Chapter 8
T he time with their mother silenced them both.
Brody was grateful for the quiet hour. The visit had been both strange and amazingly good.
His sense of carrying impossible burdens had been eased.
Brody had no idea if this was a permanent change, but at some deep level he had the impression that a corner had been turned.
Brody felt as if his past was no longer something he strived to ignore.
He had spent years slamming the door on anything other than the task at hand.
He excused the act by claiming it was a necessary part of the racing life.
Single-minded focus was a key element to winning.
The same was true in Brody’s professional world.
Split-second, near-instantaneous calculations and decisions were essential.
He and the traders who acted on his information constantly raced against the clock.
All the work, the striving, the years of competition in two different worlds, had brought him to the point where conversation with his mother and sister could leave him shattered.
So many of the unspoken elements that framed his life were being transformed into—what.
Brodie had no idea. Who he was, the way ahead, remained blanketed in mist. And yet his mother’s parting words, the way Olivia sat bonded with him in silence, suggested he was taking the right course.
For the moment, that one near certainty was enough.
Three blocks west of the hospital, Brody turned inland and drove into Olivia’s lovely neighborhood.
He stopped before an attractive two-story brick home and cut the motor.
He started to apologize, say again how sorry he was not to have revealed himself before this quiet December afternoon.
But something held him back. As if words alone weren’t enough now and never would be.
The question was, what else could he do to make it right?
Olivia stared at her front door and said, “Whatever it is you’re facing—”
“I want to tell you. And I will. It’s just—” He stopped when she turned and gave him a mother’s look. Stern and unyielding. “What?”
“Let me finish.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“You see this as some kind of terrible crisis. You’re being hit from all sides and you don’t know what to do. I get that.”
Brody watched one of the girls come out the front door, wave to the car, and do a sort of bunny hop in the direction of a rope swing. He had no idea what to say.
“What if you’re wrong? What if this is your chance to become who you’ve always wanted to be?”
“I’ve been wondering that exact same thing.” He watched the girl start taking giant lunges, using one foot to propel herself. “The problem is, I have no idea who that is.”
“Whole, Brody. A whole man. Not living from one event to the next. Not any longer.” Olivia reached over and took an affectionate hold on his neck. “Finish what you’ve started.”
“I’ll try.” His voice sounded strangled to his own ears.
She released him and opened her door. “I’m calling Cameron. I’m going to ask her to take you as a bona fide patient.” She climbed out. “She will help. And so will I.”
Brody watched the liquid-crystal fragments of a little girl bounding toward them. He wished he had the strength and wisdom to say the right thing.
Olivia started to close the door, then leaned in and said, too quietly for her daughter to hear, “Something you should know. Emma’s dying.
Everybody sees this except Rae, so don’t you be the one to tell her.
I know how much that lady has meant to you, so if you want to see Emma again, it needs to be now. ”