honestly don’t know why
he even bothered renting an office. It looked like he took care of all of
his business from his gigantic bedroom.
I grabbed the small
pile of papers sitting on the chair and carefully shifted them to the
floor. I wheeled the chair around and sat in it, looking into four very
sad eyes.
“Richard, I’d like
to speak to you in private if that’s okay.” He looked at Cheryl and she
nodded. She hugged him tight and got up. She opened the door and
then turned back to us.
“Mr. Hunt? If
you don’t mind, could you please join me in my room after you’re done?”
“Of course,” I said,
feeling like the live-in shrink. She smiled somewhere underneath the
tears and frizzy hair and left. I turned back to Richard.
Though we were both
sitting, his broad shoulders made him seem like he was hovering over the
bed. It was unsettling to see such a man cry, yet there it was. “I
spoke with Maddie just now. Is there something
you’d like to tell me, Richard?” He brushed the tears away with the backs
of his hands. The sobs tapered off.
“Like what?”
“Well, like how you
were feeling last night about one in the morning.”
“Ah,” he said.
“So she told you.”
“There isn’t much Maddie or I can keep from each other for long,” I
said. “Talk to me, Richard.”
“I was angry,” he
finally admitted. “Damn angry.”
“At
your father?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” Richard’s
eyes said he knew the answer, but his mouth didn’t know how to form the words
right away. He spoke slowly.
“Because…because of
the way he is. Because of the way he treated us, all of us.”
“You mean you and
Cheryl and Donald?”
“Not
just us, but the others too. Nona and Thomas and all the rest. He said they
were all lazy good-for-nothings who had to be kept in line. People here
seem to have it good from outside that gate. Those people out there have
no idea what it’s like in here. Sure, you go downtown to The Rust Bucket
and get your drinks on the house because your father is The Man. Or maybe
you want your nails done, or your hair done, or you want a massage.
That’s okay too, because your dad is The Man. But what do you do when The
Man threatens to pull the plug on the essentials unless you did it all his
way? What do you do, Reevan?” He was speaking incoherently. I
couldn’t follow him from one sentence to the next. It was like his mouth
was vomiting every thought that was in his head.
“Richard, slow
down. What do you mean?”
“He had us,
Reevan. Dad owned all of us. What were we supposed to
do?” A familiar voice echoed in my head. What will we do,
Thomas? Where will we go? We’ve been here so long…what will we do?
“Don’t you get it? None of us could leave, Reevan. We’re like
prisoners, even still now that he’s dead. Dad owned more than half of
Donald’s restaurant, a lotmore than half. He scared Cheryl into
staying by threatening her with poverty for the rest of her life.”
“And you,” I asked,
putting a hand on his shoulder.
“All of my business
is in this town, and dad was the one thing holding it all together.
Without Wilson McCune, I’d go belly up. Dad was just a mean, selfish old
man with too much money. Sills was right…we are all suspects.”
It began to make
sense. Wilson was a rich, powerful man, but he was also old and
enfeebled. With Clara gone, he must have started wondering what would
happen if his kids got too brave, got too successful, or got too married, and
left him. Wilson was brazen and tough, and the only way to keep that up
into your seventies was to keep folks around who supported the image.
Richard was right; they were hostages. With one stroke of his pen Wilson
McCune could have ruined all of his children, and so they stayed to live the
life he carved out, because it was better than nothing.
Well, it used to be
better. Apparently
he even bothered renting an office. It looked like he took care of all of
his business from his gigantic bedroom.
I grabbed the small
pile of papers sitting on the chair and carefully shifted them to the
floor. I wheeled the chair around and sat in it, looking into four very
sad eyes.
“Richard, I’d like
to speak to you in private if that’s okay.” He looked at Cheryl and she
nodded. She hugged him tight and got up. She opened the door and
then turned back to us.
“Mr. Hunt? If
you don’t mind, could you please join me in my room after you’re done?”
“Of course,” I said,
feeling like the live-in shrink. She smiled somewhere underneath the
tears and frizzy hair and left. I turned back to Richard.
Though we were both
sitting, his broad shoulders made him seem like he was hovering over the
bed. It was unsettling to see such a man cry, yet there it was. “I
spoke with Maddie just now. Is there something
you’d like to tell me, Richard?” He brushed the tears away with the backs
of his hands. The sobs tapered off.
“Like what?”
“Well, like how you
were feeling last night about one in the morning.”
“Ah,” he said.
“So she told you.”
“There isn’t much Maddie or I can keep from each other for long,” I
said. “Talk to me, Richard.”
“I was angry,” he
finally admitted. “Damn angry.”
“At
your father?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” Richard’s
eyes said he knew the answer, but his mouth didn’t know how to form the words
right away. He spoke slowly.
“Because…because of
the way he is. Because of the way he treated us, all of us.”
“You mean you and
Cheryl and Donald?”
“Not
just us, but the others too. Nona and Thomas and all the rest. He said they
were all lazy good-for-nothings who had to be kept in line. People here
seem to have it good from outside that gate. Those people out there have
no idea what it’s like in here. Sure, you go downtown to The Rust Bucket
and get your drinks on the house because your father is The Man. Or maybe
you want your nails done, or your hair done, or you want a massage.
That’s okay too, because your dad is The Man. But what do you do when The
Man threatens to pull the plug on the essentials unless you did it all his
way? What do you do, Reevan?” He was speaking incoherently. I
couldn’t follow him from one sentence to the next. It was like his mouth
was vomiting every thought that was in his head.
“Richard, slow
down. What do you mean?”
“He had us,
Reevan. Dad owned all of us. What were we supposed to
do?” A familiar voice echoed in my head. What will we do,
Thomas? Where will we go? We’ve been here so long…what will we do?
“Don’t you get it? None of us could leave, Reevan. We’re like
prisoners, even still now that he’s dead. Dad owned more than half of
Donald’s restaurant, a lotmore than half. He scared Cheryl into
staying by threatening her with poverty for the rest of her life.”
“And you,” I asked,
putting a hand on his shoulder.
“All of my business
is in this town, and dad was the one thing holding it all together.
Without Wilson McCune, I’d go belly up. Dad was just a mean, selfish old
man with too much money. Sills was right…we are all suspects.”
It began to make
sense. Wilson was a rich, powerful man, but he was also old and
enfeebled. With Clara gone, he must have started wondering what would
happen if his kids got too brave, got too successful, or got too married, and
left him. Wilson was brazen and tough, and the only way to keep that up
into your seventies was to keep folks around who supported the image.
Richard was right; they were hostages. With one stroke of his pen Wilson
McCune could have ruined all of his children, and so they stayed to live the
life he carved out, because it was better than nothing.
Well, it used to be
better. Apparently
Similar Books
