Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

“You may be doing your best to hide it from my sister, but I’m aware of the addiction.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“Walter, please, don’t interrupt. You have a problem. You should talk to someone. Gamblers Anonymous, maybe. The only reason Marissa hasn’t noticed a cash flow problem is because I’ve been helping you out when I can. But the online gambling, hitting the casinos, you need to get a handle on that.”

“Yes, yes, that’s very interesting,” Walter said.

Marissa looked at her husband and mouthed, What’s he saying? Walter held up his index finger.

“You’re probably wondering, how could I possibly know this?” Jeremy continued. “How could I have learned that my brother-in-law is throwing his money away? It’s my job to know things, Walter. Information is my currency, whether it’s about you, or Marissa, the New York Stock Exchange, or the fucking king of Siam. So this is what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell Marissa to stop researching her family tree. I’m not going to get into why, but you can tell her that this course of action she’s taken could open me up to strangers harassing me, making claims against me. I’m in the public eye, and vulnerable to all sorts of charlatans. How does that sound?”

“That sounds good.”

“And the reason I’m having you persuade her is because I’m only her stupid brother and she’s never wanted to listen to me before, so why would she listen to me now? How about that?”

“Absolutely,” Walter said.

“So we’re clear. You’re going to make sure she abandons this new little hobby of hers, or I am going to tell her all about yours.”

“I understand,” he said. “I totally see your point.”

“Now put Marissa on so I can say goodbye.”

Walter slowly took the phone from his ear and handed it to his wife. “He, he wants to say goodbye.”

Marissa took the phone. “Jeremy?”

“You take care,” he said. “Let me know, next time you’re coming to New York, we’ll all go to a show. Just tell me what you want to see. I can get tickets to anything.”

“Okay, but—”

“Gotta go,” he said, and ended the call.

Marissa put down the phone and said, “What the hell did he say to you?”

Walter had an answer ready. “Well, first he apologized for his outburst. I think he was genuinely sorry about how he spoke to you. And then he calmed down and said — and I may have lost some of the details here about how it all works — but that he has so many people trying to make some kind of claim against him, that any sort of loose connection to him could lead to all sorts of legal entanglements.”

Marissa made an oh, I never thought of that kind of face. “Gee,” she said. “He’s probably got a point.”

“So he’s hoping you’ll drop it. And you know, it’s totally up to you. It’s your life. But—” and he stepped forward and encircled her in his arms “—I don’t think it would kill us to honor his wishes. Let’s face it. He’s been awfully good to us.”

“Okay,” she said, returning his hug. “I think he’s overreacting, but if that’s what he wants, then fine. I won’t take it any further.”

“Probably for the best.”

“I’m still pissed,” Marissa said, “but you’re right. He’s been pretty good at watching over us over the years.”

And I had no idea until now, Walter thought, just how closely .

New Rochelle, NY

Even in good times, Julie Harkin didn’t have the money to go out for lunch. Every morning, before she left home to go to her receptionist job at the ReproGold Clinic, Julie would make herself something. A simple sandwich, or a salad. A few crackers and some sliced cheddar. A handful of grapes. She shopped carefully, bought items on sale, sometimes went from one grocery store to the next to take advantage of weekly specials. She figured her homemade lunch probably cost her less than two dollars a day — a peanut butter sandwich was only pennies — while even the cheapest meal at a fast-food place would set her back at least five or six. And she never, ever, bought bottled water. What sort of fool paid for something you could get out of the tap for free?

Julie had always been careful about her spending, but never more so than after her divorce ten years ago. She hadn’t seen anything from her ex since they’d split, and it wasn’t worth the time or money to track him down to try and squeeze a few nickels and dimes out of him to help raise their daughter, Sophie. Chances were, even if she could find him, he’d be out of work, or spending, in local bars, what little he made from digging ditches or putting up drywall. Even if she had to struggle to get by, she was better off without him.

Now, with Sophie in her second year at Monroe, they were cutting it pretty fine. Thank God Sophie was attending a college close enough that she could still live at home. There was no way Julie could pay to board her someplace. And God bless her, Sophie was doing everything she could to make it easier for her mom. She’d spent the summer working every night in the kitchen of an Italian restaurant, often bringing home lasagna and tortellini and salad that the manager might otherwise have pitched at the end of the day. Sophie was soaking up everything she could on how a place like that operated. Dovetailed perfectly with the culinary degree she was going after. Everything Sophie made she put toward her school year. But it wasn’t enough. Julie had to dip into her savings to make up the difference.

And then the flood hit.

One of those torrential rainstorms, the kind the weather experts called a “hundred-year storm” but which seemed in more recent times to happen annually. Those black clouds, heavy with moisture, hung over Julie’s neighborhood for hours. The storm drains on the city streets couldn’t keep up. Water rose above the curbs. And then the front lawn of Julie’s modest one-story was underwater.

The shallow, ground-level windows that allowed some light into the basement caved in, and water cascaded into the house.

The mess was unbelievable. Basement furniture floated upward until it hit the ceiling. The circuit breaker panel became submerged. Once the storm was over, the water receded, and the basement had been pumped out, the extent of the devastation could be seen. Twenty, thirty thousand in damage, the insurance company said. Too bad you’re not covered for this kind of thing. Go ahead, look at your policy. Read the fine print. Oh, you didn’t? Is that our fault?

Despite how desperate things were, today Julie went out for lunch. Because, she figured, what the hell. She was in a hole so deep she was never going to crawl out.

She couldn’t afford to fix her house. She might have to sell it, at an enormous loss, and find some cheap apartment to live in.

Sophie owed the college an installment on her tuition, and she had drained every last cent out of her own account. Julie didn’t know how she would make up the difference.

She had told Dr. Gold about her dilemma. Julie had too much pride to ask him, outright, to help her. But if he were to offer, well, that’d be different. She hoped to appeal to his better angels, that upon hearing her tale of woe, he would reach into his desk and pull out his checkbook. It didn’t have to be a gift, she’d tell him. She would pay him back. He could take it out of her pay, a small sum each week until it was totally paid off. Just something to help her get through this difficult period.

Dr. Gold had listened as she brought him up to date on her misfortunes. He had nodded sympathetically.

And he’d said, “That’s just awful, Julie. I hope you’re able to work out things with the insurance company.”