Hold Me Like a Breath (13 page)

When the only things remaining at the table were us and the other leftovers, he asked, “Is today another
Project Runway
marathon, or some other NYC reality show?”

“Neither.”

He sighed. “C-Span?”

“Come with me.” I followed a trail of invisible breadcrumbs, taking the path the others had just walked. If Father had been serious about my being important to the Family, then it was time I acted serious too.

“Good morning, sweet pea.” Father looked up from his seat behind the massive mahogany desk he'd inherited, along with his position, from my grandfather. “Did your mother send you with a message for me?”

“No. Um, I just thought—” I swallowed and squared my shoulders.
If you want respect, demand it
. “I'd like to attend this morning's meetings.”

Like the clinic, Father's office hadn't been included in the architectural remodel that had curved the edges of the main parts of the house. The walls in here had angles, the furniture had corners. There were shelves and filing cabinets, a floor of unforgiving travertine instead of soft cork or plush carpet. The office made me feel unsafe, unwelcomed, and that was before I considered the men inside and their hard judgment.

“Oh.” Father's voice was surprised, but I couldn't tell if he was pleased. He nodded at Garrett, who was standing beside me looking confused. “Well, find some seats, we're starting.”

It seemed like there were more Family members than usual; almost two dozen men fitting themselves on the chairs and couches—but maybe there were always this many. Or maybe it was a post-Carter thing. From my perch on a chair beside a corner bookshelf I identified Miles's doctor sons, the director of the spa in Maine, plus plenty of unfamiliar faces.

“Penny-pea!” Al Ward's smile made my skin crawl. He turned
to the gathered men. “Remember when she used to come in here and sing and do little dances for us? Adorable.”

The Family members exchanged nods and indulgent glances. Garrett's hand gripped the back of my chair; I gritted my teeth.

“Is that why you're here today? I assume you've mastered that M-N-O-P part by now.” He laughed and grinned. “Wasn't she the most precious thing?”

Inwardly I seethed and thought,
And aren't you the most vile
? But I refused to let him know he'd gotten a reaction out of me; it would please him far too much. “Sadly, I've retired my dancing shoes. I'm here for the meeting.”

“How nice. Did you bring a magazine or something to keep you busy?” he asked.

I raised an eyebrow and held his gaze. “No. Did
you
?”

Garrett coughed to cover a snort.

I slowly made eye contact with each of the Ward brothers. Hugh first, with an arch of my eyebrow, then I met Mick's gaze briefly, but I held Jacob's until the angle of his mouth twitched from sardonic to irritated.

I saved the non-Ward Ward brother for last. Tipping my head back, I looked up at Garrett, pleased to see he was amused and proud. Then he blinked and looked past me, his face turning anxious. I followed his gaze back to his father, whose expression promised consequences.

There didn't seem to be any big gesture that called the meeting to order, just two dozen pairs of eyes focusing on my father and him beginning to talk.

“It's a numbers-heavy morning, men. Clinic financials, patient census, and donor recruitment reports.”

Jake's eyebrows and the corners of his mouth twitched up as he glanced at me and mouthed the word Father had used, “men.”

I ignored him and settled back in my chair.

Money had always seemed abstract to me. I rarely handled bills. Rarely had transactions that weren't point and click and a shipping box arriving at the gates. I knew the Family made
a lot
, but didn't know how to quantify or comprehend it beyond that.

“Five of the six clinics continued to bring in at least seven-figure profits last year,” reported Miles. “Kilney's continues to be our best earner, with fourteen million gross.”

“And the sixth?” prompted Father.

“Sky and Light. It's struggling to stay in high-five-, low-six-figure range. The overhead and payoffs are neutralizing most of their profit.”

The graphics projected on Father's wall showed patients and donors on double bar graphs—I half expected Nolan to stand up and assign a word problem. There were about a thousand patients per clinic, almost
six thousand
total last year. Six thousand people we'd saved.

I smiled at Garrett, then let my attention wander. Six thousand people was a happy thought to hold on to—and much more interesting than listening to Al speculate about the negative effect the Organ Act was having on donor recruitment. Or Nolan's counterargument on the “practically inexhaustible” supply we'd have if the industry were legalized.

“Your opinions are noted, gentlemen,” Father finally said.
“Let's take a break. I've got some calls and then we'll resume in twenty.” He pushed his way to me as Family members' attention shifted from focused to idle chatter and trips to the kitchen for coffee.

“It was nice having you here.” Before I could reply, Father kissed the top of my head. “I'll see you both at lunch … or maybe dinner. We might work through lunch—pass that along to your mother, okay?”

The dismissal caught me off guard. He was gone before I'd processed it, and Garrett was standing, forcing a path through the clusters of men. I stomped after him.

Miles stopped me at the door. “You're a good girl, Penny. It was thoughtful of you to sit through that for Garrett.” He always had a kind word for me. A kind word or pint of my favorite ice cream from the creamery by his house. But it hadn't occurred to me—until this very minute—that he still treated me the same way he had when I was seven. I wasn't a “good girl”—I wasn't still a girl at all.

“For Garrett?”

He chuckled lightly and patted Garrett's shoulder. “Though I daresay you've probably made him sit through enough fashion shows or soap operas; it's only fair for you to return the favor and spend some time being bored.”

“If Garrett's watching soap operas, it must be on his own time. I don't believe I've ever seen one. And as for boredom—that meeting
wasn't
.” At least most of it wasn't. And mine weren't the only eyes I caught glancing at the clock or out the window. “Is this because—”

“Pen!” I froze at Garrett's use of Carter's nickname. It was deliberate. He widened his eyes, shook his head. “Let's go swim. I need to cool down. Too many people in this office.”

By
I
he meant
you
, but he wasn't wrong. Better for me to take my frustration out in laps than say something that confirmed Al's depiction of me as immature and decorative.

I nodded.

I swam until my anger cooled and my curiosity crystallized into questions. I climbed out of the pool, asking, “Do they have proof it was the Zhus yet? I heard Mother signing for
another
delivery of flowers from Mrs. Zhu; do you think that's odd? And last night when Miles came to get Father from dinner because Mr. Vickers was on the phone, what was that was about?”

I'd been trying to remember everything I could about the other Families. Mr. Vickers was a short man with a manicured beard. His wife was a blond-haired, tanned Texan with a soft voice and sweet smile. Their daughter didn't take after either of them; she was neither short nor quiet.

“Remember Magnolia?” I asked.

Garrett gave up pretending to ignore me. He looked up from his magazine and handed me a towel. “Yeah. Were you there the time she made Carter drink hot sauce?” His mouth pulled
into a nostalgic smile, but I shook my head. “She was wild. You probably weren't allowed out to play when she was over.”

“Only once. Mother set up a tea party for us in my room while they had their own.” Maggie had eaten all the sugar cubes, poured the tea in my unicorn bank, made a tower of the cups and saucers, then used my Cinderella snow globe to bowl them down. “It did not go well.”

“You've got to remember the time she dared Carter to jump from the tree to the pool—or at least the result. He was miserable in that cast—he used to hit me with it when he got mad. Did he tell you we saw her this year? In the fall. She was on campus for a cross-country race. I thought
he
was going to run away. Carter is still terrified of her.”

Carter. He wasn't
still
terrified of her. He wasn't
still
anything, except a hole in our lives and an ache attached to every breath and memory.

In moments like this, it was too hard to look at each other. I studied the lawn, and Garrett turned back to his magazine. Once I could inhale and exhale without it catching in my throat, once I'd stopped blinking to clear my eyes, I flipped the cover up:
Gun World
. The address label said “Hugh Ward.” At least it wasn't his subscription.

“You're dripping,” he grumbled.

“Whatever, you're not even reading. Put it down and talk to me. Tell me what you know.” I touched his shoulder, softly, hesitantly, then couldn't bring myself to pull my hand away from his warm skin.

He scoffed. “What I know? Do you think my dad or brothers
tell me
anything
? And despite that, they're still convinced your dad will pick me to replace him.”

“Oh.” I hadn't thought about that.

“I don't know if I want to. Lead
with
Carter, yeah. But without him …”

I squeezed his shoulder, back to blinking and swallowing against tears. “Why would anyone kill him?”

“I don't know. I really don't.” He rolled the magazine into a tight cylinder.

“Then tell me something you do. What really happened the night we went to NYC? What's happening with the Everlys? What's dead meat?”

His face had been carefully blank throughout my assault of questions … but the last one made him swallow.

“What's dead meat, Garrett?”

I counted to ten while he stared at me. Ten, with Mississippis in between. And when I got to
eleven Missi—
I retracted my hand, ready to give up, but he groaned and patted the cushion next to him.

“You can't talk to your dad about this. Promise.”

I nodded, wrapping my towel tighter to prevent the goose bumps that were chasing up my arms.

He studied me for another five Mississippis before he spoke. “Dead Meat was the code name for Deer Meadow—you know how all the spas and B&Bs have code names, right?”

I nodded.
Sky and Light Day Spa
up in Maine was
Skin and Liver; Kilney's Bed and Breakfast
down in Hilton Head specialized in
Kidneys. Turtle Island—Tissue
.

“I've never heard of Deer Meadow—and
dead meat
? Wait!” I jumped up. “Does that mean it's cadaver tissue?”

“Listen before you start judging. Please.” I sat back down and chewed my lip. “Dead Meat was Carter's baby. It's a new spa—in Manhattan. Your dad doesn't know. It's not cadavers the way we normally get them—with families signing them over or with the donor filling out all the forms prior to dying.”

He looked away from me, stared out through the gate. “We have a connection with a morgue; we get calls when they have bodies coming in. We pay a fee—way less than the 250K your dad pays donor families—and we have a whole body to work with.”

“Carter did this?” Forget goose bumps, I was trying not to vomit. I knew he'd talked about it. But hypothetical discussion was different than learning it was happening. “And that night? Was it a whole body in the trunk or just the valuable parts? Were they
in the kitchen freezer
while we ate pizza in his apartment?”

“Don't sound like that. It's not just a money thing—yeah, the profits are good, but we can do transplants for way cheaper. So many more people can afford them. Not just the super-rich. Our clients
aren't
like Mr. Pyle—who's currently drinking his way through his third liver and already gave your dad the down payment for his fourth.”

“Who have you fixed?” I wanted Garrett to be able to look me in the eye and convince me to support Carter's last project.

“Lots of people. We still do all the testing—nucleic acid, you know, the good kind—we're not the Everlys using diseased parts. But, like, this one kid—sixteen years old, a baseball star. He was
in a car crash and wrecked his knee. We did a ligament transplant for him. He should be able to play again. Or we did a heart valve transplant on a two-year-old girl.”

“Is she going to be all right?”

He finally turned back toward me, his face tense. “Yeah, she is. And it was a single mom, she never could have afforded what the Zhus, Vickers, or even what your dad charges.”

“Is this—Dead Meat—is this why Carter was killed?”

“No, I don't think so. I've checked up on the spa and it's all secure, nothing's changed there. And I had security review the tapes from that night. Wherever Carter was, it wasn't Deer Meadow.”

“It's still functioning?” I whispered.

“It's Carter's legacy. The Family may not be letting me do much around here these days, but I'll do anything to protect this.” He clenched his jaw and flipped the edge of my towel between two fingers. “So … what are you thinking?”

“I don't know,” I said slowly. “Nolan's always talking about the need for price control. It's part of why he supports the Organ Act—if the industry was legalized, there'd be set prices and better quality control. I hadn't ever thought about it this way. When are you going to tell my father and the Family?”

Garrett's fingers stilled. “When I think they're ready to listen. Maybe after the Zhus are punished and people calm down. This is all I have left of Carter—I can't screw this up, Penny. Do you get it?”