New York Billionaires Series

I contemplate calling him again just to hear the rasp of his voice tell me something, anything. I’m so deep in thought that I nearly knock into a person handing out flyers on the sidewalk.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say. “Really sorry.”

The woman chuckles and hands me a flyer. “Not a problem. Caught your attention that way!”

I look down at the piece of paper in my hand. The enlarged microphone. The elaborate font on top that spells out three innocuous words. Open mic night.

“Huh,” I say. “Thank you.”

“Come on by,” she says. “Either to listen or to perform.”

“Yeah. I… yeah. Thank you.”

I make it another block before I find my phone. Call Posie’s number. She answers immediately, surprise in her voice.

“Hey, Summer. You’re not cancelling Sunday, are you?”

“No,” I say. “Tell me, do you want to play guitar with me next weekend? Like we used to?”

I run a hand through my hair and glare at the tiny, folded plastic thing on my kitchen counter. So small. Harmless. But since I took it out of the packaging, I haven’t been able to touch it.

It’s too early for cane training, Dr. Johnson had said. But the specialist I’d talked to had told me to order one anyway. Get used to it, he said. It can be a great mobility tool. It’s freedom. You’ll see.

So here I am, staring at the thing like it might attack me, and wondering how the hell it’ll give me freedom.

All we need to do is get acquainted, I think. Shake hands, so to speak.

Perhaps I’m pushing this. In the afternoon, I have a meeting with a man who has the same diagnosis as me, but ten years down the line.All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

I’d started writing a list of questions for him yesterday, and by starting, I mean I’d stared at a blank notepad, a pen in hand, and felt like dying.

So yeah. No questions prepared.

But I’m going. That’s the goal for today. Touch a cane and talk to a blind man.

I wonder if I’m similar to the guide dogs for the blind Summer’s mother fosters. You sat down? Here’s a treat! Oh, you can shake paw? Here’s a treat!

There’s only one treat I want for doing all of this, and though she might be too big to eat in one bite, she’s delicious.

I reach out and grip the folded cane.

Nothing happens. It’s cold, hard plastic. It’s almost as if all of my combined fears aren’t imbued in this one inanimate object. Who would have thought.

The doorbell rings and I drop the cane like it might burn me. But halfway to the door, I change my mind, and toss it into a cupboard. Just in case she’s here. I don’t want her to see it.

But it’s not Summer on my doorstep.

It’s my brother, and the scowl on his face mirrors my own. We haven’t spoken since the harsh words in his office.

“You were right,” he says in greeting and steps past me into the house.

I shut the door. “Ah.”

“You were fucking right,” he repeats and strides into the living room, only to stop dead. “You don’t keep your booze in the same place Granddad did.”

“The cabinet to the left. Top shelf.”

He finds my scotch and pours himself a glass. Tugs at his collar again. It’s sweltering outside, but Isaac is in a three-piece suit.

“For what it’s worth,” I say, “I wish I wasn’t.”

His lip curls in wry non-humor as he drains the glass, pouring himself another. “I just found out. Came here straight after.”

“You confronted her?”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “I asked Cordelia about it right after you told me. She denied it.”

“But once I knew enough to suspect it, it was easy to look for the signs. I pushed her on it just now. Right after she dragged me to a meeting with a bakery to taste cakes. Why is it so warm in here? Anthony, do you still have the heat on? It’s July.”

“It’s August first,” I say, “and the heat is off.”

“You know what really gets me? I thought she loved me. Not in the exuberant, infatuated kind of way. We’ve never been like that. But I thought she loved the life we were committing to enough to stay faithful. I’ve made the same sacrifice.”

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Isaac says. Gets up from the couch and pours me a glass of scotch, handing it to me. Even distressed, his manners are impeccable. “You came to me and you told it to me straight, and I didn’t believe you.”

“Well, I can see why you might not. I haven’t been the best brother for the past two years.”

His eyes meet mine. “No, not really.”

“I’m aware,” I say. “Take off your jacket, Isaac. You look like you’re melting.”

“Yes, because I couldn’t get a cab from the damn bakery and walked all the way here.” But he does what I’ve told him and tosses it over the back of the couch. “You never liked us together.”

“No,” I say. “I never did.”

“I thought you were an asshole because of it.”

“I know you did.”

“Now I wonder if you were the smartest of us all,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I wonder if old Rupert Jacobs will still want us to partner with his golf courses. Is that sad? That the first thing I thought when she confessed to cheating on me was to get angry that she might have screwed up our business deal, too?”

“I think,” I say carefully, “that it tells you everything you need to know about that relationship.”

He looks at me for a long while. “You’ve changed.”

It’s easy to shake my head, to find the words. “Isaac, I’ve withdrawn from you, from the family, for too long. Of course I’ve changed.”

“Yes,” he says, eyes turning wary.