Eleven
New Haven, CT
Miles believed the time had come to bring his brother into the loop. He owed him that. Plus, he had a little something for him.
He wouldn’t have to go far to find Gilbert.
Gilbert was down the hall, in the accounting division of Cookson Tech. Miles had acquired this two-story industrial building five years ago. At one time, long ago, dog biscuits had been manufactured here. After that company went bankrupt, the building sat empty for nearly two decades and had fallen into disrepair. Squatters fought with rats and raccoons for territorial dominance.
Miles acquired the building, and the land it sat on, at a city auction. A steal. All he had to do was spend another $20 million to make the building usable. He’d taken a lead from other tech companies and done his best to make the workplace fun. Open spaces, pool tables, foosball, places to gather for coffee and conversation. A small theater.
Even the accounting department had pinball machines, ones that didn’t have to be fed coins to operate.
Miles found Gilbert taking a break at one of them. He was pushing the buttons furiously, making the paddles jump. He missed catching a pinball on the rebound and it dropped away back into the machine.
“Shit,” Gilbert said.
His brother had never been very good at video games, Miles mused. Back in the early nineties, Miles could whip his older brother’s ass at every Nintendo game.
“At least you didn’t have to put a quarter in,” Miles said.
“Hey,” Gilbert said. “What’s up?”
“When you finish your game.”
“One ball left,” Gilbert said. He managed to keep it in play for another minute before it slipped between the paddles and the game was finished.
“Nice,” Miles said.
Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Oh, please.”
“Got a minute?”
Gilbert’s face fell. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem.”
“Because I was actually going to come and see you.”
“About?”
“The invoices from Excel Point Enterprises.”
“What about them?” Miles asked.
“I don’t remember seeing that company name before.”
Miles shrugged. “Probably something to do with the ardees.” His nickname for the people in research and development. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s get some air.”
They descended a set of Lucite steps and exited the building. The neighborhood had been in decline when Miles first bought the building, but Cookson Tech had revitalized the area. There were other tech buildings, coffee shops, a Thai restaurant. Parked at the curb was Miles’s Porsche.
Miles reached into his pocket for the car-shaped key fob, but for a moment had some difficulty getting his fingers to close around it. But once it was out, and in his palm, he held it out to Gilbert.
“Here,” he said.
“Seriously?” Gilbert said. “You’re actually going to let me drive your precious baby?”
“Why not. Let’s take a spin.”
Gilbert, agog, was not convinced. “I don’t believe it.”
“For Christ’s sake, get in the car.”
Gilbert’s face broke into a smile. A kid getting his first ride on a pony. Miles dropped the key into his hand.
“Not that you need it,” Miles said. “It’s keyless. As long as one of us has it, the car will start. But, you know, symbolically, you should have it in your possession if you’re behind the wheel.”
Gilbert closed his fist around the key, walked around to the driver’s door, and got in. Miles got into the passenger side.
Gilbert was searching the dash for a start button.
“Switch is to the left of the wheel,” Miles said.
Gilbert found it, put his foot on the brake, and turned it. The car rumbled to life.
“Wow,” he said, looking more than a little intimidated. He ran his hands around the wheel, getting used to the feel of it. “Where are we going?”
“Anywhere you want,” Miles said. “Maybe take it out onto the highway.”
Gilbert put his hand on the shifter. “I was expecting a stick.”
Miles shook his head. “Pretty much all the Porsches are coming with the PDK.”
“The what?”
“Never mind. Let’s just go.”
Gilbert put the car in Drive and pulled out into the street. “It feels so tight,” he said. He feathered the gas and the car leapt forward. “Christ, it doesn’t take much.”
Miles nodded. “Yeah, a light touch is recommended until you get the hang of it.”
“Yeah, well, a spin may not make me an expert.” He glanced over at his brother. “So how’d I manage this privilege? Getting behind the wheel of your baby?”
“Think of it as a test drive.”
“What?”
“Nobody gets a new car without taking it out for a test drive.”
Gilbert shot him another look. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s yours.”
Gilbert looked dumbfounded. “What do you mean, ‘it’s yours’? What are you talking about?”
“It means that when we get out, you keep that key in your pocket. The car is yours. I’m giving it to you. I don’t need it anymore.”
Gilbert blinked. “You’re kidding me.”
“I’ll sign it over to you. I want you to have it. There’s a few speeding tickets in the glove box. Actually, more than a few. I’ll take care of those.”
“This is... I don’t know what to say.” Gilbert forced a laugh. “I don’t get it. You’re either getting something even faster, or you’re dying.”
“Yeah, one of those,” Miles said.
Gilbert’s face turned serious. “Tell me it’s the first one.”
Miles shook his head slowly, then pointed forward, encouraging Gilbert to keep his eyes on the road.
“Talk to me,” Gilbert said quietly.
“So, yeah, I’m dying. Not right away. At least, probably not right away. It may take a few years. But it’s coming. I’m giving up driving. I could probably keep doing it for a while longer, but if I’m going to have to give it up, I might as well do it now. I’m having some... muscle control issues. Surely you’ve noticed.”
“Not... really.”
“My awkward limb movements at times. My head rolling around on top of my shoulders.”
“I thought you were just stretching... or something. Okay, I’ve noticed. But I didn’t really think it was anything, and it was none of my business, anyway.” He shook his head. “I can’t drive and have this talk. I have to pull over.”
“Sure.”
Gilbert saw a wide shoulder up ahead, put on the blinker, steered the car over onto the gravel, put the car in Park, and killed the engine. “Okay,” he said. “From the beginning.”
Miles told him. The problems he’d been having trying to focus. Unable to remember things that had just happened. Increasingly irritable, prone to outbursts.
“Those, you probably didn’t notice so much,” Miles said, “given that I’ve always been kind of an asshole.”
What really got him worried, Miles said, was the clumsiness. Dropping things. Tripping over his own feet.
“I knew something was wrong, so I went to see Alexandra. She ordered a bunch of tests.”
“Parkinson’s?” Gilbert asked.
Miles shook his head. “That would have been good news.” He took a breath. “Huntington’s.”
Gilbert stared at him blankly, as though shell-shocked.
“God, Miles, I’m so sorry.”
And then Miles could see something happening behind Gilbert’s eyes, and he knew what he had to be thinking.
“It’s okay,” Miles said.
“What’s okay?”
“You probably already know the odds, so let me put your mind at ease. You’re thinking if I’ve got this, maybe you’ve got it, too. And if you’ve got it, will Samantha get it?”