The Concealers (26 page)

“You're being impossible. Forget it, I'm going to bed. You can stay right here.”

Hailey closed her eyes more tightly.

“Hello, Mr. Wilson. We haven't talked in a while. How y'all doing up there?”

“We're fine, thank you. What can I do for you?”

“You may have heard that BNA has completed a few acquisitions up your way, and we've expanded a good bit. We'd appreciate your paying us a visit here in Charlotte to go over things, and then we're going to move your file to our Manhattan office where it'll be handled by Arthur Goldberg, vice president, commercial finance.”

“Okay, when do you want to meet?”

“Hard to believe we're soon to start the third quarter. We'd like to review your financials, operating statements to date, go over the transition. Sometime in September that's convenient for you and Casey if you can work that out.”

“Of course. Austin Disley has taken Casey's position as CFO. I'll bring him along.”

“That's fine, Preston. Just let me know the date as soon as you can so I can have Mr. Goldberg come down and join us for the meeting. Floyd Ritter, our general counsel, may want to stop in, too. And please give my best to Casey. He's a good man.”

“I'll do that, Mr. Gallagher,” Preston said. When the line was clear, he buzzed Austin.

“Can you come in, please?”

“You bet.”

In a couple of minutes, Austin glided into Preston's office, adjusted his bow tie, poured himself a cup of coffee, and took a seat. Without Casey as a foil, Austin was positively cocky.

“What's up?”

“BNA is expanding, and our account is being moved to its Manhattan office.”

“We've been dealing with the Manhattan office all along.”

“New York has been handling our banking transactions, and that office is our landlord, but the floor plans have always been out of Charlotte's distressed asset division. See what you can find out about Arthur Goldberg, a vice president with BNA here—particularly whether he's in risk management or underwriting.”

“Who's he?”

“Let's slow this down. I just got off the phone with Tom Gallagher, president of BNA in Charlotte. To ensure an orderly transition, he'd like to meet with me next month, review our company, and introduce me to Mr. Goldberg, the vice president here who will be handling our account.”

“And you want me to check out Artie Goldberg?”

“Do you know him?”

“No. Just guessing they call him Artie.”

“Austin, get serious.”

“Come on, buddy. I was just going to suggest that you lighten up. Ever since Casey left, you've been acting like the world's coming to an end. Wilson Holdings is doing great, if that's what you are worried about.”

“I'd like to schedule the BNA meeting the third week in September . . . ” Preston stopped talking and checked his calendar “ . . . the eighteenth. I'm taking you with me. They are going to want to see everything in detail. Gallagher talked about financials and operating statements, but he means everything.”

“Great. Are we taking the Gulfstream?”

“Yes. But, Austin, I need you to focus. I want to go into that meeting fully prepared. I want a summary report well before the meeting showing exactly where we are. And I want to know all I can about Mr. Goldberg. I know you were glad to see Casey go, but I wasn't.”

“Okay, buddy. I'll handle it. I won't let you down,” Austin said, for the first time that morning without a smirk on his face, and walked out the door.

Not too long ago, Preston couldn't wait to get to the office and couldn't wait to come home. He was happy, and he'd felt a sense of harmony in both places. Over the last few months and too many times, he'd asked himself where that sense of happiness had gone. He knew the drivers, of course. They were obvious. Marcia's frostiness. Discontentment. Disappointment in him to the point of anger, really. The whole P.J. issue. He wished she realized how much he loved his son. And now Casey. The one bright spot was Katherine, and while he knew Marcia liked Katherine, she somehow saw his strong feelings for his daughter as a threat. He couldn't understand how that could be.

Missy had helped before, but this time her advice didn't work. It was like taking pain pills that didn't make your headache go away. Preston knew that he could not lose Marcia or P.J. No matter what. He had to solve this on his own. He arranged for a car to take him home.

Preston walked in the door and immediately sensed the quiet. He felt dizzy, recalling a time not that long ago when he found a note on the credenza from Marcia telling him she had left. He searched the credenza and was relieved to find no note. Just then the door opened, and in came P.J. in his stroller, being pushed by Marcia.

“Marcia!” he exclaimed. “I am so happy to see you and P.J.”

Marcia stood in place, staring at him for a moment. “You thought I'd left, didn't you? Just packed up P.J. and left.”

“Yes, I did. To be honest, it scared me.”

“Get used to it. You'll be okay,” Marcia said, lifting P.J. out of the stroller, taking him into his room, placing him gently on the changing table. Preston followed her. She changed P.J.'s diaper and repositioned his hearing aids while talking to him in a happy, buoyant manner. It dawned on Preston that he had yet to touch P.J.'s hearing aids. He silently cursed himself for the oversight.

Marcia took P.J. to the kitchen, put him in his high chair, prepared his dinner, and fed him.

Preston sat in an adjoining chair at the table, looking on and feeling stupid. “This probably isn't a good time to talk.”

“Correct.”

“I really need to talk to you. When can we talk?”

“After he has dinner, I give him a bath.”

Preston cursed himself again. He'd watched the bath routine, but he hadn't really given P.J. one himself.

“Then, I put him in his cuddly sleeper, and we sit on a blanket in the living room while he stacks the cups and then puts the rings on the plastic post. Then he crawls over every inch of our condo floor, explores all the outlets to see if they still have the plastic safety covers, pulls himself up on the TV, hits the bottom of the screen with his hand, and gives me a look that means he wants to see cartoons again. But I don't fall for that because it will keep him awake. Instead, I read him a story, put him to bed, sing to him, and, if I'm lucky, he goes to sleep.”

Preston had a routine of his own. He retreated from the table, went to his den, grabbed the cut-crystal decanter, poured himself a four-finger scotch, and collapsed in his leather chair, talking to himself.

“Katherine. Nice of you to call. No, it's fine. P.J.'s napping.”

“I'm in the city, not too far from you. I wondered if this might be a good time to stop in and see you and P.J. I haven't had a chance to spend much time with him. How's he doing?”

“He's wonderful. He'll be up shortly. Come over. We'd love to see you.”

“Great. I'll be there as soon as I find a place to park.”

When Katherine arrived at the condo, she knew P.J. was up. She could hear his screeches through the door.

“Come in, Katherine. It's good to see you,” Marcia said, giving her a hug. “P.J.'s practicing for the opera.”

“Everybody in the lobby and the elevator was clapping for him.”

“Really? Was he that loud?”

“No, just kidding. I heard him at the door and was glad he was up.”

Katherine went over to P.J., who was in his ExerSaucer Activity Center playing with an assortment of animals mounted on springs, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “How're you doing, little guy?”

P.J. continued to squeal and screech, waving his arms in the process.

Katherine sat on the floor next to P.J., and Marcia joined her. “As you can hear, P.J.'s having a great time making noises and, to the extent he hears them, getting used to his voice,” Marcia said. “What brings you to the city?”

“I had some shopping I wanted to do—some specialty items for my kitchen—and it's easier to drive in on a Saturday or Sunday. Mrs. Bergner, my neighbor, is looking after Hailey. I don't know what I'd do without her.”

“I can't believe it's been more than a month since we had lunch. You look like you're having fun—enjoying your job.”

“I'm sorry you couldn't come to dinner a few weeks ago—but I understand. I did have a good talk with Preston.”

“He told me he loved spending that time with you. You've made quite an impression on my husband. Me, too.”

“Thank you. It's been quite a year. A lot of surprises. A lot of new things. You're right; I am enjoying my work. It's unfair to call it work. I'm living a dream.”

“I'm truly happy for you, Katherine.”

“Marcia, I remember you telling me when we had lunch that P.J. was fitted with hearing aids, but I don't see him wearing them. You mentioned it was a process. I'm interested in how that works. How's P.J. coming along?”

“I think we're making progress. It's only been a month and a half. It's important for me to remember that, while sounds began to be amplified for him at fourteen months, he's starting at one month. The aids will help him, but he has to catch up.”

“Catch up?”

“The audiologist talks about an auditory age and a listening age. A newborn with normal hearing has a head start.”

“I'm not sure I understand,” Katherine said. “I assume it has something to do with his ability to develop the sounds.”

“This is all new to me, too. The audiologist stresses distinguishing between what P.J. hears and what he understands. Before the aids, he could hear some sounds—a dog barking, loud sounds from the television, a horn blaring in traffic. Now he has to begin to learn how to form an understanding of what the sounds mean. We have also had intervention from a language therapist, too.”

“I want to understand this. Do you mind if I take notes?” Katherine asked.

“Of course I don't mind. I'm grateful for your interest. I wish your father shared a little of it.”

“Is he really not interested?”

“If he is, he's doing a good job hiding it. At the very least, he's passive. He's leaving all the process to me.”

“That must be so frustrating and lonely,” Katherine said.

“More than you can know. It's not just that he doesn't help. It's that he doesn't seem to
want
to help. It's a pattern with him.”

“Is the process working, with P.J.?” Katherine asked.

“Yes. Here's how it works. I put the aids on when it's a happy time—something he wants to do. When I read him a story. When I let him watch cartoons on TV. They stay on for about an hour, or as long as that activity takes. Then I take them off. Hearing those sounds associated with what he's learning is a big item. Now he's getting upset when I take them off.”

“When do you expect he may talk—say words like ‘dada' or ‘mama'?”

“In a normal hearing boy, that would begin about now. Girls can be a little earlier. It starts with the vocal play. Actually, what you've been hearing P.J. do today. But the yelling has no meaning. As he hears, there're imitations. He babbles.
Bababa.
I say
bababa
back. I say
boobooboo.
He imitates that. Before the aids, the vowels sounded louder than the consonants . . . ”

“Can you go a little more slowly?” Katherine asked, taking notes as fast as she could.

“Sure. That's what P.J. is going to be saying to me one of these days! I'm probably getting overly technical.”

“Not at all. Keep going.”

“It's just that I don't have anybody to talk to about this. It feels good. I guess the short answer to your question is maybe I'll hear ‘mama' in four to six months. But I will hear it.”

Marcia picked P.J. up and took him in the kitchen and placed him in his high chair while she cut up a banana, sliced a cucumber, and added some yogurt for his lunch. “I'm sorry, Katherine. Would you like some coffee? Can I get you anything to eat?”

“I'd love a cup of coffee if you're going to have one.”

Marcia and Katherine sat at the kitchen table and talked for another hour. Katherine brought her up to date on the stories she had written and the ones she was working on now, and how much she enjoyed her colleagues at the
Twin Forks Press
, especially Sol. She avoided questions about how Marcia and Preston were getting along, and Marcia kept quiet on that subject as well.

Katherine looked over her notes about P.J.

“You mentioned that Preston is leaving the process to you. And then you said it was a pattern. Do you mind if I ask you what you mean by that?”

“I don't want to let Preston down, but, honestly, I'm worried. He leaves P.J. to me. He leaves difficult issues at the office to Casey, well, he did before Casey quit. He now leaves them to Austin. It's a passive-aggressive denial thing.”

“Casey quit?”

“Yes, a few weeks ago.”

“I really liked Casey,” Katherine said.

“Me, too. Preston pushed him farther than he was willing to go. I'm with Casey.”

“And that's the trouble you're worried about?”

“I don't want to say any more about this, Katherine. I hope you'll understand.”

“Of course. I didn't mean to pry.”

“Not at all, I'm the one that brought it up.”

Katherine decided to change the subject.

“Before I leave, Marcia, could I peek in on P.J.'s room? The lights were off, and I didn't get a chance to get a good look last time.”

“Oh, my goodness certainly! Go look now.”

The door was open, and the first thing Katherine noticed was the wooden crib with a natural finish on the left against the wall. There were white sheets printed with colorful lions, tigers, elephants, and giraffes. The zoo theme included a mobile hanging above the crib. There was thick blue soft carpet and draperies that matched. On the opposite wall were a changing table and a row of shelves. Near the window was a large sliding rocker with padded cushions. Katherine sat in it, leaned back, and closed her eyes. She could smell the baby powder. The overall room was comfortable, quiet, and peaceful. Katherine snapped a picture on her iPhone to show Susan and her mother, and went back to the kitchen.

“What a wonderful room. I'd like to have a rocker like that myself.”

“Thanks. It was a gift from my friend Ann. I'd like you to meet her sometime.”

“I'd love to. I have to go now, but I've enjoyed the visit.” She walked over to P.J. and gave him a soft kiss on the top of his head. He looked up at her with big blue eyes and smiled. Katherine felt as though she would melt. “Good-bye, little guy. I'll come see you again,” she said and brushed his soft hair out of his eyes.

Marcia walked Katherine to the door and hugged her again. “Thank you for coming to see us, Katherine. I can't describe how much I've enjoyed spending this time with you.”

Katherine could see the moisture in Marcia's eyes.

“Me, too, Marcia. Me, too,” she said.