There’s murmured assent around the table. It doesn’t make me feel much better. A handshake will head off this line of thinking for now. It won’t work again. My dad just won’t be stable enough.
It’s time. Hell, I should have made this move months ago. It was wishful thinking on my part. I hoped we’d be able to get by on a few more years of quarterly visits.
Neither of us has that kind of time. If I push this even another year, I’ll be that much closer to my own expiration date. Hemingway needs hands-on experience running the company. I can’t bring him in without raising suspicion unless I’m the CEO.
Sweat prickles at my collar. My shirt feels as tight as our timeline. If I only have seven years, we’re behind schedule.
Shawn launches back into his presentations. People tap on screens and take notes on legal pads. For the moment, they’re not watching me.
It’s time for me to officially transition from acting CEO to CEO. Past time, really. It’s better for everyone if my dad enters real retirement.
Making the decision feels like jumping off my sailboat into cold water. It clears my head and pumps adrenaline into my system. I’d like to walk it off. I settle for picking up a pen and scrawling some notes on the pad in front of me.
In a way, I’m rescuing both me and my dad from a midnight crash on the rocks. I’m pulling him out before he goes down in a public wreck.
And I’m giving myself as much time as possible to avoid a similar fate. As CEO, I can put policies in place that will make it easier for Hemingway to replace me. We can cut down on the time he’ll need to spend coordinating my visits to the office.
But that’s not what makes my heart race with anticipation and profound relief.
It’s that I can stop pretending.
No more signing emails with my dad’s name. No more built-in delays to give the impression that he’s being consulted. No more office visits.
One more office visit.
My breath catches in my lungs, sticking until it burns. I always knew I’d arrive at this decision someday. I didn’t know I’d feel…
Grief about it.
I put a hand on the front of my jacket and focus on the presentation. I’ve spent most of my life preparing for this. Daniel Hughes was the one who started the process. His position as CEO hasn’t only been part of the show we put on for the employees and shareholders. It’s been a sign of hope.
Mine.
I told myself that I was pragmatic. That I don’t sweep things under the rug. Ironic to discover it wasn’t true.
Keeping up appearances with my dad as CEO was a front, but it covered up something I’d never admit to anyone—I hoped he’d prove himself wrong.
I hoped that somehow, we’d be able to fight off his decline. Slow it. As long as he was CEO, I could tell myself that it wasn’t so bad. As long as he could shake hands at the office, it couldn’t possibly be as terrible as he’d feared.
Taking his place means accepting where he’s at, and it hurts.
One more office visit. One last hurrah.
It’s the right thing to do. It’s not fair to put the stress of the visits on him. Not in the state that he’s in. I’d just hoped this day wouldn’t actually come.
I’d hoped.
That’s a move straight out of Eva Morelli’s playbook.
Maybe we’re not so different after all.
The painful pinch in my lungs subsides. Shawn’s presentation fades back into view. Clarity returns, along with excitement. With purpose. I’m not going to pretend anymore. I’m not going to wait. Living at the mercy of this disease has been a crushing weight.
It’s gone. For a little while, it’s gone.
But I’ll owe Eva for that forever.
19
EVA
Nobody can resist the new baby.
I get a front-row seat to the incredible pull Abby has on just about everyone in the family, including me. She’s three days old when they come home from the hospital, and four days old when Leo sends me a casual text asking if I can move things around on my schedule and come over.
Haley’s sister, Petra, does the same thing. The difference is that she has a toddler of her own and a husband who doesn’t seem to like it when she’s out of the house.
The day Geneva Hughes tells me to cut and run, I get a text ten minutes after leaving the Hughes estate. “Change of plans,” I tell my driver. “Take me to Leo’s.”
Gerard meets me at the front door with tight lines of worry around his eyes. “They’re upstairs, Eva.”
In the bedroom, Haley leans against a stack of pillows, Abby in her arms and tears running down her cheeks. An anxious, exhausted Leo sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing her hair and agreeing with everything she says.
He looks at me, his eyes shadowed with dark circles. That’s all it takes.
“I hope my room is ready,” I announce, as brightly and softly as possible. This is a joke. My room at Leo’s is always ready. He has the sheets refreshed and the space dusted and cleaned every week, regardless of whether I’m here or not. I go to kiss Haley on the cheek and Abby on the top of her downy head. “I’m too lonely in the city.”
Haley turns her huge blue eyes on me. Her chin dimples. “My sister couldn’t stay,” she manages. “And my mom…”
Her mom has been gone for a long time.
I sit down next to Leo and take her hand. “I don’t have anywhere else to be. Now—does anything sound good to you? Something to eat? A movie to watch? Want to tell me every single detail of how weird and painful and a little bit awful this is?”
Haley’s laugh sounds like a sob. “No. I’m so happy. It’s just that everything hurts and my body feels like someone else’s and I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Later, when Haley’s napping, Leo tells me that she ugly-sobbed when Petra left. He holds Abby close, curled on his chest. “She wants a woman to talk to. She loves Mrs. Page, but I pay her to be here. It’s not the same.”
“What about you? Are you surviving?”
He rubs gently at Abby’s back. “I’m up all night checking to see if she’s still breathing.”
I stay.
The first thing I do is take over scheduling. I let it be known in the family that anyone who wants to visit or check in or request photos should text me first.
They all want to come over.
I arrange small groups. Low-pressure visits. My parents and Daphne arrive with a box that turns out to contain Leo’s baby blanket. Daphne takes a photo of our dad holding Abby. She’s wrapped in the soft blue cloth with its bunny pattern.
“Look,” she whispers, showing me the photo on the screen of her Nikon.
It takes my breath away. In the photo, Dad’s looking down at Abby as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I’ve only ever seen that expression on my father’s face in some of the oldest family pictures.
Our mom holds Abby like an invisible timer is counting down and she doesn’t want it to end. Daphne beams at the baby, telling her about paint colors and explaining what an easel is. “Daphne,” she says, her voice low and musical. “I’m Daphne. What if you learned to say my name first?”