Page 52 of The Night We Lost Him

“Can you try and calm down?” I say.

“This is just like him. I’m working with all these people and none of them wants to tell me anything. Dad was keeping all sorts of secrets and now Uncle Joe is what? Stealing fucking laptops?”

“We don’t know he has it.”

“No, but I do know my brother. And if he is reaching out to Paul, it’s because he’s up to something.”

The elevator door pops open and Sam starts moving through the lobby. I almost have to run to keep up.

“Did you talk to Tommy about Dad’s accident?” I ask. “Maybe he ended up here the same way we did.”

“No, I didn’t talk to him about any of that. He would just have told me I was crazy. Besides, Tommy only cares about what affects Tommy. I know you probably think the same about me.”

“That’s a lot to throw at me.”

“Bottom line is we need to talk to Tommy in person.”

“Didn’t you say he’s upstate?”

He nods. “North of Hudson. But it’s like a three-hour drive, tops.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“If I drive, I can get us there closer to two,” he says. “We should go first thing tomorrow.”

“I’m not anxious for you to be driving me anywhere, to be honest.”

Sam looks wild-eyed and exhausted. And, it seems to me, this mission is to the side of whatever we are trying to figure out. At least the part of it where he looks like he wants to tear Tommy’s eyes out.

“Look, this is really between you two. My only interest here is what happened to Dad that night.”

“Except that it’s all related.”

Is it? I start to do the math on what’s going on, what we have found out for sure. Our father was going to sell his company to someone else, after a lifetime of not even considering selling it. Then, for reasons unknown, he walked it all the way back and decided to leave the company to his sons. And, eight days after that, he made two phone calls to an old lover and then fell off a cliff that he knew like the back of his hand.

If this was all related, who would have a reason be on the cliff with him that night? Who would have a reason if it wasn’t?

“What’s that look?” Sam says.

“Thought,” I say. “I thought the same about you.”

He looks at me, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You said that Tommy is only ever out for helping Tommy, and that I probably think that about you,” I say. “I did think that. I was wrong.”

We step outside into the city streets and Sam gives me a quick nod. He tries to be casual about it, but I can see how much that matters to him.

Tomorrow is supposed to be the start of a new work week. I scheduled a conference call about a large commission in Sag Harbor. I have an on-site inspection and a long-planned lunch with an interior design firm I often collaborate with. I have work—days of work—piling up in a way I never allow to happen. And I have Jack. Most urgently Jack, who it has felt easier to have space from this weekend. As if easier is the goal, as if the goal isn’t to figure out how to get back to it. To how we normally exist. How intimate and deep Jack and I naturally go.

But Sam’s need is coming off him like a sound wave. Like an alarm. And I can’t ignore it.

“You need to be waiting outside of my house at nine thirty tomorrow morning, you hear me? Or I’m done with this.”

It deflates it, the pressure between his eyes, his energy shifting, a smile coming onto his face.

“I’ll have the engine running,” he says.

I start to turn onto Clark Street, toward the subway, when I hear Sam’s voice.