Turning the Page (3 page)

The touch of fear in Jane’s voice gave Malcolm pause. “I know you do, but….”

Jane set her lunch aside on the table and came around behind Malcolm’s desk. “You’ve stopped living since David passed. You work hard and smarter than you ever have, but then you go home and do nothing. The last party you went to was Harlan’s farewell when he retired from the firm and stepped down as senior partner. I know you only came because of what he meant to you, and you stayed long enough to say good-bye to him and then left.”

Malcolm was a man who’d worked in words his entire life. He wrote them, twisted and prodded them, used them against others when necessary, and yet at this moment they escaped him. He wasn’t sure how to tell Jane that going to parties always reminded him of David. David had loved to throw parties and entertain, and he was the one who lit up a room just by walking in. He’d been the life of any party, and he’d always included Malcolm in his glow.

“I don’t know, Jane. I just want some time to grieve and try to figure things out in my own way.”

“But you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” Malcolm said.

Jane shook her head. “I’ve seen you outside work, remember? And I know you. You’re going through the motions, and you need to think about starting to live again.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders and began squeezing slowly. It felt good, and Malcolm closed his eyes. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until some of it began to slip away.

“I’ll get there, Jane. I promise you that. But right now I miss him so much, all the time.” He was not going to cry in the office. He had shed plenty of tears for David before he was gone and enough to float a ship afterward. But none in the office, and he wasn’t going to start now. “I’ll be fine.”

She stood and returned to her seat and her lunch. Malcolm stared down at his sandwich, appetite gone. He wasn’t really looking at anything, and yet David stared at him in his mind. He was scolding him with that disarmingly charming expression of his that always told Malcolm he was being a butthead without saying a word.

“Okay. I’ll try, Jane.”

“Good. When your brother comes this weekend, let him take you out and have some fun. I don’t care if you go bowling or to the movies, or even just take your brother to dinner. But go and have fun.” She picked up her lunch and took a bite. “Oh, by the way, on a different note, we got the approved scope of services from Mr. Erickson. So you can do that magic you do so well.”

“Great,” Malcolm said and grabbed his sandwich for a bite. “I have the file here. I need you to prepare amended 2010 and 2011 returns. It’s an easy one with one line of income that needs to be moved. Then we can calculate the Social Security tax difference, and I can get on the phone with the IRS and make them see sense.” He handed Jane the file.

“What lit a fire under you all of a sudden?”

“Nothing,” Malcolm said and returned to his lunch. “He’s an author, and I’ve read a few of his books. They were good, and he seemed like a nice guy who took advice from the wrong person.”

Jane took the files and peeked through them. “We tend to get that a lot.”

“Yeah, we do. But in this case we can fix it.”

“Okay. It’s nice to see you excited about something.”

“Jane,” he said with a touch of warning.

“Well, he was certainly handsome enough. A big strapping man. He passed me as I was leaving, and he had an amazing smile.”

She grinned at him expectantly, but Malcolm did his best to ignore it.

“You have to have noticed.”

“Please, Jane. Just leave it alone. He’s a client, and that isn’t the way we talk about our clients.” Malcolm began looking up the numbers he needed. “If you could get those forms completed right after lunch, we can probably get this one nailed up with a minimum of fuss.” That all depended on how much grief Jane decided she was going to give him.

Thankfully she finished her lunch without more hounding, and he was able to eat again and then get back to work.

THE REST
of the week was much the same—Malcolm worked, he stuck to his routine, and Jane gave him grief. On Friday, since Malcolm had everything buttoned up, he left the office a few hours early. He didn’t have to pick up his brother at the airport because he was renting a car, so Malcolm went home and made sure the guest room was presentable and then did some last minute cleaning.

Peter arrived on time and blew inside like a whirlwind. “Malcolm.” Peter was all smiles and energy, hugging him tightly before looking around. “Everything looks the same.”

Malcolm shrugged and said nothing. Had he expected that Malcolm would have renovated or something?

“Am I in the guest room?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll get my things and you can change, and we’ll go to dinner. I’m starved, and I know you have to be hungry. Have you lost weight?”

There had never been any doubt that they were brothers, with their tall frames and dark hair and eyes. They had the same angular face, but Pete had high cheekbones that gave him a movie-star look. Malcolm had always thought of himself as more ordinary. David had voiced a contrary opinion more than once. Malcolm had always felt as though he was the center of David’s world, just like David had been the center of his.

“A little,” Malcolm admitted. Not that he’d been trying, but he sometimes skipped meals. “Let me help you bring in your things.” He needed to change the subject.

“I got it. There’s no use both of us freezing half to death.”

Peter went back out, and Malcolm notched up the heat a little. Then he met Peter at the door and led him upstairs to get settled.

“I made dinner reservations for tonight, and tomorrow I thought I’d cook,” Peter said.

“It’s good to have you here,” Malcolm said.

Peter turned away from his luggage and hugged Malcolm once again. “I know this has been hell. You and David were, like, joined at the hip for years. You finished each other’s sentences and completed each other and all that. But he’s gone, and you need to move on with your life.” Peter released him and stepped back. “Let go and have some fun. You’re a single guy again.” He did this weird dance that reminded Malcolm of a demented chicken.

“I don’t want to be single, and please don’t ever… ever do that dance again. There isn’t enough brain bleach to get that image out of my head.”

“Mal,” Peter said in that tone that grated up Malcolm’s spine. “I know you miss him, but David was the one who died, not you. It’s been over a year. I know you needed time to mourn, but it’s time you started living again. You don’t have to date if you don’t want to, but go out with friends. I know you haven’t talked to many people lately, but I’m sure they’re all waiting for you to approach them again.”

“I’m….” He was saying the same things over and over again and getting tired of it.

“You’re a turtle. You’ve had your head pulled into your shell for too long. It’s time to poke it back out and start to engage the world again.”

“Nice analogy,” Malcolm quipped. “How long have you been saving that?”

“Since Christmas, when you spent the entire day playing with Anabelle and pretty much ignoring everyone else. I had twenty people for dinner, and half of them didn’t even know you were there.”

That was a little extreme, but maybe Peter had a point. “Okay… so….”

“We’re going out, so get changed into something that’s more fun, less stodgy. Our reservation is for seven, but we can have a few drinks beforehand and maybe talk to some people.”

Malcolm stifled a groan, but he turned and left to change. He found some casual clothes and a nice off-white and blue sweater David had bought for him years ago. It was an old friend, and it made him feel like David was holding him in a way. Yeah, he knew it was a little stupid, but he wasn’t willing to let David go. They had spent too many years together—and they’d been through him working too much, misunderstandings, buying a home together… and so much else—for him to just let him go.

Once he was ready, Malcolm joined Peter downstairs and got their coats. It was going to get very cold, and Peter didn’t have this kind of cold in Virginia, so Malcolm loaned him a heavier coat, not telling him that it had been David’s, and they left the house.

The streetlights were already on, and a few stars shone in the sky. That meant it was going to get bitterly cold. They took Peter’s rental since it was already warmed up, and Peter drove, with the aid of GPS, to the restaurant he’d chosen.

It was a trendy and loud Mexican restaurant. The bar was nearly full, and the tables were packed with small groups and couples eating and talking. The place smelled amazing, though, with peppers, spices, and even chocolate layering over each other. Malcolm’s stomach rumbled, and he realized it had been quite a while since his hurried lunch.

“Grab that table there, and I’ll check in with the hostess,” Peter told him, and Malcolm threaded through the crowd and sat down. He turned to see where Peter was, and his view was blocked by a large man. He lifted his gaze and was greeted with a smile.

“I thought that was you.”

“Hans,” Malcolm said, tamping down the flutter in his belly and extending his hand to Hans. “How are you?”

“Much better thanks to you,” Hans said with a grin as he held Malcolm’s hand a little longer than was necessary. “I sent off the check with the revised paperwork, and I hope all that is behind me.”

“It should be.”

Peter approached and stood next to Hans.

“Hans, this is my brother, Peter. He’s here in town for a few days. Hans Erickson.”

“Your brother helped me with a tax issue.”

“That’s what Malcolm does.” They shook hands. “What brings you here?” Peter asked.

“I was supposed to meet someone for a blind date, but that was half an hour ago, and it seems I’ve been stood up.” Hans looked around the bar once again, and then his shoulders slumped. “Nothing like being dumped by someone you’ve never met before.”

“There’s an extra seat here. Come join us,” Peter said as he pulled out the chair across the table.

Malcolm wasn’t sure this was a good idea, but he wasn’t going to counter Peter’s invitation. Instead he nodded, and Hans sat down in the third chair.

“What do you do?”

“Hans is a writer of adventure stories. I’ve read some of his books.” Malcolm smiled. In fact, he was feeling a little starstruck. He’d met a lot of people, but he’d never had drinks with a best-selling author before. It was kind of exciting.

Peter glanced at him and then back to Hans. “That’s pretty cool. My reading is pretty much confined to food and wine.”

“Peter works for a national wine and beer distributor. His interest has always been wine. I could tell you stories, but Peter would get huffy if I did.” Malcolm grinned at Peter’s growl. “See?”

Hans laughed warmly, and it disarmed Peter within seconds. That was amazing. Peter could be a force unto himself.

“Where are you from?”

“Virginia, outside Richmond.”

“He and his wife, Susan, have the best daughter ever, Anabelle. She’s incredible. She has her daddy wrapped around her little finger.”

“She really does.”

“What about you?” Hans asked, looking at Malcolm, whose throat chose that moment to close up.

“I was married for twenty years.”

“Divorced?” Hans asked.

Malcolm shook his head. He could do this. “David passed away thirteen months ago after a battle with cancer.” He breathed a sigh of relief. He’d actually been able to get the words out without falling to pieces.

Hans nodded, and Malcolm saw that same shadow in Hans’s eyes that greeted him every time he looked in the mirror.

“My little brother.” He put a hand over the floor to show his size. “He had leukemia. He fought for two years. He lasted until he was sixteen, so I know the ordeal that you went through. Cancer is evil, and it takes them away a little at a time. Up and down.”

“Exactly,” Malcolm said. “I took care of David at home as much as I could.” He didn’t want to think back to the day that David passed.

“Part of it is relief that they’re not in pain anymore,” Hans said. “Lars was hurting very badly by the end. You miss them, but seeing them that way….”

“Is that where the character of Markie came from in
Gathering Storm
?”

“Exactly, except in the story I gave him a happy ending because I couldn’t bear to go through that all again. I wrote the story with the ending that I really wish had happened. It’s one of the nice things about writing fiction—you get to have the ending you want.”

Malcolm had rewritten the ending to David’s story in his head more times than he could count. But of course it did him little good.

“Can I get you something from the bar?” the cocktail waitress asked as she placed napkins in front of each of them.

“I’ll have a gin and tonic,” Malcolm said, and Peter ordered a glass of some red wine he’d never heard of. Malcolm turned to Hans.

“Just a Coke, please,” he answered, and the server hurried away. “I have to drive home.”

“Malcolm is driving us home while I enjoy sampling the wine,” Peter declared triumphantly. There was no use arguing. Malcolm rarely cared to drink that much, so Peter could enjoy his wine.

“Have you been in this country long?” Peter asked. “I only ask because of your accent.”

“We returned after Lars died. My parents were Danish Americans, and my father was stationed in Denmark for a number of years. So I ended up learning Danish before I spoke English. I had dual citizenship until I turned eighteen, and then I had to choose. I wanted to be an American, and I was living here, so that’s what I chose. The language issue sometimes trips me up, but I have excellent editors. I learned English when I was young, but it took some time to learn how Americans speak it.”

The server returned and placed their drinks in front of them. Malcolm handed her his credit card, and she left with a smile.

“Did you always want to be a writer?” Peter asked.

“I don’t really know. In school I hated writing themes and papers. But what I do isn’t the same thing. My mother and father wanted me to be an engineer. I liked math, so I went to engineering school. I was good at it and learned fast. After I graduated, I got a job that I hated. It was designing roads, and that was boring. I got another job building bridges.” Hans rolled his eyes. “I ended up working on the same bridge twelve times. One bridge design built in twelve places with minor changes. That was dull as dirt. My break from drudgery came when I got the chance to work on an offshore oil rig. My mother thought I was crazy, and my father said it would make a man out of me. They were both right.”