrounded by the cold, logical instruments of science, he was embarrassed to admit what was happening to him.
"Gabriel!" Dr. Robinson said, stepping into the examination room. He was a bearish man in his midfifties, with a shiny bald head and a neatly trimmed beard. "I haven't seen you in a while, brother."
"Yeah, it's been a couple of years"
"How's your father? I haven't seen Theo since the Grand Boule's Centennial Celebration in Philly."
Gabriel's father and Dr. Robinson were members of Sigma Pi Phi, an ultraexclusive black fraternity casually known as the "Soule." Gabriel had pledged Alpha Phi Alpha during undergrad, just like Pops, and he'd wanted to join the Boule in a few years, with Pops paving the way for his acceptance in the by-invitation-only society.
But all those goals of his had changed as of that morning. Now he no longer cared about getting his father's help with anything.
"Pops is fine," Gabriel said and forced a smile.
"Good, good" Robinson studied Gabriel's file, looked up at him. "Says here you were in a car accident recently? How're you feeling?"
"Okay, I guess. They discharged me from the hospital yesterday. I had a concussion, bruised ribs."
"Thank God that was all." Robinson checked the bandage on Gabriel's head, nodded with approval. "Is anything else wrong? Having any headaches or dizziness?"
"No, nothing like that"
"How do your ribs feel?"
"Still sore, but I can get around fine."
"I'll write you a prescription to help ease the pain," Robinson said. He scribbled a note in his illegible physician's handwriting. "Your noggin's healing well. Drop in later next week and we'll see if we can remove the bandage"
"Will do "
"Is there anything else, Gabriel?"
"Nah. I just wanted to get a physical to make sure everything was okay."
Robinson frowned. "I've been your physician since you were knee-high. You've only come in for exams when you needed them for school. You sure you're giving me the whole story?"
"Well" Gabriel looked down at his hands. "There's this weird thing th
at's been going on with my hands. They ... uh, tingle."
"Tingle?"
"Like how it feels when they lose circulation. A cool, prickly feeling."
"Like pins and needles?"
"Exactly"
"How long does that last? And how frequently does it happen?"
He shrugged. "It lasts for a few seconds. It's happened maybe three times since my accident."
"Did it happen before the accident?"
He shook his head. "It started right after."
"Any numbness, loss of motor skills?"
"Nope"
"And this is happening only in your hands?"
"Just my hands"
Robinson made a series of quick notes on his pad. "It sounds like you're experiencing a mild case of nerve damage. It's very probable that you injured your hands during the accident. Hand paresthesia is the term, if memory serves"
"Is it serious?"
"Not at all. Know the treatment? Rest those hands"
"That's all?"
"Sure, as long as there's no pain. If you begin to experience numbness-or if the tingling persists for longer than a week-then call me" He started toward the door. "But I think a few days' rest is all you need. No prolonged typing, writing, heavy lifting, or exertion. Take a break."
"I guess I can take a few days off." Gabriel slid off the table. "That was easy."
"Was that everything?" Robinson moved away from the door, seeming to sense that Gabriel was holding back.
Gabriel smiled, embarrassed. "There is one more thing...:'
He told Robinson about the hallucinations. The doctor listened patiently. He didn't appear shocked, as Gabriel had worried, and he didn't push a button to summon the men in the white coats. Gabriel realized that in his time as a physician, Robinson had probably heard some of everything.
"Dana, my fiancee, thinks I'm seeing those shadows or whatever because of my concussion," Gabriel said. "She's a doctor, too"
"She sounds like a good one," Robinson said. "I agree with her. Visual disturbances-seeing bright lights or shadows, blurred or double vision are possible aftereffects of head trauma"
"Good. So I'm not crazy."
"Of course not. But it might be worth a trip to the neurologist for a closer examination."
"They already ran a CAT scan on me at the hospital. I was fine."
"A second look won't hurt," Robinson said. "I can give you a referral to an excellent neurologist."
Gabriel loathed visiting doctors and had made this visit to Robinson only because he'd promised Dana. Now Robinson was advising him to go see yet another physician? Gabriel was beginning to regret he'd scheduled this appointment at all.
But he didn't share his dismay with the doctor. He only said, "Sure," and started toward the door.
Robinson opened the door for him. "It was good seeing you again, son. Tell my frat brother I said hello. That old dog needs to get in here for his annual checkup"
Gabriel smiled thinly. "I'll pass that along."
When Gabriel reached his car, he discovered a message on his cell phone: Pops was holding a family meeting at seven o'clock that night, and wanted Gabriel to be there. Pops spoke in a crisp, businesslike tone, as though he was discussing plans for an ordinary client meeting, not the unveiling of a secret liable to tear apart their family.
I don't want to be there, Gabriel thought, shutting off the cell phone. I don't want to see the look on Mom 's face when she finds out what Pops did.
But he would be there, to support his mother, and out of obligation to his family.
Even though, after tonight, there might not be much family left.
Chapter 18
t five minutes to seven o'clock, Gabriel drove into his par_ents' subdivision.
His family lived off Cascade Road in southwest Atlanta in a gated enclave of million-dollar estates situated on giant, manicured plots of land. Inhabited exclusively by African Americans-executives, entertainers, and pro athletes-they were picture-perfect mansions, every one of them worthy of a spread in Ebony magazine as proof of what black people could accomplish.
But cruising along the tree-lined road with Dana riding beside him, Gabriel found himself wondering about the skeletons, the residents of these homes concealed in their spacious walk-in closets, the lies they hid behind their estates' elegant brick and stucco facades, the depths of the sins they'd buried beneath their perfectly trimmed lawns.
Gabriel knew he was being cynical, but he couldn't help it. His anger toward his father had degenerated into a bitterness that spoiled everything he viewed.
He hadn't told Dana about his doctor's visit, and she hadn't asked. She clearly sensed that he wasn't in a talkative mood. During the past twenty minutes they'd been riding in the car, they had exchanged less than five sentences.
His parents' home was located in a quiet cul-de-sac. They lived in a two-story, brick European estate sprawled across two lush acres. He rolled into the wide driveway and parked in front of the three-car, side-entry garage.
A green BMW convertible was parked in the driveway, too. His sister's car.
"Looks like Nicole's here," Gabriel said. "I don't see Isaiah's thugged-out ride. Maybe he won't come. Pops didn't say whether he was showing up or not."
"You don't want him here," Dana said. It was a statement, not a question.
"That's right, I don't."
"I hate to burst your bubble, Gabe, but he's your dad's son. He's got a right to get to know you guys ""
"I don't want to know him. I want him to leave."
"Baby, I know this is hard for you, but try to be a little understanding, okay?"
Gabriel grunted.
"I'll take that as an agreement," Dana said and got out of the car.
Gabriel climbed out, slammed the door hard. The subject of Isaiah was quickly becoming a thorn in his side. He could only imagine how much the guy's arrival would disrupt the chemistry of the family, his life-everything he'd ever known and valued.
This is all Pops 's fault.
Teeth clenched, he followed Dana inside.
Inside, his family's estate was even more impressive. It had a marble-floored, two-story foyer highlighted by a curving staircase with a mahogany, handcarved railing. A three-tier, crystal chandelier. Antique furnishings. Privately commissioned paintings and sculptures by well-known black artists. A two-story, grand salon with an enormous fireplace and a rear wall of windows offering a stunning view of the sparkling swimming pool and the woods beyond....
As an adult, visiting his parents' home had used to soothe Gabriel, would remind him of his comfortable childhood. Now, walking through the house made him feel vaguely ill, as though there were a repugnant odor floating underneath the clean, lemony fragrance that scented the air.
Gabriel and Dana found his mother and Nicole in the library, sipping tea and chatting. If Gabriel was a younger version of his father, then Nicole was a carbon copy of his mother, minus twenty or so years. Twenty-seven years old, Nicole was a petite redbone with long auburn hair and hazel eyes framed by stylish designer eyeglasses. Nicole worked as an associate at a corporate law firm; she wore a cream business suit, evidence that she had probably come there straight from the office.
When Pops called a meeting, everyone in the family responded.
The last time the Reids had come together for an emergency meeting, it had been to discuss the deteriorating health of Grandma Vee, his father's mother. They had talked about funeral arrangements, insurance, wills, and other grim matters. It had been one of the most painful conversations Gabriel had ever experienced in his life.
In Gabriel's opinion, this one was going to be worse.
Gabriel and Dana said their greetings and took seats.
"Where's Pops?" Gabriel asked.
"He'll be in here shortly," Mom said.
He was preparing himself for the firestorm, Gabriel figured.
The library had long been one of Gabriel's favorite rooms in the house. It was full of a dozen bookc
ases, each of them stocked with hardcover titles. Classic works by authors such as Zora Neale Hurston, Richard Wright, Langston Hughes, Ralph Ellison, and an abundance of contemporary fiction by Toni Morrison, Terry McMillan, Walter Mosley, and many others. Comfy leather club chairs flanked a granite fireplace, and a large picture window framed a gorgeous view of his mother's garden of azaleas and roses. Growing up, Gabriel had spent countless hours in there, spinning away the summer days in the cradle of a good novel.
After tonight he would never feel the same about the library.
Clustered in a semicircle, Mom, Nicole, and Dana began chatting about shoe sales and clothes. Mom and Nicole had no idea why Pops had called this meeting, but he could see the anxiety lining their faces underneath the amiable front they were striving to present to one another. Dana, who knew the truth, was trying to keep a poker face and show interest in the superficial chatter.
After ten minutes of increasingly strained chitchat, Pops still hadn't arrived. Gabriel rose. The women looked at him, curious.
"I'm tired of waiting," he said. "I'm going to get him."
He found his father in the master bedroom. Pops sat on the king-size bed, head hanging low. He held a snifter of Crown Royal. The rich aroma filled Gabriel's nostrils, blending with his anxiety to make him slightly dizzy.
A photo album lay on his father's lap. Pops didn't look up when Gabriel approached.
Gabriel peered over his father's shoulder. Pops's thumb rested on a picture he and Gabriel had had taken together during one of their fishing trips. They were both grinning, holding up their catches. The perfect father and son.
One of the sons, anyway, Gabriel thought sourly.
"We're waiting on you," Gabriel said.
Pops looked up. His eyes were watery and red.
Gabriel took a step back. Pops had been crying? He couldn't believe it.
"We had a nice time there," Pops said, tapping the photo. "I always loved spending time with you for Father's Day."
Every year on Father's Day weekend, Gabriel and Pops would take a weekend trip to their cabin nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in north Georgia. Just the two of them. They would fish, drink beer, and talk about business, politics, women, family, life. Gabriel had loved those trips, would always come home feeling closer than ever to his father.
The Other Brother Page 10