“Dad, please.” Ben gripped the guardrail tightly. “It isn’t like that. In law school, we learn legal concepts. It’s an intellectual pursuit.”
Ben’s father chuckled softly, as much as the tube in his nose would allow. “Then you should be good at it.” He sighed. “In med school, we had to work.”
“I know, Dad. I’ve heard.”
“I don’t know why you couldn’t just go to med school and be respectable.”
“I don’t know, either, Dad. I guess I just didn’t want to spend my entire life sticking my fingers in people’s bodily orifices.”
The older man’s voice became stronger. “Make fun if you like, but you’ll never make the kind of money working for the district attorney you could make as a doctor.”
“No doubt.”
“So what else goes on at school, besides learning legal concepts?” His eyelids fluttered up and down. “Getting any?”
“What?”
“You heard me. I’m sure you’re familiar with the phrase. I’m asking you about girls.”
Ben cast his eyes skyward. “I’m not dating anyone at present.”
“That’s not exactly what I asked. I bet you get laid all the time. God knows your sister does.”
“Dad! Come on—”
“It wasn’t like that when I was in college. Students didn’t act like that. Well, I didn’t. Hell, people were probably banging each other right and left. I wouldn’t know.” He inhaled raspily. “Your mother was the only one for me.”
He seemed to rest for a moment, then suddenly his eyebrows knitted. “You didn’t do it with Jenny Jacobson, did you?”
“Who?”
“Jenny Jacobson. That skinny girl you dated in high school.”
“In high school? Of course not.”
He exhaled. “Well, thank God for that. She was a nice girl. Her father and I have been in the Rotary Club together for twenty-five years.”
Ben rested his chin on the guardrail. The two of them remained silent for several moments.
“So give me a report card, son,” he said. He reached under the sheets and scratched himself. “Tell me how I’ve done as a father. Tell me what I’ve done right and what I’ve done wrong.”
“Dad … I don’t know what you mean.”
“No, of course not.” A smile came over his face. “Whatever you lacked in drive, whatever your other undesirable qualities, you were always nice.” He paused. “Assuming niceness is a desirable quality.”
He looked up at his son. “It’s kind of hard to tell your father he’s been a son of a bitch when he’s about to die, huh?” And then he laughed, a loud, abrasive laugh that turned into harsh coughing and sputtering. Ben reached out to him, but he waved Ben away.
After a few moments, he regained control of himself. His eyelids seemed very heavy.
“Mother said you wanted to talk to me about something,” Ben said.
“Yes, I did. There’s a package waiting for you at home. Something I had Jim Gregory’s firm prepare. A portfolio.”
“A portfolio?”
“That’s right. Detailed information on all my various holdings and investments. I’ll be kind and just say that you’ve never expressed much interest in the family business. But you’re going to have to now.”
“You shouldn’t talk like that. You’ll be fine.”
“Don’t be a pansy, Ben. I’m dying. This is it. Like it or not, you’re going to have to take over the family finances. I’ve made a pile of money, and I want you to see that your mother and sister are taken care of.”
“Dad, wouldn’t it be better to hire someone to do this?”
“That’s so like you, Ben. Get someone else to do it.” He pushed himself up in the bed. “Look, it’s not like I’m asking you to actually make some money. All I’m asking you to do is take care of what I’ve made for you. You’re going to be the head of the Kincaid family, and I expect you to act accordingly.”
“So that was it?” Ben said. “You asked me to come here so we could talk about money?”
Ben’s father made a choking, snorting noise. “Yeah, what’s wrong with that? I guess you were expecting some profound philosophical deathbed advice.” He lowered himself back into his sleeping position. “Fine, I’ll give you some advice. Don’t get old. It isn’t worth it, it isn’t fun, and it isn’t fair. You spend your whole life going from one moment to the next. A happy moment here, a sad one there. Working hard, living clean, starting a family, hoping you can stack two or three, maybe even four of the happy moments together. Trying to freeze time. Trying to fix the moment. But it can’t be done.”
His pace slowed and his eyelids drooped lower over his eyes. “And then you’re old, and your life is like a book you read too quickly. All you can remember are a few scattered images and random thoughts. No sense of the whole.”
He exhaled deeply. “I think I’m going to sleep for a while now, Ben.”
“I’ll go.”
“No, stay. If you leave, your mother will insist on coming in, and she needs rest, too.”
“All right. I’ll stay.”
He smiled slightly, and his eyes closed. His hand raised and almost touched Ben on the cheek, then fell back to the bed. After a moment, he was asleep, and deep within the dream from which he would never awaken.
The clattering of the demitasse in the saucer made Ben look up. His mother was staring at him.
“How’s your arm?” she asked.
“Oh, fine. Several stitches. I’ll probably have a scar, but”—he shrugged his shoulders—“people rarely admire my upper arm.”
“What do you think you’ll do now?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Ben answered. He was being honest.
“Well, there’s no need to hurry your decision. It’s not unusual for a man to change occupations several times before he’s thirty. Even in Nichols Hills.”
“I like the law,” Ben said. “I like the potential it has for helping people, even if the potential sometimes goes awry.”
“Well, Benjamin, if you’re certain you know what you want to do, you should do it.” She hesitated a moment. “The only concern your father ever had was that you wouldn’t live up to your potential.”
“I’m afraid I can’t agree with that statement.”
“It’s true. You needed your father to push you to try harder.”
“You make him sound very altruistic.”
She sighed. “Are you going to be all right?”
“I think so,” he said slowly. “I don’t know. Something about this whole mess. I believe I’m starting to feel better.” He brushed his hands against his lap and stood up. “Well…”
“Stay in touch this time.”
“I’ll try, Mother.” He walked toward the front door, then stopped. “Mother?” he said.
“Yes?”
“It’s nothing against you. I mean … you know. I love you.”
She picked up a home-decorating magazine from the coffee table. “I know you do, dear.”
42
THE TALL, THIN WOMAN with the stringy blonde hair was not dressed like a nurse or any other identifiable authority figure, but she seemed to be the one in control. Ben told her that he was an attorney, careful to suggest, without actually stating, that he was Tidwell’s attorney. The woman bought it; she was probably used to seeing junior attorneys sent out to do dirty duty like this. The woman gestured toward a chair, and Ben sat down.
The chair faced a wall that, from about four feet above the floor on up, was made of a thick, clear acrylic. A metal speaker in the center allowed communication from one side to the other. Apparently, Tidwell was still considered dangerous. Ben rubbed his arm and decided that he was in no position to disagree.