Page 5 of Every Broken Piece

Chapter five

Gabe

S ince I’ll be up in your inbox regularly?

Did she...?

Is that...?

Was that a sexual innuendo?

What the ever-loving hell ?

Up in your inbox?

I stare at the words. Uncomprehending. I’ve had some doozies of assistants before. One doesn’t traverse the wide range of personalities while going through the vast amounts of assistants like I have not to meet some weirdos. But no one has ever said up in your inbox before.

If I wasn’t so shocked, I’d almost admire her spunk.

Except it’s not spunk that I require in my assistants.

It’s professionalism and if she’s not professional with me then I can’t trust she’ll be professional with my clients.

Not that I plan to have her communicating with my clients often, if at all.

But she is representing me when she’s calling to make reservations and whatever else I decide she’ll be doing.

Right now, she’ll not be doing anything else except being “up in my inbox” where she’ll sort the flotsam from the jetsam.

And she’s damn annoying with this video conference ridiculousness. Not happening, Ms. James.

But it’s the last paragraph that has me sitting back and grudgingly admiring her.

I’ve had assistants make hundreds of dining reservations and not once have I thought to ask my guests if there was a food allergy.

I’ve been to Tony’s Off Broadway many times, so I know it leans heavily toward seafood.

It’s never occurred to me that could be an issue.

If I had a regular assistant who sat outside my office, I’d have said assistant call my client and inquire about food allergies. Instead, I have an AI assistant who I don’t quite trust to speak professionally to any client, let alone this particular one.

Yes, I know she’s not an artificially intelligent, made up, person. No AI program would allow exclamation points in business emails. The exclamation points have got to go.

I call my client myself and ask about food allergies because neither Jack, nor HR has hired me a west coast assistant yet. Slackers.

Up in your inbox . I shake my head and pretend that I’m not smiling because, honestly, it is kind of funny.

Pax and Jack stroll into my office just as I’m finishing an email to Ms. James. Like always, something inside me relaxes when these two are nearby.

I shut my laptop, happy to be done for the time being. Tonight, I’ll log back on and continue my day well into the early hours of the morning. But for now, family.

“Hey, Dad.” Pax drops into the chair across from my desk and scoots down, knees splayed wide.

Somedays I wonder where my little boy with the chipped front tooth and freckles across his nose went to.

Where did this man come from? He still looks like Cara, especially in the summer when the hated freckles make an appearance, but now he has my muscular build and height.

Jack grips both sides of the doorframe and leans in. “You ready?”

“I’m starving,” Pax says as he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling.

“You’re always starving.” I shove my laptop in my laptop bag, grab a few files, and stand.

Thursday evenings are for the three of us. We’ve been eating at the same hole in the wall pizza place for eighteen years and it’s rare that one of us cancels. Neither do we bring outsiders into this ritual. It’s a time to catch up, to unwind, and to just be with family.

Eighteen years ago, a bond was forged from tragedy when I suddenly found myself a single dad to a two-year-old little boy, trying to build my business, and having no idea how to move forward through the crippling grief of losing my wife and the mother of my child.

Without even asking, Jack moved in with us and together we learned how to keep a toddler alive.

It was Pax who taught me to live again, but it was Jack who held me together through the worst of it.

So, yeah, while my brother drives me crazy on a daily basis, I owe him everything.

The three of us walk the four blocks to Slice of Heaven, our favorite pizza place where the server knows our order and our corner table is always available on Thursday nights.

“How’re classes?” I ask Pax after our drinks are delivered.

A beer each for Jack and me and a soda for Pax.

I know he drinks on campus. I’m not dumb.

I’ve been to college myself and I know what happens there.

Pax and I have had candid talks about being a responsible drinker.

He’s not allowed to drink while we’re out together and he’s to call either me or Jack if he needs a ride home if he's been drinking.

When he was looking at colleges, the University of Southern California was high on his list of possibilities and while I never said anything, I hated the idea of him being so far away.

I’m aware that someday he may move out of state, but I’m not ready.

Not yet. Probably not ever. So, I was relieved when he chose Colorado State.

It's allowed us to continue our Thursday night dinners.

“Good,” he answers my question about classes. This is his typical response, so I’m not aggravated. Eventually he’ll tell me the important things. Gone are the days he word vomited everything.

Jack nudges Pax with his shoulder. “How’s Chelsea?” He waggles his eyebrows, causing Pax to roll his eyes.

“It’s Courtney and we broke up.”

Jack’s mouth falls open. “But I thought you were all hot and heavy?”

“Jack,” I say in warning mainly because I don’t want to hear about my son being hot and heavy with anyone.

“Eh.” Pax makes a face. “She wasn’t the one.”

“Ah,” Jack says with a knowing nod. “You met someone else.”

Pax looks down but I don’t miss the pink coloring his cheeks.

“I hope you were kind to her when you broke it off,” I say.

“Of course,” Pax says.

“So tell me about her. Tell me everything,” Jack says, settling back to hear about Pax’s newest girl.

My mind wanders as the two talk. I’m not too invested because my son goes through girls like baseball players go through ball cream. As I stare out the plate glass windows at a Denver summer evening my mind travels down a path I rarely allow it to traverse.

Pax’s mother and I met at the University of Michigan during our sophomore year. She was a liberal arts major. I was a business major. We were complete opposites.

And yet, it was instant love for me. I knew the moment I saw her that someday I was going to marry her. I pursued her relentlessly until she laughingly gave in and agreed to be my wife. We were married the summer before our senior year, and I couldn’t have been happier.

She was my flower child wife. My little hippy with her flowing dresses and long, untamed hair. I could always find her by following the chimes of the dozens of bracelets lining her wrists. More often than not she was barefoot, toes painted whatever color fit her mood.

She was a dreamer, lost in her head more than she was tethered to this Earth. I could practically see her mind drift off in the middle of a conversation, a slight smile on her face. I never minded because she was so beautiful. She was my peace. My landing spot.

And yet, I never really felt she was mine.

She married me. She said she loved me. But there was a part of her she kept from me, and no matter how hard I tried to break into the deepest parts of her, I never could.

It wasn’t that she lived a secret life. It was more like there was a darker part of her. A place she would go where her demons lived.

Cara was an artist, creating magical, beautiful metal creations that could easily have sold in a New York gallery.

So many times I offered to create a website for her so she could sell her creations to high end buyers, but she always declined.

She preferred to set up tents at street fairs or outdoor music venues where she could connect with her buyers.

I thought she undervalued her art and her talent.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized she didn’t care about making a name for herself. She just wanted to create. Taking her to the next level was my dream for her but it wasn’t her dream. Eventually it would have killed her creativity.

I only had five short years with her. She died right after our fourth wedding anniversary. Killed crossing a train track in front of an approaching train.

A tragic accident, people said.

But part of me, a part I very rarely allow a voice, wonders if it wasn’t an accident. Part of me wonders if Cara was simply finished with this life, and the demons she hid from me finally won.

Our pizzas are placed in front of us forcing my mind back to Pax and Jack. I sometimes find myself searching my son for the same demons that haunted his mother, but I’ve yet to find them. That doesn’t mean I let my guard down. I stay vigilant.

The two have moved on from Pax’s new girlfriend to computer hacking. They know I hate this topic so they’re both shooting me covert glances, like four-year-olds who think they’re getting away with something even though their body language screams that they’re being naughty.

Jack, to my great regret, is a computer hacker in his life outside Strong Sterling, and he’s taught my boy some of his skills.

Of course, Pax took to it like a duck to water and he’s majoring in computer engineering.

He says he wants to run the cyber security side of Strong Sterling.

I’m not opposed to it because I built this company for the children I thought Cara and I would have together.

I just wish Jack had eased off the hacking lessons.

“Did you schedule your video call with Ms. James?” Jack asks.

I scowl, refusing to answer.

“Who’s Ms. James?” Pax asks.

My scowl deepens, followed by a warning look at my brother that he ignores.

“Your dad’s new virtual assistant.”

Pax’s eyes widen. “You have a virtual assistant? Cool. What happened to Amy?’

Amy? Who the hell is Amy?

“She was like three assistants ago,” Jack says.

Ah. Yes. Amy. Short, mousy girl who jumped every time I approached her. She lasted two weeks.

“Three?” Pax’s eyes bug out. “Damn, Dad. What do you do to them to make them leave so fast?”

“Nothing.” I reach for my wallet to pay the bill because these two idiots are settling in to roast me about my assistants.

“He’s too demanding,” Jack says, stretching his long legs out and stepping on my shoes.

I jerk my feet back and glower at him. “I’ve decided he needs two assistants.

One on the east coast, hence Ms. James. We’re still trying to hire an in-person assistant for the west coast, but I fear your dad’s reputation precedes him and no one wants it. ”

“Shut it,” I say, handing the server my card.

“A virtual assistant. Is that like AI?” Pax asks, causing me to smirk. See? I’m not the only one who thinks that.

“She’s very much real and she works virtually. I think she’s in Ohio,” Jack says. “Anyway, she wants to schedule a video call, but your dad won’t do it.”

“Why?” Pax looks to me like he’s honestly curious why I don’t want to video chat my AI VA.

“Because I’m busy and there’s no need.”

“Seems to me if you want her to help you, you’d make the time to train her. Maybe this is why you can’t get anyone to stay.”

I stand because I’ve had about enough of Ms. James and her video call and her being all up in my inbox .

“Set it up,” Jack says as we’re walking out of the restaurant.

“You set it up,” I say, knowing full well I’m acting like a twelve-year-old.