Читать книгу A Southern Promise - Jennifer Lohmann - Страница 14

CHAPTER FIVE

TWO DAYS AFTER Aunt Binnie’s death, Julianne and her brother sat at the dining room table in her apartment and reviewed the plans for Bull City Starts. And as always, they argued, this time about finishing touches.

“We’re wasting space installing the nursing room when that space could be another call room. Or small office,” Don argued. “You know the clientele is going to be mostly men.”

“With your attitude it will. With mine, we will need a nursing room.” She slid a folder full of articles about diversity in the tech world over the wood table. With the pain of her aunt’s murder still heavy on her soul and fresh tears lingering at the corners of her eyes, her heart wasn’t really into this argument. She and Don had been having it, in one form or another, since Julianne had asked her brother to be a part of her big dream. Eventually Julianne would have to use the power of the purse to overrule him, but she hated the idea of saying, “Because I said so and I write the checks.”

Don shrugged away her argument. “You know the guys will reserve that room for meetings anyway when all the other spaces are full. The Wall Street Journal can write all the articles it wants on diversity and women in technology, but the reality is men will need to use the space and won’t care that the door says ‘nursing room.’”

She was listening to her brother’s arguments—she had been through this entire process. After all, Bull City Starts was supposed to be a partnership between them and they were supposed to bring equal gifts to the project. But so far her brother had been...well, a disappointment. And with each passing deadline Julianne was scrambling to meet because Don hadn’t, she was less and less willing to hear him out.

His seeming lack of grief over their aunt’s death hadn’t helped her patience.

“Bull City Starts isn’t about what technology looks like in the now,” she said, twining her hands so she didn’t reach over and shake sense into Don. “It’s about what technology will look like in the future. And in the future it will have women, and women need nursing rooms.” And it will have African-Americans and Hispanics—if she had her way, the offices of Bull City Starts would reflect the makeup of the entire city of Durham. It would probably be years before she could achieve that goal, but either she dreamed big or she didn’t dream at all.

She smoothed her hands against her linen slacks, pushing out wrinkles that weren’t there. “And this isn’t just about the future of technology.” She waved her hand at the color board lying on top of the architect’s plans. “This is about the future of Durham. About Somersets being as much a part of its future as they were of its past.”

Julianne cared about the Somerset name in Durham, too, just not in the same way that her mother did.

Her brother held up his hands. “I know, I know. I’ve heard this speech a million times since you moved back.”

Don had been one of the first people she’d given the speech to and initially he’d been helpful. He’d suggested other tech incubators to tour and shared a couple contacts at the larger Silicon Valley tech companies for possible partnerships. So when he’d been laid off, taking their mother’s suggestion and making himself a full partner on the project had seemed like a natural step. After all, their mother had been right—Julianne had a lack of experience in business and technology. But she hadn’t been right about Don’s eagerness to be a part of the project.

Signing on as a partner had been the end of Don’s commitment. He’d been promising to transfer funds to Bull City Starts since they’d settled on the architect, but so far it was only her money in the bank. When her sister-in-law had mentioned that they were living mostly off her inheritance since Don had lost his job, Julianne had assumed that was because Don’s funds were to go to Bull City Starts. Now Avery was talking about how her money was running low, and she was insisting it be saved for her kids.

Despite the disappointment she felt in her brother, funding the venture entirely with her funds and those of the investors she’d brought in was actually fine by her. To her surprise, Julianne liked being the ultimate bankroller of the incubator. Ownership made the reality of debating between a pool table and Ping-Pong table, or both, more fun. Of course, she understood why Don didn’t like her having final say over everything, but in addition to his lack of financial support, nothing about her brother’s decision-making skills so far had inspired much confidence.

Besides, she had given him free rein on what kinds of companies they wanted to recruit and, ultimately, the companies would have more impact on their success than a pool table. The problem was, she hadn’t seen much evidence he was working on that, either. Julianne had brought in the five start-ups who had already signed leases—which was a feat considering that all she knew about the tech world consisted entirely of what she’d learned in order to get Bull City Starts off the ground.

The tech world was supposed to be Don’s responsibility. But Julianne was the one calling Google.

“What do you think of the cop?” Don asked, absently flipping through her research in the folder. He wasn’t paying any attention to it and probably wouldn’t ever.

Handsome. She’d spent too much time thinking about the strength in the detective’s fingers and the kindness in his eyes to keep thinking of him as cute. “He seems competent.” She shrugged. “I only spoke to him that once.”

“Funny. He and a female cop have come by to talk with me twice.” Don closed the folder and slid it back to her. “They wanted to discuss my finances and what I planned to do with the money I’ll inherit from Aunt Binnie.” Her brother said the words nonchalantly, but he fingered the edge of the folder, rather than simply handing it over.

“What are you going to do with the money?” Julianne had wanted to know, too, but hadn’t yet been willing to ask.

“Roll it into Bull City Starts,” he answered, as though this was a forgone conclusion. “I’m sorry Binnie died and everything, but the timing couldn’t have been better.”

Julianne’s head snapped up, as if her heart and neck were on the same string and her brother was the puppeteer—he was a cruel puppeteer. Any positives about timing had evaporated when she’d learned how Binnie died. Now there was nothing left in her heart but the clenching pain of grief.

Julianne would rather face a lifetime of arguments with her mother, brother and Binnie than this awful reality. After her father had died, she’d learned grief had weight, but she hadn’t known it had spikes, too.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Julie,” he snapped. “I’m not thinking anything you’re not.”

Like what? Like you didn’t just say the timing of Aunt Binnie’s death was perfect? “I have not been, nor will I ever be, grateful for the timing of Binnie’s death,” she said, pain making her words pointy. “I don’t need more money for Bull City Starts. I have plenty.”

“Well, I need it.” He must have realized how he sounded, because his voice softened. “I’ll pay the portion I promised, but you don’t know what it’s like raising kids today. The price of parties, the camps, vacations, ballet, soccer, private school and all the damned clothes. It’s eaten away at everything I have. You’re lucky.”

Julianne folded her hands in her lap, not wanting any part of her body to accidently brush up against her brother. Not right now, when he was talking as if he and Avery hadn’t bought a house on the beach and an apartment in Manhattan. The Mercedes SUV for when they were driving with their kids and the Mercedes sports car for when they weren’t.

As if all of their extraordinary wealth could possibly be frittered away on summer camps.

As though he hadn’t made a series of stupid investments because he wanted to be the businessman their father was, but had never been able to step back and think through the consequences of his actions long enough to notice not all roads led to winning.

The worst of it had been the investments he’d made into sweepstakes parlors with their cousin Rupert not six months before the state had outlawed the nasty things. At that point the bill hadn’t been a secret—Rupert and Don had just been too greedy to believe it would actually get passed. That scheme hadn’t been the first and it hadn’t been the last, but it seemed to have diminished her brother’s finances to such a point that Julianne wondered if Rupert had stolen some of the money.

But she hadn’t asked.

Anyway, it wasn’t as though he and Avery were going to starve. They had Avery’s money.

She closed her eyes, grasping for control of the heartbreak that was spilling over into all her relationships, especially that with her brother—dripping black, sticky, putrid paint all over it. She didn’t need to be thinking such terrible things about Don. Not ever, but especially not when the cuts of a lost loved one were still bleeding.

The bright paint samples next to the more subdued carpet squares attached to the poster board caught her attention when her eyes finally popped open. Everything looked brighter and more vibrant in person, where she could feel the rough texture of the industrial carpet and the nubs in the couch fabric. In these textiles, and in the spreadsheets on her laptop next to them, was one small investment in Durham by a Somerset. One small way to pay back the city that had given them so much. More than enjoying the responsibility of choosing a pool table or Ping-Pong, Julianne was secretly relieved that Don didn’t have finances to contribute to Bull City Starts. She didn’t trust him with money.

She would feel guilty about that, too, but her sister-in-law didn’t trust Don with money, either. Avery essentially pleaded with Julianne to let Don have a piece of her dream. “Please,” she had said. “He’s not been looking for a job and, well, we might not need the money, but he’s already suggested a couple investments and pouted when I said no. He needs something to do. A distraction, and he’d be good for what you need. It’s not as if you know anything about tech start-ups.”

Both Avery and her mother had been right, of course, but Julianne had always planned on hiring someone with that knowledge. And honestly, right now she wished she had because she could fire that person. Somersets didn’t fire their baby brothers.

“You’re not going to tell the cop I said any of this, are you?” Don asked when Julianne remained silent. She didn’t know what she could say right now that would be constructive. She wanted to cry and fuss and scream—and kick her brother out of her house.

But that wouldn’t make working with him tomorrow any easier.

“They’re already suspicious enough of me as it is,” he continued to plead, obviously sensing that she was angry, though he didn’t seem to understand what she was angry about. “Can you believe they asked where I was that night?”

She leaned back in her chair, trying to relax her face and look supportive. Once Aunt Binnie’s funeral was over, she would have a long talk with her brother about his role in their joint venture. But not until the worst of this nightmare was over. Julianne didn’t think she could handle both.

“Since you raised the question,” she said as casually as possible, “where were you when Binnie was murdered?”

“At home with Avery, of course. Where else would I be on a Tuesday night?”

“I don’t know.” Avery swore everything between her and Don was fine, but Julianne wasn’t sure her sister-in-law was telling the truth. Not that Julianne blamed her. Men with marriage problems did strange things—and wives denying those marriage problems ignored those things. This Julianne knew from experience.

She shrugged. “Maybe you have a poker night I don’t know about. Or a book club.”

Don scoffed, a noise he’d been making since he was ten whenever he was hiding something. “A book club,” he said, shaking his head as if it was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. “You haven’t been asked where you were?”

“No.” Which was a surprise to her. The detective had said he’d be in touch soon, and since she was Aunt Binnie’s closest relative, she’d expected soon to be sooner than now. She’d tucked his card into her purse, next to his clean handkerchief, but she hadn’t called him. What would she say? I’ve not thought of anything new to tell you about Aunt Binnie, but you have nice eyes?

That was stress talking. Stress and grief-induced hormones. Detective Berry would call her. That was as much of a guarantee as the fact that she would cry at the funeral and Don wouldn’t. The problem was, she wasn’t entirely certain she’d give the handkerchief back.

When she thought too long about the fact that she was holding on to the detective’s handkerchief, she questioned her sanity. Some strange replacement theory that people who took Psych 101 learned. Lose your favorite relative, gain a weird attachment to a piece of fabric because the guy who gave it to you was a stranger who saw you cry.

Not healthy.

“But I expect the detective will be visiting me soon,” she said, trying not to sound hopeful. Especially since a part of her was afraid of what she would feel when she saw him. Grief mixed in with...lust? Maybe it was the lust, combined with the easy way he’d comforted her, that made her willing to forget that he’d trapped her in a hot car to ask her questions. Maybe it also explained that damned handkerchief.

“Julie—”

“Don,” she said, exasperated, “you know I hate it when you call me Julie.” Not only that, but it was also a dead giveaway he wanted something.

“But I’m your baby brother, so I get to call you whatever I want.” He looked smug when he said those words, but he also looked like their father, so Julianne didn’t correct him again. “What are you going to tell the detective about me?”

When Don was in a mood to call her Julie, he was also usually too focused on himself to notice anyone else, but Julianne schooled her features as quickly as possible anyway. She didn’t want to give away that she’d already talked to Detective Berry about him. “I want Binnie’s murderer found, so I’ll answer his questions the best I can. Why?”

He shrugged. “I’d prefer you didn’t tell him what I plan to do with Binnie’s money. Or, well, anything about me and money.”

“Why?” Unease danced at the nape of her neck. Guilt, too, probably.

“I don’t think it’s anyone’s business and I don’t want it making the papers,” he said, the reasonability in his tone confirming that he was up to something. Don only sounded reasonable after he’d spent time convincing himself. “You don’t want investors and possible clients to hear about it, do you?”

She sat back in the chair, putting more distance between her and her brother. “I don’t need investors to make Bull City Starts happen. I want investors because I think it will be good for the company and good for the city, but I can do it on my own.”

I’ve always been able to do it on my own, she thought. Her father had taught her how to be smart with business and people, a lesson he should have shared with both his children.

“I’m more interested in what information you want me to keep from Detective Berry. If you know something that will scare away investors...” Her mouth was open, but she couldn’t say the words.

“Julie.” Her brother’s tone was pretty enough that he probably fooled most people, but most people weren’t his sister. “You wouldn’t fire your brother, would you? What would people think?”

If her father had taught her to be self-reliant, her mother had taught her to wonder if people noticed how well she was doing it.

What will people think if you wear a dress like that to the movies? What will people think when you’ve got so much makeup on? What will people think if you don’t go to summer camp this year? If you were to judge based entirely on Julianne’s childhood, people—which people was never defined—had nothing better to do than consider each and every thing Julianne did, to the point where it had always seemed best to do nothing in many situations.

Even when she’d walked in on Lewis having sex with his assistant on their couch, her first thought had been, “If I walk out on him now, what will people think?” She had put her hand on the doorknob, ready to walk out the door and go to a coffee shop until enough time passed that she could walk back in and she and Lewis could pretend like nothing had happened.

It had been winter and, even in the heated apartment building, the doorknob had been cold. She’d kept her hand on the metal long enough that it warmed under her touch and she eventually wondered if someone was literally holding a candle to the other side.

Then she’d realized that the heat was her anger and that if anyone should care what people thought, it should be Lewis—he should have cared about her and what she thought.

So Julianne had walked out of her apartment that day, but not to go to a coffee shop and compose herself. No, she had walked out and only walked back in to pack up her things.

Hearing her brother say those words—what would people think?—made her hot enough to burn a hole right through the chair she was sitting in. “I don’t much care what people think, Don. I still have enough of my money to buy their opinion. I care about finding Aunt Binnie’s murderer and getting Bull City Starts off the ground. And I care about them in that order.”

Don pushed back from his chair, more indignant than angry, Julianne thought. Whatever he was hiding, he seemed to know he had no right to anger. “If you think so little of me, why did you ask me to be your partner? Remember, Julie, you asked me.”

Because I let Mom and your wife convince me I needed you.

She needed to stop thinking things she wasn’t willing to say. Or suck it up, say the damned thing and shrug off the consequences. But she wasn’t there yet and she might never be. Because the world didn’t need people who never cared what anyone said any more than it needed a woman who only ever cared what people said. And despite the new condos going up in downtown and the restaurant features in the New York Times, Durham needed more people to care about it. People who wanted to take root in the city and stay planted through thick and thin. People who cared about making a long-term difference, not just a quick buck. People who could stick to their dreams, even when their reputation took a beating.

Julianne wanted to be one of those people.

Besides, Don was her brother. When he wasn’t being a total shit, he could be fun.

Without Don’s impulsiveness, Julianne might have slid through her childhood without getting mud on her dress. And she needed his sense of fun to keep Bull City Starts young and fresh. He’d suggested the slide after all, and the Super Mario Bros. themed cubbies.

So she would keep her thoughts to herself for now.

“Don, I’m sorry. We’re both saying rash things. Words we’ll probably regret later.” She gripped the bridge of her nose between her index finger and thumb. “I’m sad and stressed out, and whatever you’re keeping a secret isn’t helping.”

“It’s not that bad,” he said. Even though he was probably lying, Julianne decided to believe him. “But if we’re not going to get anything done today, I’m heading home. I can work from there.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” she said, managing to put as much understanding in her voice as possible, while keeping the relief at bay. She even gave her brother a hug before he left.

As soon as the door shut, Julianne looked at the table covered with her dreams. In the days since Binnie’s death, those plans had been the thing she’d clutched to her heart whenever grief had threatened to overwhelm her. Don had robbed her of a little of that today.

The temptation to sweep all the papers onto the floor in a tantrum was strong enough for her to clench her fists and look away. Only when the feeling passed did Julianne turn her head back. Not that her tantrum would be satisfying; she would be the one to clean up any mess she made. And Don left enough messes without her adding to her own workload.

If Julianne had learned one thing from Aunt Binnie, it was that grief could be turned into something powerful. Bull City Starts had been born of Julianne’s divorce. Out of hearing her mother say “What will people say?” and wanting control over the message. And out of the realization that she could do more in Durham than in New York.

Julianne grabbed her purse from its hook by the door. Aunt Binnie’s model for grief wasn’t a bad one. Especially since—as Julianne had realized once she started helping her aunt manage her money—Aunt Binnie’s continued grief had contributed to a better world. And that wasn’t a bad legacy to leave.

Julianne checked her purse to make sure she had her keys, tote bag and library card. She would come back to her plans for Bull City Starts after Aunt Binnie’s funeral. Until then, she was going to walk to the library, max out the number of romance novels she could check out and sink herself into happy endings.