Chapter Six
Chance
I sat in my living room, my phone gripped tightly in my hands as I rubbed the back of my neck. The world around me seemed to collapse around me. My mind was twisted into shambles. As the news sank in I replayed the conversation in my head. I tried to remember the tone of his voice. I tried to think how he might have looked as the words came from his mouth. My stomach ached as I thought about his words. Chance, I’m dying. All I could say was Oh. Nothing else came out. I listened as he explained how the disease had taken over his body, starting with his kidneys. He had sounded so defeated, so unlike the overly confident man I had always known. I squeezed my phone tighter, wanting to throw it against the wall, but held back.
Instead, I stood and walked over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of bourbon and grabbed a glass. I staggered over to my chair, sat down and looked out at the city. It didn’t feel real. Howard Vaughn, dying. He had always seemed invincible to me. I knew we hadn’t really ever gotten along, but I had always, and would always, admire him. His intelligence, his drive, how he always accomplished his every goal, no matter what.
“Fuck!” I cursed as I took a swig of bourbon. The burn of the oaky liquid rested within my chest. I blamed him for never trying to connect with me. I blamed myself for never saying the right thing around him. I hated all of this. My phone vibrated in my hand and I looked down seeing Becca’s name lit up across the screen. I tapped the voicemail button and took another swig of my drink.
I wanted to answer and tell her everything. I wanted to tell her that my father was dying, that I didn’t know what to do, that I didn’t know what to say to him. A man I had always wanted to love me, to be proud of me, was dying and I never proved myself to him. It all seemed so important now, like something I needed to get done before it was too late.
I knew I couldn’t talk to her, even though I needed a friend and someone to confide in. I thought about Becca and my father. Even though he knew he dying, he wanted me to patch things up with Sara. He told me not to be like him. He was convinced I was headed down the wrong path. I couldn’t figure out why he thought Sara was the solution. But it was clear that it was important to him that I fix things between Sara and me, and in my confused mind I thought that maybe I should.
Maybe the one thing I knew he wanted from me I should do without resentment and without a fight. If being with Sara would make my father happy, I figured I could give up my own happiness. There wasn’t much of a point to try and make my father see how truly horrible Sara was, or how much Becca made me happy. My whole life I had wanted his approval. But I never really did what he wanted.
I glanced down at the voicemail icon flashing on the screen. One missed call from Becca. I felt my chest swell. I ran my fingers through my hair and then rubbed the back of my neck, frustrated and lost. I tapped my finger against the phone screen, contemplating whether I wanted to listen to the message.
I bit my lip as I tapped the phone again and listened to the message, her distraught voice changing octaves as she rambled. She begged for help. I felt guilt as I listened to the message and realized the stress she was under. Her deep sob paused as panic overtook her voice and I couldn’t help but smile as I listened to her fumble, attempting to delete the message.
Even in pure chaos she was able to bring a smile to my face. I knew what I had to do, for myself, for my father and for Becca.
* * * *
I stood in the lobby, waiting, where I had, only a few days ago. This time, my objective was clear, to get what I wanted and needed. The petite receptionist smiled at me from over the tall, oak desk as she covered the mouthpiece to her headset. “He’ll be with you shortly.” She smiled again and batted her eyes.
“Mr. Vaughn,” His voice was overly cheerful to the point that it sounded fake. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”
“Nice to see you too, Matthew.”
“I don’t remember us having an appointment. Is there something I can help you with? I could make some time. Why don’t you meet me in the conference room and I’ll grab your proposal.” Matthew motioned as he stepped in the direction of his office.
“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary.” I gazed towards the opposite hallways and back toward Matthew. “I’m actually here to meet with someone else.”
“I see. Who?” His face had turned a deep shade of scarlet. Beads of sweat had grown in number across his balding head.
“There he is now. I nodded toward the hallway where Figg, Johnson, partner in the company, approached.
“Mr. Johnson!” Matthew smiled at the partner and the looked at me. “Good afternoon sir.”
“Afternoon Michael.” He said curtly as he shook my hand. “Now if you don’t mind I have to speak with Mr. Vaughn.”
“Actually, it’s Matthew sir.” Matthew fumbled for words as he tried to brush off the awkwardness of the conversation. “Don’t you think I should be a part of this discussion?” he said in a sheepish voice.
“Not this time Matthew.” Figg said smoothly. “I’ve got this meeting under control.”
Matthew turned and made his way toward his office. I could hear him muttering something under his breath as he left us in the lobby.
“No what was it that you wanted to discuss with me Chance?” Figg said as he clapped his large hand on my shoulder.
“I have a proposal for you,” I smiled broadly, “A proposal that you can’t refuse,”
“Well.” He laughed heartily, “Those are my favorite kind!”
* * * *
The meeting had gone off exactly as I had wanted and everything was in place. Only a few small details remained and I knew I needed to see Becca. She hadn’t answered either of my texts or phone calls and I wondered whether she was embarrassed about the voicemail she had left or possibly just angry about the interaction between her and my father the other evening.
Either way, we needed to talk. My driver pulled in front of her building and I slipped out, hopeful that she would be home. I quickly stepped across the street and up the stairs to her door and knocked, wondering whether she’d pretend to not be home once she saw me through the peephole in her door.
Moments later, sounds of the clicking deadbolts echoed into the small hallway and the door opened. Becca was dressed in yoga pants and a plain white tank top, her tanned skinned looking even darker in the oncoming light of the sunset.
Her gave me a wide-eyed smile as she stared at me. “Chance? What are you doing here?”