Tipping the Balance (11 page)

Thursday
afternoon, Emily met Drew at his house. Thursday was usually Drew’s day for getting things done. Saturday and Sunday were his busiest home-showing days, and Friday was spent preparing. Thursdays were for errands.

It was time to pool research and brainstorming about the Bayard bid. Drew had spent the morning with Nick getting the bed/bath reno off the ground, and now was prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon working on the bid for a project that looked like it could not only take on a life of its own, but take over both of their lives too.

“The site tour’s set up for Monday. You’ll be there?” Drew said.

Emily nodded. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’m coming back early from a romantic long weekend at the coast to beat this heat. My wife’s not happy, but it’s not like her job’s never interrupted things.”

“Poor little surgeon. She finally takes some time off, and then her wife ups and gets busy,” Drew said, pretending to pout.

“I’m always busy, I’m just not adjusting to her schedule this time,” Emily said with a snicker. She shoved some books across the table to him. “Here. I’ve marked a few things for you to look at. These are illustrations and pictures of period furniture. It’s what would’ve been found in east-coast homes of the wealthy when the Bayard House was built.”

As Drew looked at the illustrations and photographs of Civil War-era furniture and fixtures, Emily looked around. “What I could do with this room. Such good bones, but it’s a blank slate.”

“You say blank, I say clean and uncomplicated,” Drew said. He sat back in his chair and tried to see his dining room through Emily’s eyes. It was plain, even austere. He was fine with that.

“You’ve been here how long? What’re you waiting for?” Emily said. Then she peered at him. “That’s it, you’re waiting for something… or someone.”

“I’m just not in a hurry,” he said. Then he cringed. He sounded defensive even to himself.

“Mmhmm. So what about this guy you were telling me about? The one who might be able to help us out,” Emily said.

“I’m still sounding him out.” Drew crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hurry up about it. We don’t have all that much time, you know.”

“I know,” Drew said, “but I don’t want to rush things and scare him.”

“You still think he’s the missing piece of our puzzle?”

Drew nodded slowly. “He just might be. He’s not a contractor, but he knows what goes into it, and I think he might be open to getting his license. He’s certainly not happy in his present job. Most important, he’s really interested in this. He can’t hear enough about it.”

Emily looking at him shrewdly. “Sounds like a good possibility. Anything else? Something else you want to tell me about him?”

Drew looked at her, his face expressionless. “No, not that I can think of.”

Emily knew him well, almost as well as Nick, but there were places he just wasn’t ready to go with her yet. He knew he had a crush on Brad, but wasn’t ready to say it aloud yet. Interested, absolutely, if Brad were gay. But crushing on a straight guy was just pathetic, and he didn’t want to hear it from her. None of that changed the fact that Brad could be a real asset to what he and Emily had planned. If he had to, he could keep his feelings under control.

“So you’ll call him, right?” Emily said.

“Yeah, I’ll call him,” Drew said, laughing a little. It was all he wanted to do, but he was trying not to be a stalker.

The
next evening, a Friday, found all three Sundstrom men at home, much to Brad’s irritation. His relationship with Philip was complicated, and he just plain didn’t like Randall. It was so time to move out. All it took was money.

Work was work. The air conditioning had been fixed early enough that morning that the day hadn’t been a total waste from a deodorant standpoint, and he’d shown some of those dismal houses too. Still, given his tendency to sweat like a racehorse, he came home from work, showered, and then scrounged for dinner while he decided how to avoid his family for the rest of the evening.

Friday evening. At home. How pathetic was that? A few short months before, Friday meant parties. Now it meant boxers, beer, and television. It was yet another sign college was over, and being an adult sucked.

“Can you not put some clothing on, Bradley?” Randall said, making a face as he entered the kitchen where Brad stood at the counter, pouring cereal into a bowl.

“Boxers are clothing,” Brad said sullenly.

“Street-legal clothing, Bradley. That’s not asking too much, is it?” Randall replied.

Brad shrugged. “It might be.”

“Hmmm, chest hair in Cap’n Crunch. How appetizing,” Philip said. “Keep eating that and you’ll get fat right quick. In fact, is that a tummy you’re building? College athletics are over, you know. You’re going to have grow up sooner or later.”

“Fuck you,” Brad said, milk dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Nice manners. Were you raised in a barnyard?” Philip asked.

“Yep,” Brad said. “And college athletics isn’t over. I got an e-mail from the crew’s alumni oversight committee. They want me to join, since I just rowed and since we won that big regatta.”

“They just want Dad’s money. He should never have given them that boat when you graduated,” Philip said, shaking his head.

“So?” Brad shrugged. “He asked what I wanted for graduation. That was what I wanted. What’d you care?”

Randall watched the exchange with amusement. “Actually, I was impressed with his request, Philip. I half-expected him to ask for some booze-filled trip to Cancun. Instead it was something that will only benefit other people. Are you going to accept?”

“I dunno. I might,” Brad said.

“I think you should, Bradley,” Randall said, “because then you can do something about that fag coach.” Brad clenched his teeth at that, but Randall didn’t see. “Philip, I’ve got two tickets to the ball game tomorrow night that I can’t use. Do you want them? They’re great seats. A client gave them to me.”

Philip shook his head. “Nope, I’ve got a date, and Angie hates baseball or any other kind of sport.”

“Hmmm, shame, that. I’d hate for them to go to waste,” Randall said, considering the matter.

If this sort of thing weren’t standard operating procedure, Brad would’ve been floored. He was right in front of his dad, after all. “I’ll take them, Dad.”

“What’ll you do with them?” Randall demanded.

“Uh… find someone to go to the game with?” Brad said.

“I suppose it can’t do any harm,” Randall said. He handed Brad an envelope.

Brad tucked it into the waistband of his boxers with a cheeky grin. “Thanks, Randall. I’ll try not to wear my Sundstrom Homes T-shirt and scratch my butt in public or anything.”

“You’re an ass, Bradley,” Randall said. “Thank God your mother can’t see how you’ve turned out.”

Maybe if Mom was still here, I wouldn’t have turned out like this
, Brad thought. Baiting his dad might be petty, but most days, it was all he had.

“I’m going to shower. Try to be dressed by the time I get out,” Randall demanded as he headed to the stairs and his own suite on the house’s second floor.

“Thanks for the tickets!” Brad called. He belched thunderously. “I’ll try not to embarrass you anymore than I already do!”

Philip shook his head. “That was childish.”

“So? That’s how he treats me, that’s how I act,” Brad said. He hunched his shoulders as if that would ward off his brother’s accusation.

“Maybe he treats you that way you
because
that’s how you act,” Philip pointed out.

“Whatever. Shouldn’t you be upstairs spit-shining his shoes or something?” Brad said.

“Dude, you’ve got a social life? Since when?” Philip said, ignoring Brad’s jibe.

“Since Dad didn’t want the tickets,” Brad said. “Duh. You were standing right there. You didn’t want them, and it’d be a shame to let box seats go to waste.”

Philip shook his head. “No, it’s been longer than that. You’ve been taking afternoons off. You’ve been enjoying yourself.” He said it like it was an accusation. “So who’re you going out with? It’s
someone
, not just a random friend. You’re going out with someone.”

“I’m just going to the ballgame with a friend of mine from crew, okay? Don’t make a big deal about this,” Brad said, rolling his eyes. He flushed. He felt like the time when he and Philip were kids and his brother destroyed a lamp their mother had loved. Philip had blamed him, and nothing Brad had said exonerated him. Helpless. Sick to his stomach. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

He had to get out of there. He dropped his cereal bowl in the sink and charged out of the kitchen, elbowing Philip aside on his way by.

“Jeez, Brad, I didn’t mean anything—”

“Get over yourself already, Philip. Didn’t you hear Randall? I have to put clothes on.”

Brad slammed his bedroom door behind him, and he leaned against it, gasping for air. “Get a hold of yourself,” he whispered.

He dropped into his armchair. Was he “going out” with someone? With Drew? He thought it was just two dudes going to a ballgame. Or would be, when he called Drew.

And he would call Drew, he knew that much. Somehow, and in a very short time, Drew had become his go-to guy for fun. There was something about the other man…. Drew got under his skin. He just liked being around him. It made him think of those times when Drew grabbed the oars after regattas, or at least tried. Sure, the sight of the shorter man trying to carry all eight oars with them sticking out in all directions had just been hilarious. But it had also been damned nice of Drew to try, and he’d been so grateful when Brad had come to his rescue. After the balls-out effort at the PCRCs, when all Brad wanted to do was vomit and die, he’d looked up, and there’d been Drew, waiting for the oars. Waiting for him. No one had ever waited for him before.

And there was that fluttery, tingly feeling in his gut when he saw Drew in that Speedo.

Steadfastly ignoring reality, he rooted through his wallet for Drew’s card, even though his number was already in Brad’s phone, because it let him put off the inevitable that much longer.

“Drew? Hey, it’s Brad….”

Saturday
evening found Brad and Drew at the ballgame. They still drove separately, which Drew supposed allowed them both to maintain the fig leaf that this wasn’t a date. Drew didn’t really know what to think on that score. Brad didn’t seem to be gay, but he sure seemed to be in Drew’s life all of a sudden, and that was no bad thing.

Fortunately, the delta breezes had returned, and the night was cooling off nicely, so sitting in the open-air box was a treat. “So this is how the other half lives,” Drew said, kicking back and putting his feet up on the chair in front of him after they sat down. “That was great of your dad to give you the tickets.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Brad said, shrugging.

“Free tickets for box seats at the baseball game isn’t generous? I know it’s minor-league baseball and all….”

“No, it’s not,” Brad said, explaining how he came by them.

Drew looked around the mostly empty box. “Embarrass who?”

“That’s just my dad,” Brad said. “That’s always been my dad. Randall’s always liked my brother better; Mom liked me. Too bad Mom died when I was in middle school.”