Рита Браун - The Hounds And The Fury

“You need to get out more.”

“I’m going to the patient support group. Tonight’s our New Year’s celebration. No booze. No outlandish behavior, but we are celebrating Alfred DuCharme’s two-year anniversary. So far he’s cancer free.”

“That is a celebration.” Garvey paused. “Really, there’s no liquor?”

“Some of our people are in chemo.”

“Can’t drive?” Garvey inquired.

“Some can. Funny, too: radiation and chemo affect people so differently. It nauseated me, but my hair didn’t fall out.” She paused. “After our little party I expect a few of us will toast our health.”

“You know Alfred won’t miss the chance to celebrate,” Garvey mentioned, for Alfred was known to like a stiff drink.

“No, he won’t.” She thought a moment. “It’s the uncertainty, Garvey. You think you’ve banished it, then a few days before your check-up, fear creeps in. Getting the all-clear is such a relief. Two years and his cancer hasn’t returned.”

“Yours won’t come back either.”

“I hope not.” She tapped the arm of her wheelchair. “I just had a bad reaction to some of the treatments. I know the strength will come back to my legs. Still, it’s queer.” She brightened, naming another member of her group. “But Macey Sorensen lost all feeling in her left hand after radiation. Came back.”

“See,” he said encouragingly as he leaned his rear against his desk, facing her.

Iffy abruptly switched subjects. “What’s the big idea hiring Gray Lorillard? That’s a slap in the face.”

“We haven’t had an independent audit of the books in ten years. It’s time. It’s good insurance.”

“I keep an eye on all that. We’re in good shape if the IRS ever calls us in. Besides, he’s overpriced.”

He glanced out the window. “You know, it’s coming down harder.”

Iffy kept up with the latest radar pictures. “More snow, a stalled low-pressure system.” She waited a beat. “Cash flow’s good. Course, if you go forward with this, Gray’s fees will suck some of that up.”

“I know.” He then returned to the subject at hand. “He’ll have the use of Angel’s old office.”

Angel had left this earth to become one at the ripe old age of eighty-four. Garvey let her keep working because he knew she would have died ten years earlier had she stopped. Angel loved being Garvey’s right-hand woman. Like many elderly people she’d had some heart problems. Walter Lungrun, her doctor, noted that apart from her irregular heartbeat she was incredibly healthy. Garvey missed her terribly, not only because her fierce wit kept him thinking as well as laughing but because she could sweep her years for dustings of knowledge. Angel had known generations of the quick and the dead. That long memory helped Garvey when she’d tell him an anecdote or character trait concerning the family of a supplier, customer, or employee. He could never replace her.

They’d found her slumped over her desk, a can of cold Mountain Dew next to her notepad. Walter, as her physician, signed her death certificate.

“At least that office will be used. You’ve kept it as a shrine.”

“One of these days I’ll hire a new personal assistant, but I haven’t had the heart to look.”

“It’s been a year, Garvey. She couldn’t live forever.” Iffy had loathed Angel because the older woman often questioned her.

“She gave it a good try,” Garvey replied.

“An auditor is going to take up a lot of my time, and the end of the year is when I have to get everything in order—an entire year’s worth of stuff.” She emphasized “stuff.”

“I appreciate that, but I think it’s good timing otherwise. The year is over. The books are closed, so to speak.”

“I think it would make more sense to bring him in right after April 15. The tax work would be done. He’d have all that in front of him.”

“Iffy, we’re going to do this my way,” Garvey replied firmly but without rancor.

She glowered at him. “I’ll provide Gray with whatever he needs, but don’t expect me to fool with him. Or to humor him.”

“I reckon Gray Lorillard can take care of himself.”

“Certainly seems to be taking care of Sister Jane. Can you believe it. She’s at least ten years older than he is!”

Sister was only five years older than Gray.

“And beautiful. She could wear out two men half her age.”

“Face-lift.”

“I don’t know about that, but she’s kept herself in shape.”

“Boobs don’t sag. Probably got those tucked up, too.”

“Iffy, what have you got against Jane Arnold?”

She pulled off her black-framed glasses, the latest fashion. “She’s an imperious bitch. Just look at the way she walks.”

“Ah.” The five-foot eight-inch Garvey finally pushed away from his desk to sit in his leather chair.

“Ah, what?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“You think I’m jealous because I hobble around when I’m not in this wheelchair, and I’m overweight.”

“You’re not that overweight. If it worries you, go to Jason and get him to put you on a program. Go to physical therapy. You’re going to live, Iffy. Think of it this way: you’re one of the few people to endure chemo and radiation and gain weight.”

“Very funny.”

“Jason said you beat it. He’s the best. It hasn’t been easy for you. I’m sorry for that. But you’re getting mean.”

Iffy and Garvey had grown up together, as had many of the people in this part of central Virginia. No reason to mince words.

“Just because I don’t like Sister Jane, you think I’m jealous because she still has a great body and I don’t. I never did.”

“You weren’t fat.”

That did it. “Fuck you!” She wheeled around as he bit his lips. “Dammit,” he whispered under his breath as he listened to her wheelchair roll toward her office. The light flickered on his phone. “Hello.”

“Sonny here. How you doing?”

Garvey smiled at the sound of the banker’s deep voice. “All right. Iffy just blew up at me.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Just told you.”

“Lot on her plate,” Sonny said simply.

“Oh well.” Garvey’s tone lightened. “What’s the point of having friends if you don’t see them through? What’s up?”

“I’m sending over the papers to amend your line of credit. Naturally, I’ll review everything, but then I have to send it down to North Carolina. Gone are the days when I could do business on a handshake. You’d better brighten Iffy’s mood because this falls in her lap.”

“You have our corporate report and our tax information. Of course, we haven’t done this year’s yet, but neither has anyone else.”

“The way it is now—thank the federal government for this—I pretty much need to know what you spend for toilet paper on an annual basis.”

“If I had back all the time I waste on paperwork, regulations, insurance, and workers’ comp red tape, I’d double my profit, I swear.” He sighed.

“Brother, be glad you aren’t a banker,” Sonny simply replied. “I used to love this business. Last night I told Liz I’m retiring at sixty-five. Gone.”

“You’ve got a few years left.”

“Not many,” Sonny replied. “Oh, before I forget, Custis Hall has begun the search for a new director of alumnae relations and a new head of the theater department. Let Charlotte Norton know if anyone comes to mind.”

“I will. Be a nice place to work. If nothing else, think of the vacations.”

“Another reason to retire. Liz and I can travel.”

They chatted for a few more minutes. Once finished, Garvey walked down to Iffy’s office.

Hunched behind her oversized computer screen, Iffy, gold earrings dangling, peered up at him. “Now what?”