Chapter 2 - She Called It Family Business
The nurse didn't let go. That was the first thing I registered after her question hung there. Her thumbs stayed pressed light on either side of my wrist, the lifted edge of the watch strap still tented up, the cool air of the dining room hitting skin that hadn't felt air all night.
I should have pulled back. I didn't.
Across the table my sister made a small sound in her throat, like she was resetting herself. I knew that sound. She used it at charity board meetings before she shut someone down. She set her wine glass back on the dark wood without drinking from it and looked straight past me to the nurse.
"We don't do this here," she said. Her voice had dropped the sharp edge from before and gone flat and final. "This is dinner. Not a shift."
The candles along the center of the table didn't move, but the light moved on the plates. My left forearm was still extended over the gold rim of my plate, my fork pushed aside. I could feel the heat from the nurse's hands and the pull of the leather where the strap was half-unbuckled. My heart was working too hard under my open shirt. I tried to keep my face still.
The nurse didn't look at my sister. She looked at me. "I'm not trying to cause a scene," she said quietly. "I just need thirty more seconds."
"You don't need anything from him," my sister said. She leaned forward a little, her double strand of pearls catching the light. "He's my brother. If there's a concern, it goes through family."
That landed wrong. I'd heard her claim me like that my whole adult life, at hospitals, at lawyers' offices, after my divorce. It always sounded like ownership. I turned my head just enough to see her. Her eyes were wide, but not confused. Watchful. Calculating how much the rest of the table had heard.
Behind us, chairs didn't scrape, no one spoke, but the air changed. I felt it before I saw it. One of the two men in dark suits who'd been standing out of focus against the curtains took two slow steps forward. Then the other one did. Their shoes were quiet on the rug. They didn't reach for anything. They just got closer, close enough that their shadows fell across the end of the table.
My jaw tightened. I hated that they moved without being told.
"Back up," I said, low. I wasn't sure which of them I meant.
The first one stopped. He folded his hands in front of him. The message was clear anyway. Don't make this bigger.
The nurse felt it too. Her grip loosened a fraction, but she didn't remove her hands. She eased the strap back down, not buckled, just laid flat against my wrist to cover it again. A pause, not an end. Her eyes flicked to my face to check if I understood. I gave her the smallest nod. Not yet.
"What's your name?" my sister asked her. It wasn't friendly. It was the way she asked for a manager's name when she planned to call later.
The nurse hesitated. "Alana."
"Alana." My sister repeated it like she was filing it. "You were hired for tonight to be available in case Dad's blood pressure spiked. That's it. You are not his doctor."
"I know what I'm here for," Alana said.
"Then act like it." My sister picked up her fork, pointedly. She looked down the long table, left and right, and raised her voice just enough to carry. "We're going to eat. Everything's fine. Let's not let the food get cold."
Silverware started moving again, too fast, too loud. Someone laughed, nervous. Someone poured water. The curtains behind the security men stayed closed, trapping the warm air and the smell of roast and candle wax. Under the table my right hand curled into a fist on my thigh.
I looked at Alana. Her stethoscope had slipped forward against her scrubs. She was breathing steady, but her jaw was set. She wasn't done. She was just waiting.
May you like
My sister lifted her glass toward me, an order disguised as a toast. "Eat, Tommy."
I didn't pick up my fork. I kept my left arm where it was, the loose watch heavy on the bone, her eyes on me and Alana's hands still hovering just off my skin. The dinner was supposed to move on. It didn't.
