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Ithrow back anotherglass of scotch to down my antacid and look at the time. These ulcers will kill me if my father doesn’t first. Shep should have been here an hour ago, and my calls are going to voicemail. That’s nothing unusual.
Tonight’s fundraising event was a last-minute affair that my mother roped us into. It’s hard enough to get him to attend events on the calendar for a year, let alone one she just conjured out of thin air.
I’m sure he’ll probably blow it off with some lame excuse to lie in bed and laze around if he’s still in the country.
A knock at the door has me jumping to my feet. The door opens before I can come around the old, sturdy oak desk.
“Kincaid,” my father greets in his baritone.
“Father.”
“The car is out front waiting for us. Your mother and Poppy are already in there waiting. Any news on Coleman?”
My father refuses to call my brother Shepherd anything but his first name. The two of them barely speak. Unfortunately, I’ve been designated as my brother’s keeper, never mind that he’s three years older than me.
My father believes that I’ll be the one to rein him in one day, but I doubt that. Because he has tasked me with that job, being the second oldest, it sometimes creates dissension between Shep and me.
“I haven’t heard from him, Father, but I’m sure he’ll be there in time. Go ahead to the ball. I’ll meet you all there.”
“You’re going to be late fooling with Coleman, Kincaid,” my father warns.
“I won’t be. Go ahead. I’ll meet you there.”
He grunts and leaves out of my office, slamming the door behind him.
Because I sometimes work hand in hand with my father, he has a private office for me here in his mansion. Today was one of those days that we were working together. I showered and changed here, expecting Shep to meet me as promised.
I pull out my phone and call him again, and it goes directly to voicemail.
Grabbing another antacid and my keys, I head out of the house and hop into my car.
I call Shep periodically with no results for the twenty-minute drive from my parents’ home in Grove Park to Shep’s townhouse in Sawyer Heights. My phone rings when I’m about five minutes away from his place.
“Father.”
“Any luck yet?”
“Father, we’ll be there before the ball starts. I promise.”
He sighs, and I hear my mother asking if I have found Shep yet. My father makes a noncommittal remark and then ends the call with me.
What isn’t said is that both my mom and Poppy have probably tried to call him a dozen times. I don't expect to if Poppy hasn’t gotten a response. The two of them are much closer than the rest of us.
Poppy’s spoiled in her own way, but it doesn’t bother me. She’s the only girl, and as close as she is to Shep, she’s that close to Ezra and me in different ways. Of all of us, she’s the only one accepting of how Shep lives, and I’d go as far as to say that maybe she even admires him.
If I had to say that I was close with anyone, it would probably be the youngest of our clan, Ezra. Although he didn’t chain himself to the company like I did, choosing professional golf as his career, he and I still get on fairly well. Perhaps, it’s because he adheres to our parents’ expectations and requests in all the other ways that matter.
Ezra walks the straight and narrow path the same as I do. He took an interest in golfing when he was young. Dad would take all of us to the greens with him, but none of us showed any interest except for Ezra. At an early age, Dad recognized and invested in his talent, hence his career choice. I’m happy that he gets to do something that he loves and is great at.
I pull up outside Shep’s townhouse, a small sense of relief pouring into me when I look into the locked garage and see his sports car parked there. If he had left town, he would have parked it at the long-term secured parking complex he uses whenever he leaves town.
I jog up the steps, knock on the door, and ring the doorbell simultaneously. After a minute, I start banging on the door repeatedly before doing what I hate. Pulling out my key ring, I look at the key that I begged him to give me a couple of years ago in an emergency.
I rub my fingers across it and ponder if this would be considered an emergency. I’ve never had to use the key before, and I don’t want to use it now, but I can’t show up empty-handed. Part of my duty of being my brother’s keeper is also ensuring that the relationship between Dad and him don’t get wrecked any further than it is.
I try pushing the doorbell again, and when I get no response, I slide the key into the lock.
It’s dark downstairs, and I wait at the bottom of the stairs calling his name. Slowly ascending to the second floor of the three-story walk-up, I call his name.
