As the elevator stopped on Mark's floor, Becky greeted me, saying that Mark was out of his meeting and that she would let him know I was back. I waited for a few seconds until he opened his office door and invited me in.
"Sorry," he said, "but we're still meeting about Allen Harding's threats. Our attorneys want us to pay him off, but Dad says that implies we did something wrong."
I felt like I should say something about it, but that was company business and my business seemed more urgent and important. "I think someone tried to follow me."
"Where?" Mark asked, setting down a file folder on his desk.
"On the street."
He smiled. "Could they just be walking in the same direction?"
"Never mind." I plopped down on the sofa.
"If you really think someone is following you, I can send security out to check."
"No, don't bother," I was pissed that he would find it something to smile about. "So let's hear about your problem with this Harding guy."
"Sorry," he replied, "I didn't mean to make you mad."
I got up, wrapped my arms around his waist, and kissed him. "That's okay."
Pulling away, Mark took a seat behind his desk. "We need to talk about last night…"
"And this morning." I added.
"Yes," he smiled. "Derek, I'm married, and not in a position to have a relationship."
I waited to see where he wanted to take this. I wasn't sure what I had expected to develop between us, but I wanted something more than what we had.
"Like I've said before," he continued, "I need to keep parts of my life separate'-"
"Me separate from your respectable life." I finished for him.
"No, it's just, a wife is what's expected of me, and I want to be up front with you, not lead you on." He arranged some papers on his desk, not looking at me.
"How important is keeping your secret?" I asked, wondering ii the scratchy-voiced man and attacks had less to do with Mr. Sams and more to do with Mark's sexual cravings. The creeping possibility that he could be involved wrapped around my heart and pulled it into my throat.
Mark froze, papers in hand. "You wouldn't," his voice grew stern, "you wouldn't try to blackmail me."
My heart dropped. "Mark, I love you. No, I would never hurt you." Could he say the same to me?
He stood and placed both hands on my shoulders, holding me firm, staring into my eyes. "I love you too. I wish the world was different, where we didn't have to hide."
"It is different," I said. "The world you have to hide from is only in your mind."
"No, reality is I would lose everything." He pulled me into an embrace and whispered in my ear, "I want it all."
The warmth of his arms, and the safety I felt there, melted away doubts about his involvement in trying to scare me away. "Your secret is safe with me."
We settled on the couch and made plans for after work; he had dinner arrangements with Vernon to discuss the upcoming board meeting, but after that we would have a repeat of the previous night. The backyard conversation of Ruby, Edwina, and Roscoe came to mind. "What do you think of Tim?" I asked.
"Your brother?" He leaned back and sighed.
"Yeah, is he moving up in the company?"
Shaking his head from side to side, he said, "Tim is here as a favor to Aunt Gladys. He's a good guy, but his potential is limited."
"Not ambitious enough?"
"Well, yes, but also, he doesn't have a knack for strategic thinking." He chuckled a short staccato laugh. "In fact, Tim seems to take for granted that we owe him something for being part of the family. He just doesn't want to work for it."
I felt a need to defend my brother. "Mark, you are a senior vice-president at thirty; could you have achieved that in a company not run by your father?"
Offended, he shot back, "Derek, you don't know all I do here-"
"Mark, you don't know the real world. I've ridden out the ups and downs of Silicon Valley -"
"That's not real world."
"What the hell is it, then?" I jumped up from the sofa.
"Hold on," he grabbed my hand, "I admit I've moved up fast, but I don't think I would have if I didn't prove I could do the job. Dad isn't going to let the company flounder just to have his sons in high positions." He let go of my hand, and leaned back on the couch again. "Anyway, is Tim complaining about us?"
"No, I just wonder, if Vernon wins his Senate race, will there be room for other family members to help run the company?"
"Hell, no." Vernon burst through the door.
Jumping to his feet, face flushing from almost being caught too close to a known fag, Mark said, "Dad, Derek was just asking about Tim."
Vernon paced to the window, then turned to me. "I thought you were leaving town."
"Guess you thought wrong," I said, walking toward him, but stopping within five feet. "I wanted to wish you well on your campaign."
"The best wish for my campaign is to have you back in California." He walked to a chair in front of Mark's desk and sat down, leaving his back to me.
I glanced at Mark, who rolled his eyes, then sat down behind his desk, ready for business. "One thing before I leave," I said. " Vernon, do you remember Mr. Sams?" I wished I had asked the question when I could see his face, but Mark's horrified expression reflected his father's well enough.
After a moment of thick silence, Vernon spoke without facing me. "Never heard of him."
Mark looked down at some papers.
Dropping into the chair next to Vernon, I propped my feet on the desk. "Well, that's odd, since Grandma remembers him, and Ruby and Walterene remember him."
A slow smile spread across Vernon 's assumed political mask. "Oh, you mean old Mr. Sams. Yes, he worked for Papa Ernest."
Papa, exactly, I thought. "He was lynched, do you recall that?"
The smile faded and his face took a hard turn. "That old man was killed by the Klan."
"Yeah, that's what the newspaper said. Odd, though there hadn't been any Klan activity around Charlotte in years. Why did they choose Mr. Sams?"
Vernon 's patience evaporated. "What are you implying? If you think you can associate any member of this family with the Klan, you are stepping into slander."
"Derek," Mark spoke up, "there is no way anyone from our family could have been involved in that murder. You know that."
"Do I? From what I've found out, Mr. Sams was lynched the night Papa Ernest fired him. How did the Klan find out so soon? Who pointed him out? Who tied the rope? Who tightened it around his throat? Was it you, Vernon?"
"Shut up!" he yelled.
"Was it Papa Ernest showing you how to do business?"
"Enough." Vernon stood, knocking over his chair.
Mark tried to grab his father's balled fists from across the desk.
I braced myself for the first hit, ready to knock the old bastard, on his ass as soon as he gave me reason.
Mark righted the chair and directed Vernon back to his seat. Vernon calmed himself. "Don't imply that Papa Ernest or I were ever part of that group." His voice quivered. "Mr. Sams was one of the few men I respected growing up. He worked hard and never complained. I disagreed when Papa Ernest fired him, but I didn't have much say in it. We had no association with the Klan."
I believed that, but had they killed him and let the Klan take the blame? "Do you know who killed him?"
Turning to me again with anger clouding his eyes, Vernon said, "No. The police said it was a Klan lynching. If I knew who they were, I'd drag each one of their old carcasses out and throw them to the wolves. You don't know this family, so don't ever accuse us of something so horrible." He straightened his necktie. "Your queer friends are just trying to dig up dirt to stop me from being elected, but let me tell you one thing, mister: I won't dick around with my good name, or that of this family. Anyone bringing up some lie about us will find their ass in court."