“How so?”
“Giving me grief about my doctor appointments. Asking me if I thought the work would be too much when you brought in the other pilot. For what it’s worth, I ain’t nobody’s Pops and I’m offended y’all call me that. I asked you to stop.”
“Now listen here, Mel. This is bullshit and you know it. Don’t be a dumbass.”
It’s clear McRae’s about to get on a good roll and light into this clown, but before he can continue I lunge across the console, reach across his shoulder, and disconnect the call.
“What in the hell? Why did you do that?” He twists in his seat, his glare swinging between the road and me.
“You were saying way too much. You need to shut up and involve the company lawyer, quick.” I sit back in my seat and pull the seatbelt across my body before producing a notebook from my purse. Funny, mother wasn’t lying when she said geometry wouldn’t come in handy with my day-to-day life, but my Yale law degree would. Score one point for demanding, cold-hearted mother and zero for wayward, disappointing daughter.
“I don’t see how this is any of your business,” he shouts, before looking back at the road.
“You’re right, it’s not.” He watches me in the mirror and I meet his gaze. Usually the winner of all stare downs, I relent, instead concentrating on what I want to get on the paper, only looking up briefly when the truck shifts into the other lane and bears down on an exit. He’s totally going to ditch me.
“There’s no company lawyer. Wouldn’t getting one make things worse with
Mel?” Vann asks as he turns and I feel his attention on me.
Writing furiously, I answer without looking up. “Mel already has a lawyer. I’d say things have already taken a turn for the worse.”
“How could you possibly know that?” McRae asks.
I know he’s bright. I know he’s running a company, maybe second in command, and it has gone to shit on him in only a handful of minutes, probably because of his intransigent and controlling nature. Getting him to see what I’ve figure out takes one level stare, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. I can almost picture the gears in his head working. It takes a second, but he puts it together.
“He was recording the call.” His eyes shift back to the road but he leans toward the wheel and rakes a hand down his face before giving a weary sigh. “How do you know he was recording?” Vann asks.
I let McRae answer. “He let the answering machine pick up first. Jeez, what did I say?” He mumbles the last part to himself.
“How does any of this make sense?” Vann asks.
I lean forward coming to rest between the two front seats. “If he’s documented that he’s asked repeatedly to not be called Pops without success, that’s harassment. If your performance evals reflect the time off he’s taken as negative to his job performance and he’s got clear medical issues, that’s a case for discrimination.”
“I knew you were spreading things too thin,” Vann says before shifting closer to the door. Apparently, a whack to the arm is a small price to pay to get in another I-told-you-so dig. He turns to me. “I told him hiring old friends who needed a good job didn’t mean they were gonna do a good job. You’d think after two other failures with a personal assistant, my brother would get smart.”
I hand McRae my notes.
“What’s this?” He glances between the paper and the road.
“That’s everything you said. You’ll need to show it to your lawyer.”
He shoots me fleeting glances. As if he can’t wrap his mind around the fact that I may have just done him a solid. I don’t want to be annoyed, but I am. It’s something I’ve become all too familiar with, this impatience with people underestimating me. They see what they want to. Having an overly large chest doesn’t help my plight, either.
“Uh, so... I owe you something more than a thank you, but I can’t even think of a way to repay you,” he says. His drawl is as subtle as his brother’s and charming. He gives me what looks like a shy smile. Or one that shows he isn’t familiar with accepting help.
“We can call it even. Giving me this ride...so...thank you.” Our eyes meet and we smile at each other. I get the impression from the way he shifts awkwardly in his seat that he doesn’t like being in debt to anyone, either.
I can’t stop myself from asking and change my attention to baby brother. “What did you mean, Vann, about hiring friends?”
I wonder about McRae’s intentions. The picture being painted is one of a genuinely nice guy. But I’ve yet to come across one in my travels, and I need assurance that my sense of people’s character hasn’t taken a sudden cliff dive. That the road isn’t making me too jaded and cynical. I could have stayed home and achieved that with far more comfort and luxury.
Vann turns to look at me, and I glance at the eyes watching me in the mirror. McRae does an eye roll before looking back at the road. “Brinn has this idea that he can help some friends from the old neighborhood. Friends who are capable of working but don’t. What my brother doesn’t understand is not everyone is as driven to change their lives as he is. They think they’re getting a free ride but this guy”—he cocks a thumb to his brother—“makes a workaholic look lazy and a taskmaster gentle.”
McRae chuckles and shakes his head.
If I ask the next obvious question, I will be prying for sure and I’ll forever know things about these brothers I’m not sure I want to know. I’m not looking to play twenty questions and divulge anything more about my life. So I keep it simple. “Oh, I see.”
Perception of his character—intact. It’s a relief to know McRae may be the worse businessman ever but at least he has a bleeding heart to balance it out. Oh, how my father would cringe at the thought.
“What are you hoping to find in Florida?” McRae asks, glancing between the road and his ever-chiming cell phone. Business never stops for him.
It’s an odd question. Usually people want to know what brings someone to a destination.
I want to find my brother. I want to know why he cut me from his life. I want to know why I can’t connect with people, why leaving is so easy. I want to know what it is I want. But what do I say to this stranger?
I hesitate before deciding on my fondest wish. “I’m reconnecting with my brother.” If I say it enough maybe it will come true.
“So where can I take ya? I have to swing by Daytona Beach first and check in with the shop, but after that I can take you anywhere. It’s the least I can do.” I’m pulled in by his soft southern drawl and the way he says “ah” for I.
“Actually, Daytona Beach is perfect. No need to take me anywhere else. Just drop me off at a motel that’s close to food and shopping. I need to get a charger for my phone.”
“The Sleep Inn in Ormond Beach is perfect,” Vann tells us.
“We should be in town in thirty minutes,” McRae says over his shoulder. “Are you sure you want a motel? It really isn’t any trouble to take you anywhere. To your brother’s or something?”
I recognize his need to provide. He’s a control freak, just like my father, like my mother for that matter. He wants to manage me, either to ensure he’s done the right thing or because I’m a loose end to him. The difference between this guy and my father is that if I were to end up dead in my hotel room, McRae would probably feel he shouldered some of the responsibility, even if he never saw me again. My father would never go that far.