Underwater (9 page)

From now on I will speak in whatever way I choose and you had better keep your opinions about it to yourself. My sister pays you to handle her millions, not to be her bad boy. Let her talk to me directly or not at all. As for the meeting you are demanding, Helen can go if she wishes—it was her idea—but I will not be gracing you with my presence. Nor will you be allowed access to our home on Tuesday to “evaluate it.”

Go fuck yourself.

Monty

7

Blood

M
onty paced back and forth in the small living area of the guesthouse, running his fingers through his wet hair. Returning to Arcadia Lane from the ball field at least thirty minutes after Helen and Adele were due home, he’d been dismayed to see that her car wasn’t in the drive. He had gone through the day’s mail, drunk a bottle of water, showered, and poured himself a large cocktail. What the fuck was Helen doing, emailing his sister, trying to arrange a meeting? And where was his wife right now? She hadn’t answered his call or his text. She rarely worked late, and she always let him know if she had to stay at the office to finish some stupid brochure.

Between the gym and the practice field with Chip and a bunch of seven-year-olds, Monty had retrieved and read Shepherd’s email on his iPad. Helen didn’t know that he had managed to get one of the first iPads available, nor how he had done it. As soon as he had it in his hands, he had immediately disabled the signature setting “Sent from my iPad”—no one needed to know he was in possession of Apple’s newest toy before its official release next month. He had paid a premium to get it early. There was no way he was going to spend his time in a long line between two nerds at a mall, or at home waiting for an online shipment that could take weeks. He brought his iPad with him everywhere, surfing the web and managing his email whenever he was out and about. Handier than his laptop, it had become indispensable to keep up with the many projects he had previously filed solely in his brain, a brain that was so much
faster
than those of other people.

Which might have been a source of deep annoyance if it weren’t for the very real advantages to be gained. Like with that moron Shepherd. That asshole hadn’t taken Monty’s call this afternoon, so he had been forced to leave a message; then Shepherd had attacked him in a patronizing email sent to all the parties.
That fucker is not going to micromanage me, no matter what his “boss” tells him to do.
It was clear that Candace’s lackey was a fool, in over his head in his career. Monty took great satisfaction in the presumption that Shepherd had lost tons of his clients’ money during the financial crisis of 2008. How many of them had taken their shrunken portfolios elsewhere? Monty surmised that it was a large number, and that Candace herself had lost a boatload.

Downing the last of the vodka in his glass, Monty refilled it with ice and poured another, then heard the approach of Helen’s car.

“Come on, Boo,” she said to their daughter as the two of them entered from the driveway. Monty couldn’t stand this nickname she used—the only Boo he’d ever heard of was Boo Radley, the village idiot-recluse.

“What the fuck, Helen!”

“What the fuck, Mommy!” Adele parroted her father, her bright smile shining.

“Monty! Please!” Helen bent down to eye level with the little girl. “Don’t say that, sweetie. It’s not nice.”

“But Daddy—”

“I know, but Daddy didn’t mean to. Go on into Mommy’s room now and turn on the TV.”

Adele did as she was bid, skipping the fifteen feet through the bathroom and into the bedroom. Helen shut the door gently.

“Since we’re having another baby, Monty, I just thought it’s time to—”

“You
thought
? What
were
you thinking, Hel?” Monty knew she hated it when he called her that. “I can’t imagine what was going through your mind. Did you think that Queen Candace would email you back? Or call you? She won’t even talk to me! And why did you think it was up to
you
to tell her about the baby?”

“What do you mean? Did
you
call to tell her?”

“I just said, she won’t talk to me! I had to leave a voicemail—”

“Monty, listen. I—”

“No,
you
listen. You are not to email her. Or that motherfucker who works for her. I’m the one busting my butt trying to get the house finished, the one who has to deal with the two of them. You don’t. So, fucking don’t.”

Helen kept her voice low and even. “I can email her if I want to, Monty, and I can call her if I want to.”

“I forbid you to. How’s that? She’s my bitchy sister, not yours. She’s not Dawn. Dawn the bitch, just a different kind—”

Helen’s eyes narrowed and her jaw set. “Leave Dawn out of it!”

“Ah, but you’ve called Dawn, haven’t you? What did the Smart One say? Huh? Did she tell you to write to Candace, to request a meeting?”

“No!”

“Right,” said Monty. “I really believe that. You know, I don’t much care anyway. She and Frank can go screw each other in married bliss, and never get a kid—”

“I said leave her out of this!”

“How did she take the news? Was she jealous? Why don’t we just let her have this one? We don’t need another kid anyway, that’s for sure.”

Helen backed away. “I can’t be around you. I’m going to go take care of our daughter.”

He grabbed her above the elbow, holding onto her, his large hand closing around her bony left arm. “Let me go,” she said quietly, her eyes filling with hate and fury. Then she pulled away slowly, but he tightened his grip and drew her back toward him in a snap. Her side was to him now, and her tender breast of early pregnancy hit against him slightly, just enough to evince pain. She let out a small gasp.

“Where
were
you this evening?” he asked in a low tone. “Why didn’t you answer my text?”

“My phone died.”

“Bullshit. Tell me where you were.” Now he had both of her upper arms in his grip as they stood facing each other. “Tell me.”

Helen took a deep breath. “The bank.”

Monty’s voice was harsh and menacing. “That’s not true. The bank closes at five.”

“I wasn’t at our bank.”

“Memorial, then? Where that cunt Whitney Jamison works? The loan officer?”

“No,” Helen said. “American Trust Bank. I opened an account.”

“Why? Why did you open an account?” Monty let go of her, pushing her back. “Did you switch ours?”

“No. I just—Monty,
I
make the money, and I’m going to manage it, from now on.”

“What are you talking about?” He was staring at her now, his eyes wide.

“I’m taking over our finances. I’m having my paychecks deposited in my own account, and I’m paying our bills out of it myself, online. You don’t have to do it anymore.” She sucked in a breath, waiting.

“Well, this had to be Dawn’s bright idea. Dawn, who couldn’t stand me from the get-go.”

“It doesn’t matter. When
you
start bringing home an income, when you come clean with me on the house and the finances, we can talk about being a team again. Meanwhile, I’ve gotta manage the money I make, and this household’s budget. I’m gonna start paying the bills. At the very least.”

Monty gritted his teeth. “Whatever, Helen. We’re still a team. We’re in this
together
, like it or not. You paying the bills isn’t going to change anything. However, the money we make belongs to
both
of us, not just to you—”

“You don’t
make
any money!”

“Not currently, but when I sell the house, I will, and that money will belong to both of us. If we’re still married, that is. What we need right now is the funds from my sister to get the damn place finished, so we can sell it! You’re such a goddamn idiot. But then I always knew you were a stupid cow.”

“Go ahead and insult me, if it makes you feel good—”

“And you go ahead and have your little meeting with what’s-his-fucking-name. David. See if you can get them to be reasonable—being pregnant should help. I’ve already dealt with Whitney, and she’s been in touch with them. All she needs is for Candace to sign off on it. So you go on Monday, alone. I have all of them where I want them. Candace will agree to pay the bank and sign the loan. I’m not going to lose any sleep over it.”

Helen gave him a cold stare, then turned toward the bedroom.

“Just remember this, though,” Monty said. “If you fuck everything up,
I
won’t be the only one who suffers. That’s for goddamn certain.” He picked up his glass and swallowed the last bit of the liquid, then headed over toward the kitchen for a refill as Helen made her way to the bedroom and to Adele.

She caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s just a different checking account. There’s got to be a way I can access it.
He added a slice of lime to his drink, took a sip, and leaned back against the cheap countertop, his eyes closed.
He
was the one who needed a separate account, not Helen. Well, he would just have to talk her into changing her new account into a joint one, to replace the one they already had. He couldn’t let her have total control of the monthly income—or worse, permit her to give him an allowance.

But first he would have to undo the damage he had just done. Once Adele was finished with her bath and was in bed, he’d start the process. Maybe he’d even get her to blow him.

“Darling, I hate to stand by and watch you deal with this,” Rob said before he took another sip of Scotch. “I know you can do it, and you will, but it’s got to be awfully distracting. At a minimum.”

Candace’s ice-blue eyes glistened. She reached for her glass of sauvignon blanc and glanced around the restaurant. Chez Vincent was an Atlanta favorite of hers and her fiancé’s. “David helps a lot. Truth told, I don’t think I could manage it without him.”

“Well, I’ll have to thank him personally when this is all over. Which it will be soon. He’s a good man, a very good man, to represent your interests.”

“Mm-hmm,” Candace said, nodding. “He understands me. The way I obsess, I guess, and the way I tend to micromanage things sometimes. He knows my background, and how I think about money.”

“That’s the kind of advisor to have.”

“Something’s bothering me, though, Rob. Something Monty could be right about.”

Rob raised his eyebrows and set down his drink.

“That he and I may not be related,” she said. “I mean, perhaps we aren’t. Perhaps, at least, we only share one parent.”

He cocked his head.

“I don’t want to believe it,” Candace continued, “but then I also don’t want to believe that I’m related to Monty. He’s so unlike me—”

“That’s for certain.”

“We’ve always been so different. Always.”

“Love, that’s obvious. To everyone. You’ve absolutely nothing in common with one another.”

“Well, whether we share a father or not, Mother gave birth to us both. What if, in some weird way, some recessive or random way, a future child of ours might be like him? I couldn’t have that.”

“But our child won’t be. Don’t fret about it. And we’ve talked about this. You know I don’t care whether we have any children—it’s totally up to you. It’s you that I want. Having a family is something we’ll be open to only if it’s your wish.”

She looked straight into the deep blue of her intended’s eyes, gauging his honesty. Satisfied, she exhaled. Why couldn’t she have found this man a long time ago?

“I don’t know if I do, though. Not yet,” she said.

“We’ve got time.”

“Not that much. In any case, I can’t have a child like Monty. He’s not just lazy and selfish. He’s a pathological liar. He’s evil. He inherited none of my father’s qualities, nor my mother’s good ones.”

“Perhaps he was switched at birth.”

Candace laughed. “Except, Adele clearly favors Mother, and so does he.”

“A child of ours,” said Rob, “if there is one, will inherit our qualities, not Monty’s. You have my word.”

“That’s just it. We don’t know what a child of ours would really be like, Rob. Dad probably never thought he’d have a son like my brother—”

“But he had a daughter like you.”

“Still, our child would be who he or she
is
. What if there are issues that we can’t anticipate right now, that we couldn’t handle?”

“Candace. Having a baby would be wonderful, if and when we’re both ready. Our child would likely inherit our qualities. However, we both know there are no guarantees. We’d have to be open. We can only do so much as parents—”

“I agree with you, but I wonder about nature versus nurture, and the degree to which one trumps the other. If it’s nature, then whatever we did to raise our child—the best nanny, the best schools, the most attention—would it make that much of a difference? My college roommate Elizabeth doesn’t have kids, and she’s very judgmental of her sister, and critical of her sister’s teenagers. Elizabeth says she made mistakes raising them and that’s why the kids have drug and alcohol issues. But from what I know about it, their parents did everything right.”

“Darling, we’re getting way ahead of ourselves. Some people like to judge others when they haven’t walked in their shoes. Of course we don’t want such problems, and I’m sorry that they have them. Let’s go back to the nature thing, though. I think we are all born as who we are. Our
brains
are what they are, from birth. Our personalities are basically set. Parents can only do so much—raise their children with love and acceptance, and do their best.”

“I agree. And I know we would.”

“Don’t fret, love. We’ll handle whatever comes our way, together.” Rob reached for the goat-cheese-and-date appetizer the waiter had just set between them. “Now, have a bite of this.”