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Daniel beams down at the box. “This is too much. I haven’t even gotten started.”
The people up front laugh.
Finn’s hand tenses on his dad’s arm. Daniel’s head comes up, and my stomach sinks. It’s the frown. He looks confused, as if he wasn’t in on the joke.
I don’t think he was.
I’ve seen a similar expression on Emerson’s face, usually in crowds, or with strangers, when he’s unsettled or headed into a panic attack or out of one. It was always hellishly stressful for him to leave home.
Once, when I was about ten and hungry and pissed off about a fight I’d gotten into at school, I stood at the side of the couch where Emerson was lying, pale and exhausted, and demanded to know what it was that wasso hard.I was pissed at him, too. I wanted him to be more like Sin, who was always on a different floor, or a different wing. I wanted to know what the hell was wrong with him. Maybe I was afraid that it was going to kill him. I don’t know.What is it? What is it, Em? Why do you hate it so much? What’s so bad about it? Tell me. Tell me.
At first, he covered his ears. By then, he already had his gallery expression, the same one he wears in public now. The only place he liked to be, other than home, was the Met. And I couldn’t understand it. The Met had other people, just like school. Why could he spend so much time there and leave me to fend for myself? Why did I care at all?
Finally, he shot up from the couch, grabbing my shirt in his fists. His eyes were red. He looked like shit.Everything,he snapped.Everything. It’s too hot in there. It’s tooloud.Nobody will shut up. I don’t know what they’re going to do. I don’t know why they’re laughing. I don’t know what to say. I can’t breathe.His teeth snapped together, and he pulled me closer, his hands balling up tighter.Ithurts.It hurts. Stop asking.
I don’t think the same thing is going on with Daniel Hughes, but I also don’t think it’s any better. Does this guy get panic attacks? It’s hard to believe a man could have amassed this level of power with it. Plenty of people remember him at parties or playing golf. I hear the stories.
Then somebody approaches to shake his hand, and the elder Hughes gets his game face on. Finn stays by his side, joining in on all the congratulations. Somebody shows him the cake.
Maybe I was wrong.
Five minutes goes by. Ten. Finn’s pretty good at making a circuit of a room. He grew up rich. There are probably classes. I start to move closer. I’ll talk to him when the important people are done. Finn’s been efficient. I think Daniel’s talked to just about everyone in the room.
Finn and his dad head back toward the door, and Finn puts a hand on his shoulder. Says something to him. Then the CFO steps in. I don’t want to crowd him, so I hang back. My mind wanders to Bristol, alone in Greg’s office. I could leave now, and—
Daniel’s voice rises. “Young man. I have been the head of this company for ten years.”
That’s…not right. I’m not the only one who looks confused.
“Dad,” Finn says in a voice that’s overly patient, as if he’s dealing with a child. “We should go. Everybody needs to get back to work. You’ve got appointments on your schedule.”
“Ten years?” the executive says.
It’s dead silent in the room now, so everyone can hear what Daniel Hughes says next. “That’s right. And I have no plans to step down. I’ll be in my office on Monday. If you’ve got a problem, you can bring it directly to me. Make an appointment with my secretary.”
Finn’s smiling, but it’s a hard, frozen thing. He should take his dad out by the arm. I’m not even on his side, not really, but I want him to go for his own sake. Gonow.“He’s having cold feet at the last minute. The prospect of all those beach vacations and endless golf holes doesn’t appeal to someone as industrious as my dad.”
His father looks at him, and—oh, fuck. His expression turns fearful. “What’s going on? Where’s Geneva? Where am I?”
“He’s not feeling well,” Finn says. “I should have rescheduled the party. I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”
The exec tries again to speak, but Finn’s dad isn’t paying attention.
He jerks his head around toward the decorations. “Why does it sayretirementon the sign?”
A glance at his hands, and he startles, like he’s never seen the box before.
He throws it to the floor at his feet. “I’m not retiring. I’m not old enough for that. I have work to do. I wasn’t finished. Where is my secretary? Where is myoffice?”
This is just—this is pain. On Finn’s face. On Daniel’s. I hate this. More than anything, I hate that I don’t know what the fuck to do. This isn’t my brother. I’m not the person they want.
“What’s going on here?” The executive asks. “Is this some kind of episode?”
Obviously.
A woman pipes up near me, looking worried. “I just dealt with this with my dad. Alzheimer’s. Or dementia. Mr. Hughes—”
“How long has he been like this?” The executive just will not stop. He sounds like an asshole right now. And I get it, but he’s closest to Finn and Daniel. Silence is the better option. “How long, Finn?”
