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“I was dealing with the pain better. As it turns out, arthritis is exacerbated by stress.”
I chew on my cheek and don’t have an answer to that.
We brush through security. As soon as Grandpa steps off the elevator on the top floor, he’s inundated with people: secretaries, managers, lawyers, accountants. All of them want something from him, from signatures to advice to direction, and Grandpa waves them all off. He listens to their questions and their suggestions, but he gives them nothing in return, and he closes the door to his office when we arrive.
His office. My father’s office. I stand near the windows as Grandpa gets settled behind the desk. Photos of me growing up are scattered along the shelves next to the old books my father liked to collect. There are other touches from him: trophies, an old fishing rod, a ship in a bottle. Little touches to make it clear that this room was my father’s once, and it all only underscores his absence and makes it that much louder.
“Brice, come sit down.”
I hesitate, but walk over and take the chair opposite my grandpa. It’s much more comfortable than the one in the study. “Can I ask you something?”
He narrows his eyes. “Yes, you can.”
“Why did we come in so early?”
Another pause, like he’s considering me. Finally, he says, “Because I wanted you to see the parking lot.”
I look away, toward the window. That’s what I thought. All those people. Grandpa wanted me to see the parking lot, and all the cars, and all the employees, and all the lives that will be affected by the decision I have to make. Apparently, after my conversation with Carmine, things didn’t go well between him and my grandpa. They didn’t argue—Grandpa has too much tact to actuallyarguewith someone—but Carmine made it clear that he was disappointed in how things were going, and gave him the same timeline I was given.
One week to decide.
“That’s not really subtle, you know. Is that why you brought me here too?”
“I would never do something like that.” His lips press together in a smile as I turn back to him. “All I want is for you to think about them.”
“Think about them and marry Carmine, you mean.”
“Yes, that would be ideal.”
I tighten my jaw and say nothing.We won’t ever be married. “I’m thinking about it. Isn’t that enough?”
“Yes and no. If you’re going to really understand your decision then you need to see how your choice affects the people around you. Which means you need to see every single person at Rowe Oil to fully grasp the scope of all this. Do you think I’m pushing you to marry that man for my own selfish gratification? I’m doing it for them.” He gestures at the parking lot.
“I’m doing my best, Grandpa. I really am.”
Grandpa pushes back from the desk suddenly and stands. He grips his cane, and I swear he’s limping even more than he was on the walk inside. “Come with me.”
I follow him out into the hallway. It’s quieter now that he isn’t being assaulted by scared employees. We’re on the executive level, which means there are lots of offices everywhere, and most of them are occupied by men and women diligently staring at computer screens or typing away or looking at their phones like they might be able to warp time and space if only they scroll hard enough.
“This is the brain of Rowe Oil,” Grandpa says quietly as we limp along. He gestures at offices as we pass them. “Mike has been here for twenty years. Cathy’s been here for longer, twenty-five, I believe. That’s Norman, he’s been here for six, and that’s Ernesto, he’s been here for twelve. Each of them has a story, Brice. Each of them has a life, and a family, and a future. Assuming Rowe Oil doesn’t implode.”
“You’re laying it on thick, Grandpa,” I say, trying to smile, trying to pretend like this isn’t affecting me.
But it’s already beginning to work.
He stops at the elevators and faces me. “Down below us, on the second floor and on the first floor, there are more people, hundreds of them. If we’re the brain then they’re the heart and the lungs and the muscles. We think, they do, and by doing, we run the company. We bring oil from the ground, turn it into something usable, and sell it to people that need it. We generate power, Brice, and power runs the world. If Rowe Oil goes under, I can’t guarantee everyone down below us will land on their feet, and what have I taught you about our responsibilities?”
“Rowes do what’s right.” The words come out automatically. I’ve been hearing that phrase, over and over again, my entire life.Rowes do what’s right. Even when it’s hard and even when it hurts. Rowes do what’s right.
And in this case, according to my Grandpa, marrying Carmine is the right thing to do, because it means saving the jobs of all these people.
I want to be sick.
“I told you I wouldn’t force you into this deal, and I won’t,” Grandpa says, leaning against me for support. He seems so thin and frail all of a sudden, like his age is finally catching up to him after all this time. “But you have to understand why I’d even consider something like this.”
“I understand what it means, Grandpa. But that man—”
“I know, sweetie.” He sounds so tired and his smile is laced with exhaustion. “He’s not our kind.”
