The Other Brother (10 page)

Chapter 17

r abriel had no desire to be anywhere in his father's orbit, so he avoided returning to the office. He drove to Decatur to visit his physician, Dr. Louis Robinson. Dr. Robinson, a Morehouse man like Gabriel and his father, had a thriving family practice on Wesley Chapel Road. He'd agreed to squeeze Gabriel into his schedule on short notice.

A medical assistant weighed Gabriel and took his blood pressure, both of which were normal. When the woman asked the purpose of Gabriel's visit, Gabriel mumbled, "I was in an accident a couple of days ago. I only want to have a physical, get my head bandage checked, make sure everything's in order."

He didn't mention his tingling palms or the visions in the mirror. Now that he was there, sitting on the exam table, surrounded by the cold, logical instruments of science, he was embarrassed to admit what was happening to him.

"Gabriel!" Dr. Robinson said, stepping into the examination room. He was a bearish man in his midfifties, with a shiny bald head and a neatly trimmed beard. "I haven't seen you in a while, brother."

"Yeah, it's been a couple of years"

"How's your father? I haven't seen Theo since the Grand Boule's Centennial Celebration in Philly."

Gabriel's father and Dr. Robinson were members of Sigma Pi Phi, an ultraexclusive black fraternity casually known as the "Soule." Gabriel had pledged Alpha Phi Alpha during undergrad, just like Pops, and he'd wanted to join the Boule in a few years, with Pops paving the way for his acceptance in the by-invitation-only society.

But all those goals of his had changed as of that morning. Now he no longer cared about getting his father's help with anything.

"Pops is fine," Gabriel said and forced a smile.

"Good, good" Robinson studied Gabriel's file, looked up at him. "Says here you were in a car accident recently? How're you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess. They discharged me from the hospital yesterday. I had a concussion, bruised ribs."

"Thank God that was all." Robinson checked the bandage on Gabriel's head, nodded with approval. "Is anything else wrong? Having any headaches or dizziness?"

"No, nothing like that"

"How do your ribs feel?"

"Still sore, but I can get around fine."

"I'll write you a prescription to help ease the pain," Robinson said. He scribbled a note in his illegible physician's handwriting. "Your noggin's healing well. Drop in later next week and we'll see if we can remove the bandage"

"Will do "

"Is there anything else, Gabriel?"

"Nah. I just wanted to get a physical to make sure everything was okay."

Robinson frowned. "I've been your physician since you were knee-high. You've only come in for exams when you needed them for school. You sure you're giving me the whole story?"

"Well" Gabriel looked down at his hands. "There's this weird thing that's been going on with my hands. They ... uh, tingle."

"Tingle?"

"Like how it feels when they lose circulation. A cool, prickly feeling."

"Like pins and needles?"

"Exactly"

"How long does that last? And how frequently does it happen?"

He shrugged. "It lasts for a few seconds. It's happened maybe three times since my accident."

"Did it happen before the accident?"

He shook his head. "It started right after."

"Any numbness, loss of motor skills?"

"Nope"

"And this is happening only in your hands?"

"Just my hands"

Robinson made a series of quick notes on his pad. "It sounds like you're experiencing a mild case of nerve damage. It's very probable that you injured your hands during the accident. Hand paresthesia is the term, if memory serves"

"Is it serious?"

"Not at all. Know the treatment? Rest those hands"

"That's all?"

"Sure, as long as there's no pain. If you begin to experience numbness-or if the tingling persists for longer than a week-then call me" He started toward the door. "But I think a few days' rest is all you need. No prolonged typing, writing, heavy lifting, or exertion. Take a break."

"I guess I can take a few days off." Gabriel slid off the table. "That was easy."

"Was that everything?" Robinson moved away from the door, seeming to sense that Gabriel was holding back.

Gabriel smiled, embarrassed. "There is one more thing...:'

He told Robinson about the hallucinations. The doctor listened patiently. He didn't appear shocked, as Gabriel had worried, and he didn't push a button to summon the men in the white coats. Gabriel realized that in his time as a physician, Robinson had probably heard some of everything.

"Dana, my fiancee, thinks I'm seeing those shadows or whatever because of my concussion," Gabriel said. "She's a doctor, too"

"She sounds like a good one," Robinson said. "I agree with her. Visual disturbances-seeing bright lights or shadows, blurred or double vision are possible aftereffects of head trauma"

"Good. So I'm not crazy."

"Of course not. But it might be worth a trip to the neurologist for a closer examination."

"They already ran a CAT scan on me at the hospital. I was fine."

"A second look won't hurt," Robinson said. "I can give you a referral to an excellent neurologist."

Gabriel loathed visiting doctors and had made this visit to Robinson only because he'd promised Dana. Now Robinson was advising him to go see yet another physician? Gabriel was beginning to regret he'd scheduled this appointment at all.

But he didn't share his dismay with the doctor. He only said, "Sure," and started toward the door.

Robinson opened the door for him. "It was good seeing you again, son. Tell my frat brother I said hello. That old dog needs to get in here for his annual checkup"

Gabriel smiled thinly. "I'll pass that along."

When Gabriel reached his car, he discovered a message on his cell phone: Pops was holding a family meeting at seven o'clock that night, and wanted Gabriel to be there. Pops spoke in a crisp, businesslike tone, as though he was discussing plans for an ordinary client meeting, not the unveiling of a secret liable to tear apart their family.

I don't want to be there, Gabriel thought, shutting off the cell phone. I don't want to see the look on Mom 's face when she finds out what Pops did.

But he would be there, to support his mother, and out of obligation to his family.

Even though, after tonight, there might not be much family left.

Chapter 18

t five minutes to seven o'clock, Gabriel drove into his par_ents' subdivision.

His family lived off Cascade Road in southwest Atlanta in a gated enclave of million-dollar estates situated on giant, manicured plots of land. Inhabited exclusively by African Americans-executives, entertainers, and pro athletes-they were picture-perfect mansions, every one of them worthy of a spread in Ebony magazine as proof of what black people could accomplish.

But cruising along the tree-lined road with Dana riding beside him, Gabriel found himself wondering about the skeletons, the residents of these homes concealed in their spacious walk-in closets, the lies they hid behind their estates' elegant brick and stucco facades, the depths of the sins they'd buried beneath their perfectly trimmed lawns.

Gabriel knew he was being cynical, but he couldn't help it. His anger toward his father had degenerated into a bitterness that spoiled everything he viewed.

He hadn't told Dana about his doctor's visit, and she hadn't asked. She clearly sensed that he wasn't in a talkative mood. During the past twenty minutes they'd been riding in the car, they had exchanged less than five sentences.

His parents' home was located in a quiet cul-de-sac. They lived in a two-story, brick European estate sprawled across two lush acres. He rolled into the wide driveway and parked in front of the three-car, side-entry garage.

A green BMW convertible was parked in the driveway, too. His sister's car.

"Looks like Nicole's here," Gabriel said. "I don't see Isaiah's thugged-out ride. Maybe he won't come. Pops didn't say whether he was showing up or not."

"You don't want him here," Dana said. It was a statement, not a question.

"That's right, I don't."

"I hate to burst your bubble, Gabe, but he's your dad's son. He's got a right to get to know you guys ""

"I don't want to know him. I want him to leave."

"Baby, I know this is hard for you, but try to be a little understanding, okay?"

Gabriel grunted.

"I'll take that as an agreement," Dana said and got out of the car.

Gabriel climbed out, slammed the door hard. The subject of Isaiah was quickly becoming a thorn in his side. He could only imagine how much the guy's arrival would disrupt the chemistry of the family, his life-everything he'd ever known and valued.

This is all Pops 's fault.

Teeth clenched, he followed Dana inside.

Inside, his family's estate was even more impressive. It had a marble-floored, two-story foyer highlighted by a curving staircase with a mahogany, handcarved railing. A three-tier, crystal chandelier. Antique furnishings. Privately commissioned paintings and sculptures by well-known black artists. A two-story, grand salon with an enormous fireplace and a rear wall of windows offering a stunning view of the sparkling swimming pool and the woods beyond....

As an adult, visiting his parents' home had used to soothe Gabriel, would remind him of his comfortable childhood. Now, walking through the house made him feel vaguely ill, as though there were a repugnant odor floating underneath the clean, lemony fragrance that scented the air.

Gabriel and Dana found his mother and Nicole in the library, sipping tea and chatting. If Gabriel was a younger version of his father, then Nicole was a carbon copy of his mother, minus twenty or so years. Twenty-seven years old, Nicole was a petite redbone with long auburn hair and hazel eyes framed by stylish designer eyeglasses. Nicole worked as an associate at a corporate law firm; she wore a cream business suit, evidence that she had probably come there straight from the office.

When Pops called a meeting, everyone in the family responded.

The last time the Reids had come together for an emergency meeting, it had been to discuss the deteriorating health of Grandma Vee, his father's mother. They had talked about funeral arrangements, insurance, wills, and other grim matters. It had been one of the most painful conversations Gabriel had ever experienced in his life.

In Gabriel's opinion, this one was going to be worse.

Gabriel and Dana said their greetings and took seats.

"Where's Pops?" Gabriel asked.

"He'll be in here shortly," Mom said.

He was preparing himself for the firestorm, Gabriel figured.

The library had long been one of Gabriel's favorite rooms in the house. It was full of a dozen bookcases, each of them stocked with hardcover titles. Classic works by authors such as Zora Neale Hurston, Richard Wright, Langston Hughes, Ralph Ellison, and an abundance of contemporary fiction by Toni Morrison, Terry McMillan, Walter Mosley, and many others. Comfy leather club chairs flanked a granite fireplace, and a large picture window framed a gorgeous view of his mother's garden of azaleas and roses. Growing up, Gabriel had spent countless hours in there, spinning away the summer days in the cradle of a good novel.

After tonight he would never feel the same about the library.

Clustered in a semicircle, Mom, Nicole, and Dana began chatting about shoe sales and clothes. Mom and Nicole had no idea why Pops had called this meeting, but he could see the anxiety lining their faces underneath the amiable front they were striving to present to one another. Dana, who knew the truth, was trying to keep a poker face and show interest in the superficial chatter.

After ten minutes of increasingly strained chitchat, Pops still hadn't arrived. Gabriel rose. The women looked at him, curious.

"I'm tired of waiting," he said. "I'm going to get him."

He found his father in the master bedroom. Pops sat on the king-size bed, head hanging low. He held a snifter of Crown Royal. The rich aroma filled Gabriel's nostrils, blending with his anxiety to make him slightly dizzy.

A photo album lay on his father's lap. Pops didn't look up when Gabriel approached.

Gabriel peered over his father's shoulder. Pops's thumb rested on a picture he and Gabriel had had taken together during one of their fishing trips. They were both grinning, holding up their catches. The perfect father and son.

One of the sons, anyway, Gabriel thought sourly.

"We're waiting on you," Gabriel said.

Pops looked up. His eyes were watery and red.

Gabriel took a step back. Pops had been crying? He couldn't believe it.

"We had a nice time there," Pops said, tapping the photo. "I always loved spending time with you for Father's Day."

Every year on Father's Day weekend, Gabriel and Pops would take a weekend trip to their cabin nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in north Georgia. Just the two of them. They would fish, drink beer, and talk about business, politics, women, family, life. Gabriel had loved those trips, would always come home feeling closer than ever to his father.

Thinking about those happy times made the pain of his father's betrayal sink that much deeper. Gabriel had the wild urge to rip the photo album out of his father's hands, toss it into a fireplace, and burn it to ashes.

"Have I been a good father?" Pops asked in a wavering voice.

Gabriel swallowed, hesitated.

"Until ... this happened, of course," Pops said. "Have I been good to you?"

"You were a good father," Gabriel said. He looked away. "I ... I idolized you"

"I always wanted to give you the very best. You, your mother, your sister-all of you. Nothing but the best"

"Then give us the truth. You owe us that"

"The truth?" Pops laughed hoarsely. A cloud passed over his eyes and Gabriel had a distinct sense that his father was hoarding a treasure chest of nasty, incriminating secrets-of which Isaiah was only the first.

No, Gabriel thought. He refused to believe it. It couldn't be any worse than it already seemed. He would not consider it.

Pops drained the rest of his liquor and extended his hand toward Gabriel. Gabriel moved away.

"Okay, then," Pops said. He stood, wearily. There was a helpless look in his eyes Gabriel couldn't bear to see. This wasn't his father, the hero. He didn't know this weak, dispirited man.

"I need you, son. Don't abandon me now."

"They're waiting for you" Gabriel started walking to the doorway.

Grim-faced, hunched over, Pops followed him to the library to face his family.

Gabriel didn't sit. He stood behind the chair in which his mother sat and rested his hand on her shoulder.

She was going to need it.

Pops sat in the middle of the group. He rubbed his mouth with a handkerchief as though to force his lips to move. But he remained silent.

Everyone looked at Pops. The silence in the room thickened.

Gabriel cleared his throat. "Pops brought us here to tell us something."

Pops shot him a reproving look. But he finally began to speak.

"Thank you all for coming here this evening on short notice," Pops said. "You all know me as a man of purpose who likes to get straight to the point. That's what I'm going to do. It's the only way to do this."

Pops brought the handkerchief to his lips again.

"This morning," he said, "a young man visited Gabriel at the office. The man said that he and Gabriel have the same father-me. Gabriel came to me and asked me if the man was telling the truth. He was"

Nicole gasped. There was no reaction from Mom. She sat, frozen.

"The young man's name is Isaiah," Pops said. "He, like Gabriel, is thirty years old. In fact, he and Gabriel share the same birthday, as unlikely as that may sound. His mother lives-lived-in Chicago. She passed away earlier this year."

Nicole was shaking her head, tears flowing down her cheeks. Dana rubbed Nicole's back, murmuring supportive words.

Mom had not shown any reaction.

"I'd always known about Isaiah, but I kept him a secret. After Isaiah's mother died, I suppose he wanted to meet me, so he's come here. I'm all he has left. He wants to know his people."

Nicole was weeping freely. Dana hugged her.

Mom was a marble statue. Gabriel put his arms around her. Her skin was clammy and her eyes were glassy.

Pops moved his handkerchief from his mouth to his eyes.

"You can't know how sorry I am that this has happened," Pops said. "I did a terrible thing, and it doesn't matter that it happened so many years ago. I'm so sorry. But I hope that we can pull together, as a family, and let Isaiah become a part of our lives. I owe him that much."

Finished, Pops leaned back in the chair and tilted his gaze to the ceiling. Tears trickled down his face.

Crying, Nicole wrapped her arms tightly around Dana. Dana rocked her, whispered to her.

Gabriel looked at his mother, who'd yet to speak a word.

She sat still, silent.

"Mom?" he asked. He shook her gently. "Are you okay?"

Mom blinked, turned to look at Gabriel.

Startled at what he'd seen in her gaze, Gabriel took a step backward.

Mom shrieked. It was a strange, tortured cry-the first time he'd ever heard her make a sound like that.

Mom pounced like a bobcat on his father.

She moved much too fast for anyone to stop her, and Pops didn't try to ward her away. As he sat there with his hands in his lap, Mom leaped on him. She was a delicate woman, but she slammed into him so hard that she knocked him off balance. The chair in which Pops sat tipped backward and crashed to the hardwood floor.

Gabriel was so awestruck that he couldn't move.

Sitting on Pops's chest, Mom dug her hands into his shirt like talons. She throttled him as if he were a rag doll. Pops's head thunked against the floor as she shook him.

"How could you, how could you, how could you?!" Mom screamed. She drew back her hand and smacked Pops so hard that a stream of saliva spewed from Pops's mouth.

Gabriel wanted to hurt his father, too. He truly did. He envisioned himself rushing to the fireplace, snagging a poker, and using it to beat his father senseless like a human pinata.

Nicole groped toward him, too, wild-eyed and weeping. Dana struggled to keep her away.

As she shook his father, Mom's screams of "How could you?" had become ragged sobs.

Pops lay there, taking the punishment like a martyr in the name of some noble cause, and it was that limp, defenseless pose that propelled Gabriel into action. On one level he was worried about Pops, concerned that his mother might seriously hurt him. But on another level that really got him going, he saw Pops's lack of resistance as just another act, another way of manipulating them to make them believe he was genuinely sorry. He had to be sorry, right, if he was allowing them to take their rage out on him like this? Gabriel didn't want to play into his hands, didn't want to be deceived, not anymore.

Gabriel hooked his hands under his mother's arms and attempted to drag her away from his dad. It was like trying to grab a knot of rattlesnakes. Mom writhed out of his grasp and fell on top of Pops, flailing her arms. One of her hands smacked Gabriel in the face, and, knocked off balance, he tumbled on top of both his parents.

Trying to regain his balance, his gaze fell on a photograph on the other side of the library. A family portrait taken when he was five years old. He had an Afro, and so did Pops and even Mom, and Nicole, all of two years old, had Afro puffs. They wore grins that looked as though they would never be erased from their faces. A moment of family bliss preserved forever.