The Five Times I Met Myself (36 page)

“I’ll have control of both companies.”

“You say you want to win the competition? Finally put your little brother in the position he should be? This will do it like a guillotine falling on his neck.”

“And you’ll get?”

“When the two companies go public six months later, I will be an extremely wealthy man.”

The sound of two hands slamming down on the conference table made Brock spin. He didn’t have to guess who the sound came from. Mitchell stood with enough force to knock over his chair. He took two strides toward Brock’s laptop and brought his hand down on the computer. The entire table shook. Brock’s and Mitchell’s voices were silenced.

Mitchell whirled and jabbed a finger toward Brock. “I’m going to take you down so far you’ll be looking up at Hades.”

“Sounds good.” Brock glanced at the smashed keyboard of his laptop. “Give me a call.”

“Mitchell.” Teresa stood and took two precise steps toward him. Her voice was just about a whisper. “Look at me.”

Her tone told Brock everything he needed to know about her. Mitchell was not their leader. This woman was. She held her upturned palm toward Brock, then drilled Mitchell with her gaze.

“Is there any defense you’d like to give to counteract what I just heard?” Her voice remained almost too soft to hear. Brock couldn’t tell if she was enraged or deeply pleased.

“Yes, it’s true.” Mitchell returned her look with eyes full of scorn. “But this move would put serious coin in your coffers.”

“Well done.” She nodded three times, then strolled around the table with a smile on her face. She held out her hand to Mitchell, who took it. She shook it once, then let go and smiled again. “Yes, very well done.”

“So . . .” Mitchell cocked his head. “You’re okay with not knowing about this? We’re good?”

She turned to Brock and Ron. “I pride myself on being an excellent judge of character. I rarely miss. But obviously this time I did.”

She turned back to Mitchell. “You fooled me.” She stepped back to the table, gathered her papers, and walked over to Ron.

“My deepest apologies. I should have seen this coming.” She extended her hand to Ron, glanced at Brock, then fixed her gaze back on Ron. “I’ll be in touch.”

She sauntered out of the room, followed by her four companions and finally Mitchell. Before leaving, Mitchell stopped and zeroed his gaze on Brock.

“Why’d you cave? This is what you say you’ve wanted your entire life.”

Brock didn’t answer.

“At least tell me, was it worth it? You’ve just destroyed your reputation, probably both companies’, and your relationship with your brother. So was it worth it?”

“Yes. It was worth it.”

The moment the conference room door clicked shut behind Mitchell, Brock turned toward his brother. “Forgive me.”

Ron closed his eyes and bit hard on his lower lip. He started to say something to Brock, but then turned and strode out of the conference room.

“It was the best of meetings; it was the worst of meetings.”

It was the only way to describe to Karissa what had happened in the conference room at Black Fedora. He’d set himself free and saved the company but at the price of his friendship with Ron. And he wouldn’t believe God brought him this far just to destroy his relationship with his brother. So he would trust and take one moment at a time.

Karissa and he sat on their veranda talking as they watched the lights of Bellevue and Seattle come alive against the encroaching night sky. He told her every detail about the past weeks and ended with the confrontation in the conference room. After answering her numerous questions, they sat in silence for a long time till Karissa took his hand and squeezed three times.

“Do you find it amazing that I believe you?”

“I’m just glad you do.”

“Things with Ron will be okay.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” She squeezed his hand again. “Any regrets?”

“If I start counting them I don’t know if I’d be able to stop.”

“How can you say that?” Karissa put her other hand on Brock’s.

“You mean because everything supposedly turned out better than I could ever dream of it becoming?”

“What do you mean supposedly?”

“It’s bittersweet, that’s all.”

“Why?”

Brock sighed. “It sounds so ungrateful to say this, after the change God made in me and the life I now see in front of us, but there’s so much of my life—this time line—that I don’t remember.” He sat up and turned toward her. “I don’t remember any reconciliation with my dad. All I know is what a photo tells me. Apparently Ron and I became friends somewhere along the way, but I don’t remember any of it. The times cooking with Tyson? Just hearsay. My life with you? I didn’t get to watch you step into your dreams of being a teacher and make it real. And so many other things.” Brock slumped back in his chair.

“Anything else?”

“Tough to discover there are places inside me dark enough to do what I did to Ron.”

“Yes, it would be.” Karissa ran her fingers along the back of his hand. “But even with that, would you trade this life?”

“No, of course not. I’m just venting. Like I said, being ungrateful. I’m simply realizing I didn’t live this life.”

“That’s not true.” Karissa turned and took his face in both her hands. “You did live it. Just as you lived out the dark parts inside, you lived out the good ones as well. And you’ll discover more and more of it as you taste the fruit of having been a tremendous dad and an extraordinary husband. Plus, you were always quite attentive with the camera and video camera. I’m guessing you’ll find a great many files to explore that will fill in the gaps in your memory.”

Brock pulled her close and kissed her. “You’re my wind.”

“And you’re mine.” She rose and stepped toward the doors leading to their bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to give you some time alone.”

“How did you know I need that?”

“I think I might know you just a little.”

An hour later Karissa returned.

“Enough time?”

“Perfect.”

After a swath of silence, Karissa asked the question Brock had been praying about off and on from the moment he left Black Fedora.

“What are you going to do about Ron?”

“I’m going to talk to him. Tell him about my bizarre existence during the past weeks. I have to believe he’ll believe. But I’ll give him a few days to cool down.”

Karissa gave a sly smile, then turned away.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

Before Brock could ask a second time, his cell phone rang. It was Ron.

“Tomorrow morning we’re going to my cabin.”

“We are?” Brock stared at Karissa.

“Yes. I already talked to Karissa about it. She’s good, so you’re good. I’ll pick you up at nine.”

Ron hung up without waiting for a response.

Karissa looked up from under her eyelashes. “Who was that?”

“As if you didn’t know.”

Her smile grew.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“No, I don’t.”

“When did he talk to you? Is that the real reason you left me out here by myself for an hour?”

Karissa kissed him on the forehead. “Have a good time with your brother, okay?”

J
UNE
17, 2015

At ten the next morning, Ron and Brock pulled into Anacortes; at ten twenty they drove onto the ferry that would take them to Ron’s cabin on Orcas Island. By the time the ferry reached the San Juan Islands, the sun had torched the morning fog, and light reflected off the water like jewels. Lopez Island slid by on Brock’s left and he stared at Spencer Spit, the spot where years ago he’d gone on a perfect scouting trip with his dad before the dark years came. Twenty minutes later they landed on Orcas and began the drive toward Garden Lane.

The road was full of switchbacks, but it wasn’t till Brock’s ears popped that he realized how high they’d climbed.

“Are we going to continue to pretend what happened in the conference room didn’t happen?”

“No.” Ron glanced at Brock. “As soon as we get there and settle in, we’ll talk.”

After five minutes and three more switchbacks, Brock broke the awkward silence.

“Your place is up a ways.”

“On top of the world.” Ron gave Brock a puzzled look. “But you’ve only been here a dozen times, so I suppose it’s easy to forget that.”

“I’m getting old.” Brock tapped his head.

He’d never been to his brother’s cabin in his life before the dreams started, but soon he’d tell Ron his entire story, and pray he believed it.

As they turned a corner thirty-five minutes after leaving the ferry, Ron’s cabin came into view. Not huge, but he guessed at least two thousand square feet. The home was painted Eddie Bauer green, with huge picture windows framed with dark wood on either side of the maple front door.

“Welcome back to my escape.”

Ron slid his key into the lock and pushed the front door open. He motioned for Brock to step inside first. High ceilings—ten feet he guessed—gave the home a majestic feel, and the rich brown color of the walls made Brock feel like he was stepping into a luxury hunting lodge.

Ron’s voice came from behind him. “You can take your usual room at the top of the stairs. Why don’t you get settled—I have some things I need to take care of first—then come join me in the den.”

“Good. I want to take a shower before we get down to business.”

“This weekend isn’t about business, bro. I’m believing it will be all pleasure.”

Brock nodded and tromped up the stairs. All pleasure? Convincing Ron he hadn’t really tried to bury him with the buyout wouldn’t be a pleasure. He didn’t need a shower, but it was the best excuse he could think of to steal a few moments of prayer before they talked.

He reached the room, walked in, and set his overnight bag down next to the bed. The room was simple but elegant. A polished desk made of redwood, a picture of Cannon Beach on the
wall over the bed, and a door that led into a bathroom on the right. Two nightstands on either side of the bed and a small clothes bureau were the only other items of furniture in the room.

Brock went to the window that overlooked the bay. Spectacular. Then he prayed for a few minutes about the time he was about to spend with Ron. God would be in it, no question, but that didn’t quell the butterflies making like ninja warriors in his stomach.

He clomped to the bottom of the stairs and ambled down the hallway till he found Ron’s den through the last door on the right. The walls were paneled with mahogany, and a set of bookshelves ran the length of the wall to his left. On the right side of the room sat a large desk, and the angle of the sun sent columns of light across it. The far opposite end of the room was dominated by two overstuffed chairs, which looked out on the bay through a massive picture window. Ron already sat in the chair on the left with a drink in his hand. As soon as Brock sat, Ron handed him another, then raised his glass. Brock didn’t join him.

“I don’t get it. Where is the scene in this play where you come after me for what I almost did to you? Where you denounce me as your brother?”

“It’s okay.” Ron set his drink down and zeroed his gaze on Brock. “It’s all forgiven.”