No Small Bet by Samantha Christy
Chapter Five
Hawk
“Get up, boy!”
I pull a pillow over my head to muffle the dream.
Seconds later, sheets are ripped off my body, the stern, rough voice returning. “I. Said. Get. Up.”
Okay, so not a dream. My eyes open despite the pounding behind them. My grandfather is standing next to my bed. Arms crossed. Back straight. Looking decades younger than his eighty-five years. But the thing that strikes me the most about him is how goddamn pissed he looks.
“Hey, Pappy,” I say as if I don’t know he’s here to pound my skull into the ground.
At least I have the good sense to remember to call him by his preferred nickname. Most grandparents let their grandkids choose whatever name comes to them naturally. Not our grandfather. He decided for all of us. Forced the name on us. Corrected us every time we tried calling him something else. Dad said it stemmed from his hatred for his own grandfather. Still, I’m thirty goddamn years old, not three. I should be able to call him whatever the hell I want.
But we all learned early on that Tucker McQuaid wasn’t a man you argued with. That song—Bad Bad Leroy Brown—it was a well-known fact that it played on a reel in people’s heads when he was around. At least it used to be. Before he went soft after Grandmother died. Now people hear another version of the song: Bad Bad Leroy Brown, richest man in the whole damn town.
He doesn’t move a muscle when I roll to the other side of the bed and pull on my pants. He’s a warrior, ready for a fight. A wolf hunting his prey.
I cross the room and get a shirt off the chair. Then I head into the hallway. “Coffee?” I ask without turning around.
He follows me out without saying a word. I pull two cups from the cabinet, pour us each one, and get cream from the fridge, having been taught long ago exactly how much he likes in his. I amble over and set both mugs on my kitchen table. I sit. Anxiety crawls up my spine. He’s here to punish me and we both know it. Chew me out for being an irresponsible person. For tarnishing the McQuaid name. For giving this town something to gossip about, laugh over, and speculate.
He pulls something out of his pocket. A blood pressure cuff attached to a small automatic machine. He sets it in front of me. “I took it before I got here. If I have to, I’ll take it again before I leave. For every tick it gets above 130 you owe me a thousand dollars. Got it?”
What choice do I have? I nod.
“I asked you a question, boy.”
“Yes. I understand.”
He sits, leans back in the chair and waits a painfully long time to take a sip of the hot coffee. Each second seems like an hour. Each minute, an eternity.
The last time I saw him like this was when he and Hudson fought when Hud was eighteen. He’d been accepted to several colleges, knowing even then he wanted to be a doctor. My grandfather wanted him to go to an Ivy League school. Hudson wasn’t so keen on it. Tucker said no grandson of his was going to get his medical degree from Walmart. Hud pushed back to the point that he actually renounced his place in the McQuaid family and went on his own, refusing to take a penny from his trust. He worked odd jobs to earn money. Took out student loans. It was years before the two of them made peace.
The silence is its own form of torture. And the longer he waits to speak, the more I feel like a frightened boy waiting to get paddled. I know it’s coming—I just don’t know how much it’s going to hurt.
Finally, he takes a deep breath, blows it out, and speaks. “There is a baby girl lying in a bassinet three miles from here. She has no one. Only the nurses to comfort her.”
“I—”
“You’ll let me speak, boy. I believe I’ve earned the right.”
I hold my tongue, burning it with large gulps of coffee.
“For years I’ve let you boys get away with too many things. Things I thought I couldn’t speak out against considering my own sordid past. But there comes a time in every man’s life when he has to figure out how he’s going to be remembered. For me, it was your grandmother’s death. That was my wake-up call. And the guilt I carry around with me is a heavy burden I’ll have to bear until the day I die. Your father is older and set in his ways, like I was. He’ll have to find his own path outside of my guidance.
“You and your brothers are another story. You have so much life ahead of you. But you’re all stubborn. Not to mention arrogant and entitled. A recipe for a lonely miserable life. Take it from someone who lived one. It’s amazing how you can be surrounded by a harem of beautiful women, all wanting a piece of you, but still feel like an isolated man on a desert island.” He pauses to drink. “She’s beautiful. She has her great-grandmother’s nose.”
He shifts gears so fast I have to wrap my mind around what he said. “Wait, you saw her? How? I thought there are rules.”
“You’re naïve if you believe I don’t know everything. There isn’t a move you could make. A debt you could incur. A bond you could sell, without me finding out about it. If you don’t know that by now, you’re not as smart as I gave you credit for. Someone like me, with my history, my portfolio, my connections, is able to do anything. If I wanted a meeting with the Pope, I’d get one. Understand?”
“Say what you came to say, Pappy.”
“Don’t disrespect me, boy.”
I scrub a hand across my jaw. “Yes, sir.”
“You will step up and raise your daughter.”
I know I’m about to lose fifty grand or so, but I can’t help it. My chair almost falls over when I stand abruptly, moving away from him as if he could slay me with just his brooding stare. I lean against the counter, saying the only word I can say. “No.”
He chews the inside of his cheek. Contemplating. Plotting.
“You know I control your trust fund. It’s not yours until you turn forty. Until then, I have every right to change it, rescind it, or direct it to any other person. There are even explicit rules in the case of my death. You don’t deserve the money. It’s not yours. It’s a gift from me. It’s money I worked hard for over the years, taking my father’s car dealerships from the brink of bankruptcy into a billion-dollar business and making him the richest man this side of New York City. I earned my inheritance. What have you done to deserve yours?”
A sick feeling comes over me. I think I know where he’s going with this. But… fuck.
He waves his hand around. “You will raise your daughter, or all of this will be a thing of the past. No trust fund. No monthly allowances. Not even a job you barely show up for. Sure, you could find employment as a car salesman somewhere. But if you think that would even come close to supporting the lifestyle you’ve become accustomed to, just ask your youngest brother.”
I digest his words, barely believing he has this kind of control over me. “You’re going to cut me off if I don’t take the kid?”
He walks to the back doors, the large glass French doors that overlook my impressive backyard. Again, he takes an excruciatingly long time to put together his thoughts. The entire time, I’m plotting how I can get out of it. I know he’s right about the trust. My brothers and I took it to a lawyer six years ago. It’s fully revocable and ironclad. What he says is right. He can rescind it and walk away without giving me a dime.
I wonder if my brothers would support me. They’d have plenty of money. Then again, my grandfather would have thought of that. He’d probably forbid it and then they’d have to choose between me and their money.
“I don’t want to have to strong-arm you into anything. I like to think my bullying days are behind me, Hawk. But this is a life we’re talking about. I’ve talked to Heather about this.”
“You talked to Mom?”
“As you’re well aware, she’s offered to raise the child. She also told me that you forbade it. That, not only do you not want the baby, but you don’t want anyone you know to raise her. Well, that simply won’t do. Your mother will fight you on this. She’s told me as much. You’ll both hire lawyers. It’ll be drawn out for months, maybe longer, and the whole time that precious girl will be living in a stranger’s home while you battle it out. People will take sides. They’ll take her side, boy. You’ll be alienated from the town you grew up in. And rightly so. And when it’s all said and done, you’ll be a villain. Either way it works out, you will be. So I suggest cutting through all that bullshit because we all know it can’t end well.”
“You want me to give the kid to my mother? Live in the same town knowing I have spawn out there who will someday come after me and my money?”
“I don’t want you giving her to Heather. I told you; I want you to raise her.”
“Pappy, I can’t.”
“You can and you will. And I’m willing to wager your trust fund on it.”
My spine stiffens and my full attention is on his last words. “Meaning?”
“Meaning if you refuse to take the girl, I’ll redistribute your trust fund elsewhere, most likely to the child.”
My jaw drops. “You—”
“But,” he says forcefully and with full command. “If you take her, just for a year, I’ll not only release the funds to you at that time, I’ll double them.”
For a moment, a wheel spins in my head. A wheel with dollar signs on it. A lot of fucking dollar signs. I walk to the couch, sink down onto a cushion and cross my ankles on the coffee table. “And after the year?”
“I’m willing to bet that after the year, you’ll love that child so much you’ll thank God you wagered your trust fund for her.”
“You’re betting me that I’ll fall in love with the kid?” I laugh. “We’d better call Hunter and ask him what the odds are. I guarantee they aren’t in your favor, Pappy. And what happens after my time’s up and I win? I keep her a year and then what, give her away to an orphanage? You’d be okay with that?”
“No, I wouldn’t. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take. And I don’t make bets I can’t win.”
“Neither do I.”
“Do we have a deal then?”
“One year. That’s all. Then I get full control over the money—which you’ll double.”
“Yes. There will, of course, be conditions to our bet,” he says.
“Such as?”
His thumb and forefinger work his lips as he stares outside. “I’ll get back to you with my conditions by noon today.”
I check the time. It’s 9:30 a.m. Guess I won’t be going to work today either. “I’ll be on the edge of my seat.”
His biting stare tells me he doesn’t appreciate my sarcastic remark. But he ignores it, taking his coffee cup to the sink to rinse it; something he never would have done years ago. He’d have left it on the table for a servant to pick up and wash. That Rose Gianogi must have him whipped. I still can’t believe my grandfather has a girlfriend. One he’s living with. And who actually makes him happy. Apparently pigs do fly.
He leaves and I get myself more caffeine. And for the first time today, I smile. I smile because I can do this. Easily in fact. I’ll hire nannies. I won’t have to do a thing or lift a finger. I won’t even have to see the kid if I don’t want to. I’ll put her and the nanny upstairs in the east wing—far away from my bedroom, where I won’t hear the incessant baby noises and can’t smell the little creature’s bodily fluids. It’s totally doable.
The worst thing that could happen is people will call me daddy. Hell, they can call me Suzie Sunshine if it means doubling my trust fund. I glance around the great room of my seven-thousand-square-foot home knowing that a year from now I’ll be able to afford something three times this size.
~ ~ ~
On my way out of my home gym, I stroll down the upstairs hallway. Yes, this will be perfect. There are two spare bedrooms up here, along with a shared bath and a wet bar around the corner. There’s another spare room across the hall from my gym which could be for a second nanny. I might need two for around-the-clock care. Yes, it’s all coming together now. One of them could go downstairs and cook meals and take them up to the other. I’d never have to see them or the kid. There’s even a back stairway from the kitchen to the east wing.
Pulling out my phone, I do a quick search for the going rate for nannies. Having two will put somewhat of a strain on my monthly allowance, but it’ll all be worth it in the end.
I hear myself evil-laughing in my head because of how easy this will be. Tucker McQuaid thinks he can bribe me into falling for a kid, but he’d better think again.
I shower, put on jeans and my F*ck you, I’m hilarious T-shirt I usually reserve for special occasions that most often involve drinking with my brothers, and go to my office across the hall from my first-floor bedroom.
Sitting at my computer, I open a file I’ve been working on, but immediately close it, not feeling inspired today. I check my email. Nothing new there. Nobody I know uses email these days. Maybe Mom and a few of my older relatives.
There’s a reply from Kory, our office manager at McQuaid Chevrolet, where my office is located. It’s the closest dealership to my house. The next closest is the Nissan dealership on the outskirts of town. The other ten are further out, some of them hours away. My job, along with my father’s, is to manage all of them. But they pretty much manage themselves. Dad is the GM of McQuaid Motor Corporation. I’m the ‘associate’ GM, whatever the hell that means. What I think it means is that I can sit in my office (or not) and do whatever the hell I want. I’m not even sure why I work there anymore. Being the oldest son, it was expected of me. But the truth is, I despise it. I spent three years in sales, two in financing, even one in service, before they made me a manager. I should quit. Maybe I will next year. The $100,000 salary they pay me on top of my trust allowance won’t be needed then.
While my grandfather is still the owner, he’s removed himself from most of the day-to-day operations. Though he still has his goddamn finger on the pulse of everything. I don’t know how such an old man can keep track of twelve car dealerships, his fat portfolio of investments, and every fucking in and out of the lives of his only son, four grandkids, and everyone else in this town.
A new email appears in my inbox. Speak of the devil.
I open and read it, confirming that my grandfather is, in fact, the devil with what he’s demanding with his ‘conditions.’ I can feel my face turning a deeper shade of red with every line I read.
I’m only allowed one nanny.
I must take or accompany the child to every doctor visit.
I must change one diaper every day (I shake my head at the ridiculousness of this one even though I know goddamn well that somehow he would find out if I didn’t do it).
I must learn how to bottle feed the baby and do so at least three times per week.
I must go shopping once a month with the child for the purpose of buying it new clothes and other shit.
I must take the child on a walk, to the park, to a playground, or to a playgroup (as if) one time every week.
I must take at least one week-long out-of-town vacation with the child, on which the nanny is allowed.
It’s the last one that is the worst condition. In addition to the week-long vacation, I’d be required to take bi-monthly weekends away from Calloway Creek, half of them without the help of a nanny. Just me and the kid.
He must have communication with the nanny along with access to the house (like he doesn’t already) to make sure the conditions are being met.
The final paragraph states that no one is to know about the doubling of the money or the time frame of our agreement. He concedes that people will presume he threatened to disinherit me, but I’m to keep the rest to myself. No one else can know the fine print. Not even my brothers.
What. The. Fuck.
I throw my laptop across the room. I can’t do it. Not even for all the damn zeros in the world.
My phone rings. It’s him. I ignore it. I throw it as well, but it doesn’t even have the decency to break.
He’s got me by the balls. And we both know it.