AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Shit. What does she mean by “it’s time”? Is she actually going to be taking over one of the businesses? I can’t believe that she might have been playing us this whole time. Playing me. I truly believed her when she straight-up said she wasn’t interested in taking over. I don’t think that she would lie to me. Not after what we’ve shared. It must be something else. Maybe he’s starting a new business for her? I’d be okay with that. We’re all established, and I think Angie deserves something amazing. The way she fusses over Uncle Bill… she really does see him as a father figure.
The Manor looms large ahead of us, and Uncle Bill is the first through the door. We keep following him, duly removing our boots in the mudroom as we pass through, slipping into our loafers.
Angie is bringing up the rear as we enter the large sitting room. There is a fire going, and she diligently passes around tumblers of whiskey as we sink into the upholstered cream couches and easy chairs.
She fusses over Uncle Bill as he sinks into an easy chair near the fireplace, taking extra care with his drink. He smiles up at her – so whatever passed out in the field doesn’t seem to have affected their relationship – and gestures to me. “You take a seat, Angie. I’m fine, and you’re not fired.”
With a nod, Angie hurries across to seat herself on the couch between David and me. Hesitating for a moment, Angie’s hand hovers over mine where it is lying on my thigh, before she moves it back toward her lap. Fuck that. I take her hand, clasping it tightly as I hold it against my thigh.
Uncle Bill sighs, suddenly looking extremely tired and a little bit frail. Shit. I tighten my grip on Angie’s hand further, my heart tightening in my chest. Why does he look so old?
“I had open heart surgery earlier this year,” Uncle Bill says quietly, and the room is filled with hissing as everyone takes shocked breaths.
“What?”
“Are you serious?”
“When?”
“Why weren’t we informed?”
“What does this mean?”
“Are you going to be okay?”
As the questions from the boys fly thick and fast in the air, my eyes fly from Uncle Bill’s face down to Angie’s. She’s looking up at me, concern etched across her face as she places her second hand over mine and squeezes. But Uncle Bill is still talking, so I drag my eyes away from Angie’s, giving him my full attention.
“I had a diseased heart valve, which has been replaced with a mechanical valve. It has fixed the issue, and my life is relatively unchanged, apart from the daily doses of Heparin that I require. Angie helps me with that.” He nods toward her. At the other end of the couch, David has his hands clenched into fists on his thighs.
Silence descends as Uncle Bill allows us all a moment to process. It’s just like him not to waste unnecessary words to get the point across. Max, who pipes up from the couch across from us breaks the silence.
“So that’s why Dad and Arthur are coming to spend Christmas together this year.”
Uncle Bill sighs, offering a weary smile, tapping his cheek. “They needed to put that argument in the past. I may have played up the seriousness of my condition to get them both here.”
Angie breaks the immense tension by giggling quietly. Uncle Bill smiles fondly across at her. “Angie had great fun writing me a script for those telephone conversations.”
When he finished speaking, the room lapses into complete silence again. Finally, Uncle Bill sighs again and stands, heading for the door.
“No doubt you’ll want to discuss things amongst yourselves. I’ll leave you to talk. Come on, Angie.”
Angie makes to stand, but I tighten my grip, telling her to stay without saying anything. Surprisingly, it’s Ryan who speaks up.
“Actually, I’d like Angie to stay, if that’s okay with everyone else. I have some questions for her.”
Uncle Bill’s eyes sweep the room as he nods. They come to rest on Angie and my clasped hands. No one else speaks up to tell her to leave, so Uncle Bill exits the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Once he’s gone, we all sit quietly for a long moment until I tug Angie into my lap, burying my face into her hair. “When was the surgery?”
Angie shifts at my words, so she’s sitting across my legs, facing the rest of the room. Snaking her arm around my neck, she softly strokes my hair and addresses everyone.
“He started exhibiting noticeable symptoms in early February. The surgery occurred in late May. It was completely successful. He opted for a mechanical valve rather than a biological one, because it should last indefinitely. He said that he preferred daily injections of anticoagulants to needing another surgery in fifteen years,” she recites, her tone detached.
I’m glad she’s being professional, because I think it’s what is holding us all together right now.
“And you inject Heparin daily?” Ryan confirms, to which Angie nods.
“Yes.” She looks down at me. “That’s what he meant last night on the phone when he said he had everything under control without me here.”
