“Julia had a long talk with Josh’s uncle the other day—and I’m aware that the four of you who were there left the room while they spoke—but some things were said then that I think you should hear.”
“All the good shit happens when I leave,” Chuck said, because he was always the smartass.
“That’s my line,” Hunter told him, smiling laconically.
“No, that’s my line,” Grace said. “I didn’t even get to see him try to kill you all. It’s so unfair.”
“They bounced,” Michael said, surprising Carl. “I mean, the plane bounced hard when he landed it. I’m surprised they didn’t bite their tongues off.”
Grace gave Michael a wholly genuine grin, and Carl’s heart gave yet another aching throb. Grace, a young man known for being brilliant but not particularly stable or trustworthy, hadn’t left Josh’s side over the last few months unless Josh himself had ordered him to. Michael’s little detail had made his day.
“It was terrifying,” Carl reassured him. “Lucius and Michael were beside themselves.”
“With laughter,” Lucius added, winking.
Grace gave a sudden openmouthed feline smile, the type a cat gives when it’s found the mouse of its dreams. To someone with Grace’s perpetual FOMO, the details of that moment were a gift.
“Josh, they love me!”
“I can see that,” Josh said, smiling back. “But let Danny speak. Cancer boy needs to go down for his nap in a few.”
“Slacker,” Stirling muttered.
Josh faked a yawn that turned into a real one. “Yup. That’s me. You hosers have to do all the work this time.”
“But we will need your fine mind,” Felix said, his voice resonant and mild. Felix could call boardrooms to attention with a word. Only those who knew him well could hear the strain underneath it now. “As long as you could grace us with your presence.”
Josh winked. “Sure, Dad.”
Felix gave him a sweet smile, one without artifice or mastery, and Carl wished for the thousandth time that he could hate Felix fucking Salinger the same way Felix hated him.
At that moment, Phyllis and her acolytes of domestic divinity came in with serving trays, one for each end of the table, full of waffles, toppings, sausage, bacon, and fruit. For a moment, there was clatter and din as everybody served themselves and bacon-cheese biscuits were tossed around like beanbags. Carl caught one for him and one for Michael, thrown with unerring accuracy by Molly from halfway down the table, but Lucius and Chuck were on their own.
When the clatter had died and everybody was deep into their kibble, a sort of gentle hum went up—happy, contented people eating in company. Carl, who had spent an inordinate amount of time eating alone in the last fifteen years, never failed to get a little bit of a buzz when dining with the Salingers. It was pathetic and sad for a man his age, but his childhood had been spent eating with his vitriolic mother and his almost-silent father, and his adult dining seemed like never-ending takeout. Hearing Michael talk about his moments of finding himself via cooking with his ex-wife had been charming as fuck, actually, and it had made Carl acutely aware of the personal void his life had become.
He looked over at Michael, who was ecstatically swallowing a bite of waffle. When he was done, Michael grinned at him after wiping his mouth politely.
“There’s not a waffle iron at the apartment,” he said apologetically. “In fact, Danny had to help me order pots and pans when I moved in.”
“Waffles are special-occasion food anyway,” Carl noted, and took another bite of his, smothered in strawberries, bananas, and whipped cream. It was not lost on him that they were celebrating this hope for Josh’s health.
“Here’s to celebrating in six months,” Michael said, glancing at the head of the table worriedly. “When that young man can eat more than fruit.”
Carl had noticed that too. Josh was putting on a good show, but Carl suspected nausea from the chemo was making eating a bit of a chore.
“Here’s to steak and red wine,” Carl said, nodding. “I hear you.”
It was almost a prayer.
A Unique Set of Skills
BRUNCH WAS delicious, but what Michael was really waiting for was what would happen afterward.
In the past, there had been dinner, dessert, wine, and then he’d gone home, knowing that most of the people he was eating with would stay the night but not sure why.
This morning, he’d been there when an open admission had been made that there was something going on after the meal that was actually more important than the meal itself, and Michael wanted to be there.
In the past, he’d been okay with not being in the know. Being in the know was dangerous. The people going into the bank were in the know, and that had gotten him two years in prison that he didn’t want to think about.
But this was different. Carl’s caper had been all about securing medical help for Josh Salinger—that was a good thing. Chuck and Hunter weren’t choirboys, but they had been right on board with that. And Lucius, he was on the up-and-up even if he couldn’t tell powerful people just what was up.
It was only that suddenly, after some true human contact, after some warmth and hospitality, Michael was feeling the urge to belong to something again. He’d belonged to his family, to his brothers, all his life, and that had been toxic as hell. He’d belonged to his wife and his kids, and while those connections weren’t severed—would never be severed—they weren’t the steel bands that had held his life in place like they had before the bank job. Suddenly, as Danny said, he felt the need for a group, for friends. Carl, if nothing else, had been kind to him. A true friend, although Michael hoped for more. Chuck had been a good friend too, and surprisingly, so had Lucius and Hunter. This gathering of people around the table, this group who seemed to have a purpose together, could be a family without the suffocation, ties that bound without constricting, stability and grounding without rooting Michael to the earth and pulling him under.
He wanted in.
Breakfast was cleared; Phyllis’s helpers were really efficient. Michael hardly noticed they were there until he turned to his plate and it was gone. He must have made a sound because Carl murmured, “There’s almost always snacks downstairs if you’re still hungry.”
From the corner of his eye, Michael caught some of the workers carrying plates past the dining room and turning right at the stairs to the den.
“Do people really eat after all of that?”
Carl’s eyes flickered to Grace, Stirling, and Molly, then to Hunter and Chuck. “There are some serious calorie burners here,” he said dryly. “I personally try to avoid the pastry table because I’m getting to the love-handle age.”
Michael felt like glowing. “I like love handles,” he said, meaning it.
Carl’s fair complexion washed bright red, and he was suddenly studiously interested in what Danny was saying.
“So, my darlings, how about if you stand and stretch a bit, maybe use the little thieves’ room, and then we can meet downstairs in fifteen. Are we agreed?”
There was general assent, and Michael stood gratefully. As he did, Julia gave him a little wave to her side of the table as she, Danny, and Felix stood and stretched.