Chapter fifteen
Ben
Ollie slurps the remainder of his morning cereal directly from the bowl. A trail of white trickles down his chin. Liam screws up his nose in disgust. My spoon clinks off the rim of my mug for the dozenth time.
“Are you going to drink that?” Liam asks.
“Huh…” I mutter, physically in the room, but mentally elsewhere.
“Your tea. Are you planning on drinking it?”
I glance down at the half-cooled drink. After not sleeping most of the night, it was meant to perk me up this morning. I even added extra sugar. Twenty minutes after getting out of bed, I haven’t touched it.
Last night, I replayed my conversation, well, disagreement, with Antonia over and over in my mind. I sent that voicemail, but she never responded. That shouldn’t bother me. It does.
In the site office, I came across sharper than I intended. What I said needed to be said, I just didn’t need to say it like that.
“Are you nervous about today?” Liam asks.
I shrug. He continues to stare. My son can read me like a book—mostly. Ollie lives in his own world. Liam doesn’t.
“Is everything okay with the retreat? Is something wrong?” Liam sets his elbows on the table, his chin in his palms, watching me. No doubt for clues. I’m edgy, I know I am. He does too.
“There’s always a challenge with the retreat.”
“No,” he says quietly. “There’s something else…”
He doesn’t comment further. I don’t take the bait to tell him.
“It’s a big day,” Liam muses, changing tack. “A walk around with the board. They’ll want to see the progress.”
“They want to see what their money’s paying for.”
It’s Liam’s turn to nod. Ollie pours another load of cereal into his bowl. The metal of my ring bites my skin as I twist it. Liam doesn’t look away once, his eyes pushing for an answer I can’t give. I haven’t felt this off-balance in years.
And it’s her. I know it is.
Her pushing me out annoyed me. I want her to trust me.
Every time I see her, it takes me a minute to collect my thoughts. And it shouldn’t. We’re business partners. And I’m honoring my late wife with our plans. There should be no more to it than that.
I get up from the table without touching my tea. Both boys look up, expressions curious, but their lips remain sealed. I’m grateful when the questions stop.
“You’re right,” I say. “It’s a big day. I think I’ll head to Opengate early. Catch up with Antonia before the meeting.”
“You’re going to the office first?” Ollie asks, surprising me. He’s actually been listening.
“Board meeting, then the site visit.” The un-drunk tea splashes into the sink as I empty the mug, then place it in the dishwasher. “I’ll see you boys later. Don’t be late for school.”
I grab my car keys before I change my mind. If I’m going to fix this, I need to see her, face to face.
***
The Opengate offices sit back from the road, a semicircular driveway in front. A crowd with banners is scattered across the gardens, stomping in the perfectly manicured flowerbeds. The signs bounce high, chants echo as I roll down my window.
I knew Opengate had issues. But this?
On my last visit, there were maybe five or six disgruntled protestors camped outside, drinking coffee with a sign propped against their knees. This isn’t a protest. It’s fury.