Underwater

by McDermott, Julia

  “Candace, I—”

  “I also made a promise to him,” Candace said. “I told him I would take care of Monty financially. For the rest of his life.”

  Rob leaned back in his chair. “You mean, support him? Why make such a vow?”

  “I shouldn’t have. And no, I didn’t mean I would support him. I meant I would help him if he ever needed money.”

  “And you feel bound by this promise.”

  “Yes. But then, Monty never seemed to need any money. He was always supported by some girlfriend. When he and Jeanine split up—”

  “The one before Helen?”

  “Right. Jeanine had a good job. When they split and he married Helen, with Adele already born—well, I guess Helen’s salary wasn’t enough for him. He had known—or thought he knew—how much money I had made for some time by then. When I agreed to loan them six hundred thousand so they could get into that house with a two-hundred-thousand-dollar mortgage, I thought I was done with him. I didn’t want the money paid back until sometime in the future, whenever they sold the place, eventually. I expected them to just live their lives and leave me alone. I didn’t expect that they would come to me for even more money, to redo it.”

  “Looking back, I’m wondering why they wanted to do a renovation, anyway,” said Rob. “What with a new baby and everything.”

  “Exactly. They didn’t need to do it at all. But as you know, he talked me into it. He said he knew the market, that it was on the rise, and that once the renovation was finished, he’d be able to sell it for so much that we’d all make money. I felt that when that happened, he’d be okay—and in the meantime, he’d be fine, too. I’d be fulfilling my promise to Dad.”

  Rob let out a deep breath.

  “But then he roped me into cosigning the home equity loan—”

  “Which David advised against.”

  “Yes. But which I did anyway.” Candace finished her drink and set down the glass.

  “Yes. Well. Back to your promise. To fulfill it, you didn’t need to lend your brother over eight hundred thousand—nor guarantee another loan for five hundred—to allow him to speculate on real estate. That is not ‘taking care of him financially.’ Candace, Monty’s had his hand out to you ever since you achieved your wealth, and you’ve been very generous. I don’t know exactly what your father meant by his request, but I don’t believe he wanted you to fund your brother’s risky endeavors, or buy an expensive home for him. Ever.”

  “So, given Monty’s personality, background, and abilities, and given my fortune—what do you suppose my father did want?”

  “You’ve said Jack wasn’t Monty’s enabler. My guess is that, because he knew his son, he feared that Monty might end up alone and penniless—I don’t mean to be harsh, but there it is. I assume Jack felt you were the only one who would provide his son a safety net.” Rob shook the ice in his drink, took a sip, and put the glass down. He looked directly into Candace’s eyes. “Did Monty know about the promise you made?”

  “I don’t think so, but I don’t know. I never told him.”

  “But Jack may have.”

  Candace shut her eyes for a second, then stared straight ahead. “It’s possible. I try not to think about that.”

  Rob squeezed Candace’s hand again. “Siblings—even those that despise each other—usually have each other much longer than they have their parents. As an only child, I’m fortunate enough—or unfortunate enough—to escape the situation. Whether Monty knows about your promise to Jack or not, I just don’t see your responsibility in this. We’ve talked about this. Are you to keep funneling money to him? What if his pattern with the house continues—the deceit and manipulation? What if, God forbid, he uses your money for illegal activities?”

  “I can’t believe he would do that. But, Rob. Am I to stand by and let my brother spiral down? Perhaps end up penniless?”

  “If he chooses to spiral down, you must let him. A safety net does not equal the assurance of a certain lifestyle that he’s unwilling to earn for himself. He’s far from penniless, and I don’t expect he’ll ever get close. I don’t understand why you’re afraid he may—I’m not. He’s not of low intelligence. He’s a capable man in his thirties with some amount of charisma, and is the brother of a very successful woman. Despite his spotty work background, he can get a job and support himself. You know he can.”

  Candace shut her eyes for a moment, then smiled. “Yes, I do know. Let’s go see the banquet room, shall we?”

  On Thursday afternoon, Monty drove to the Little League field to meet his buddy Chip Duncan and the Pirates for baseball practice. Chip’s kid Sonny was the biggest and probably the most talented seven-year-old on the team, but Chip went to great lengths not to show favoritism. The rules decreed that all the players get equal time on the field, which wasn’t hard to do. But the Pirates wanted to win every game and to become the league champions. Chip said he’d tried to recruit the best kids he could find, but Sonny had persuaded him to choose his friends for the roster, regardless of athletic ability.

  Monty emerged from his five-year-old gray BMW, ball cap on his head. “Hey, Coach! How’s it going?”

  “Not bad,” said Chip, grinning. None of the players had arrived yet. He handed Monty a sports bag full of bats and balls. “What’s up in your world?”

  Monty cleared his throat. “My man, you’re looking at the father of twins.”

  Chip stopped short. “You’re shitting me.”

  Monty smiled broadly. “Absolutely not.”

  “Well, goddamn. Congratulations, man!”

  “Thank you.” Monty glanced at the parking lot and waved to one of the team’s stronger players, who had just stepped out of a minivan.

  “Three little Carawans. I can’t believe it,” Chip said with a laugh. “You’ve outdone me again.”

  Monty laughed and puffed out his chest. “When you got it, you got it.”

  More players began to appear and trickle onto the field, carrying their gloves. “Well,” said Chip, “I found out something a lot less interesting last night from Kristin.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “She’s got a nephew named Beau Warren. One of her older sister’s kids. ’Bout twenty-five or so. Works at Coke. We never see him. With all of her sisters and brothers, I can’t keep up. Anyway, the dude’s girlfriend works at your sister’s company.”

  “Really,” said Monty, as a statement. “What’s her name?”

  “Jess Copeland. Kristin said she’s Candace’s personal assistant. Beau’s been dating her for a couple years.”

  “She young and hot?”

  “What does that mean, man?” asked Chip, laughing. “You got a wife and kid, and now two more babies on the way.”

  Monty laughed. “You need to get out more.”

  Chip directed five of the boys over to a batting cage and picked up his own glove. “Man, you’ll never change. Let’s get some balls in the air!”

  Monty smiled again and jogged out on the field to join Sonny and four Pirates. Maybe he’d look this chick up on Facebook—chances were that she was hot.

  Candace exited her New York apartment building a few minutes after seven and entered a waiting taxi the doorman had procured for her. She and Rob were meeting some friends for drinks and then dinner in the hip Meatpacking District. She reached inside her bag for the hand sanitizer she always carried. The interior of a Manhattan taxi had to be as full of germs as an airplane lavatory. She glanced out the window as the cabdriver darted in between other vehicles, daring pedestrians to block his path.

  She leaned back in her seat. This trip to the city had been productive, but she was looking forward to getting back down south on Sunday evening. Much as she hated to, she had made the decision to give up her Manhattan apartment this fall and move into Rob’s much roomier one. Candace was a minimalist, so combining their belong
ings shouldn’t be an issue.

  She crossed her ankles and smoothed her skirt, her thoughts shifting to a memory of her mother getting dressed to go out to dinner one night back in the eighties. She had skipped a slip that night and donned only a pair of nude panty hose under a slinky red dress, laughing about her own mother’s instruction to wear panties underneath panty hose. “Grandmother didn’t care if anybody could see the lines of your panties through your clothes—she cared if they couldn’t. Because then, they’d know you weren’t wearing any!”

  She shook her head slightly and closed her eyes. Her mother must have felt very risqué when she went commando under a pair of L’eggs. Candace couldn’t remember if she ever did wear panties under panty hose. She had always thought that underwear was a very important part of a woman’s wardrobe. A great outfit looked horrible with the wrong thing underneath, bottom or top. All SlimZ shapers and bras were designed to be invisible under clothing and to avoid the appearance of any lines. Candace hated the recent trend of letting bra straps show.

  Her phone vibrated, signaling a message from David. Apparently the banker, Whitney, would be available for a conference call tomorrow between nine and one o’clock. Candace checked her schedule and sent a one-line response. Eleven thirty would work, otherwise it would have to be Monday. She put her phone on silent and placed it in her bag as the taxi slowed to a halt in front of her destination. The conversation with David and the banker wouldn’t be a pleasant one, but it was necessary, unfortunately.

  She paid the driver, exited the vehicle, and walked into the bar, oblivious to another message just received from David, this one marked as urgent.

  Helen arrived at 710 Arcadia Lane as the sky was darkening, early for this time of year, and noticed that Monty’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Then she remembered it was Thursday, the day he helped out his friend at the Little League field after school. Either practice had run late or he had gone out with Chip for a drink afterward, or both. Fine—she would have more time to herself this way and wouldn’t have to deal with him yet.

  She got out of the car, unbuckled her daughter from her car seat, and looked up at a gathering sea of clouds in the sky, threatening the approach of a storm. Once inside the tiny guesthouse, the toddler scurried in front of her mother and into the living area. Helen turned on the big-screen television and then went to the bedroom to change clothes. Just before she lowered the window shade, a flash of lightning startled her. Within seconds, a loud thunderbolt cracked and Adele came running to find her.

  “Mommy!”

  Helen reached down and picked up the little girl, hugging her. “It’s all right, Boo. That just means it’s about to rain, and we’re safe here inside. Don’t worry.” She kissed her, then put her down. “Let Mommy get into her comfy-cozies, and then we’ll snuggle up on the couch.”

  Adele traipsed back into the other room just as the deluge began outside. Furious raindrops pelted the roof and slashed at the windows as the tall pines surrounding the house swayed in the wind. Thunderstorms were a fairly common occurrence in this city, and Helen was thankful to have made it home before this one hit. Whenever it rained, drivers went berserk, most going way too slowly and taking forever to get anywhere. Others drove way too fast. But Atlanta almost never experienced tornadoes, something Helen always feared growing up, and the aftermath of which she had seen firsthand.

  She checked her phone for messages, set it down, pulled on her hoodie, and joined Adele on the sofa. The house was chilly. Another flash of lightning and bolt of thunder, this one sounding sooner than the last, frightened Adele into her arms again. Helen calmed her down again and stroked her hair. The wind howled outside as branches snapped and fell to the ground and leaves swirled.

  Crack! That bolt struck and the sky lit up. Lightning was hitting way too close now. Helen’s arms closed reflexively around Adele as she told herself not to alarm the child, who was glued to her television show.

  Pop! Adele whimpered and Helen pulled her close. “The roof is protecting us, baby. Everything is okay. Are you getting hungry?”

  Adele nodded.

  “Let me see what we should have for dinner.” Helen moved from the couch to the small kitchen and opened the freezer, where a vegetable lasagna sat waiting. She took it out, turned on the oven, and went back over to sit down with Adele.

  Maybe the lightning was moving away from them. Helen started counting the seconds each time a flash appeared. The wind was almost as worrisome, however. She looked out the window and saw the tall pines bending and more branches falling to the ground. Why hadn’t they had the bigger trees taken out? Because of the money it cost, she told herself.

  The oven beeped, signaling it was preheated. Helen got up and opened the frozen dinner package. Just as she was about to put it in, another crackle-flash popped loudly and the power went out. Adele ran to the kitchen and Helen grabbed her up.

  “Honey—” began Helen. Another flash of lightning hit just as the unthinkable happened. A horrible crash brought down the living room ceiling as wooden beams and debris fell through. A huge tree landed with a boom, destroying the sofa and the coffee table, and an avalanche of thick rain rushed into the room.

  Adele screamed and shook in Helen’s arms. They had to get out of here! Lightning flashed as Helen ran into the bedroom, holding her daughter. She grabbed her purse, and in two seconds, they were out the cottage’s side door. Helen ran to the car with the sobbing child clutching her neck. Pulling her keys from her purse, she held Adele tightly as they slid behind the wheel and Helen shut the car door.

  Don’t panic! Calm her down, and calm down yourself. She took a deep breath as she saw more tree branches falling around the vehicle, missing it. She put the keys in the ignition with a trembling hand and spoke reassuringly to Adele, coaxing her to climb into her car seat. Then she put the car in reverse and reached in her purse for her phone.

  It wasn’t there. She had left it in the bedroom.

  Late that night, Monty left his sister a voicemail.

  “Hi, Candace. Not sure where you are right now, or if you’re aware of the huge thunderstorms that pounded Atlanta tonight. Just thought you’d like to know that an enormous pine tree fell on the cottage my family is being forced to live in because you’ve withheld funding for the renovation. The roof totally caved in and almost killed Adele, the place is completely flooded, and virtually none of our possessions are salvageable. Not that you give a damn. But hey, call me when you get this, in the unlikely case that you do give a shit.”

  He dropped the phone and then checked his other, private one for messages—there were none. Thank God he hadn’t left it locked in his desk drawer. When Helen had called his public phone a few hours ago from a neighbor’s home number, he hadn’t picked up. She should have realized that he never answered an unknown caller. It was after midnight and the storm had long passed before he got around to listening to her hysterical message.

  After he did, he jumped out of bed and raced from the Midtown condo to Arcadia Lane. Tree limbs and debris littered the roads, and the neighborhood was dark and devoid of emergency responders or police. Monty turned into the cracked driveway and parked behind the two-story home. At least its roof was intact. He popped open the glove compartment and reached inside for the flashlight. Careful to avoid the downed power lines, he walked around to survey the damage. The cottage was in ruins. Two exterior walls near the kitchen and bath were intact, but the place was mostly a huge pile of rubble.

  He made his way over to where the living room had been. All the furniture was wrecked and the TV demolished. His desk was in pieces on the ground. His laptop was destroyed, and so was his iPad, which had been locked inside his desk. The framed picture of his mother was broken and ruined.

  He reached down and moved the slats of wood, searching for the birthday card he had saved for so many years. The one she had given him when he turned seventeen. There it was�
�the front was wet and dirty, but thankfully, the card was basically intact, the inside damp but readable. His eyes fell on the last words she had penned to him.

  Happy Birthday to my brilliant son! Life holds many wonderful opportunities for you, and such a bright future!

  I can’t wait to watch as you design and create buildings and skyscrapers. I know you will become a very famous architect. Never forget that I love you and will always be here to help you, in every possible way.

  —Mother

  Monty stood still for a few more moments, a tear forming at the corner of his eye. He wiped it away, feeling dark and lost.

  He put the card in his jacket’s breast pocket and went into the bedroom, just beyond the bath, to look for his clothes. He was able to save only some of them, which he gathered up and threw into the backseat of the BMW. Then he slumped behind the wheel, put the key in the ignition, and threw his head back against the headrest.

  He had done all that he could here. Before starting the car, he put the card in the glove box and sent Helen a text saying that he’d gone to Chip’s house over in Morningside for the night. On his way back to the condo, his thoughts wandered and his mood lifted a little. He had to be practical. Disastrous as it was, the situation afforded a perfect way to get a lot more money from Candace, and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

  11

  Sex

  Against his better judgment, David Shepherd began writing a response to Monty Carawan’s latest email. Then he stopped and decided instead to forward the written tirade to Candace, telling her that he would like to give it the twenty-four-hour rule before replying.