“You mean, how good am I? Treat me the way you’d treat any other broker. Give me some of it, see how I do, and then either give me more or take it away.”
Tom nodded. “What do you think would be a fair start?”
“It’s up to you. Give me at least six months before you make a judgment — unless I’m losing a ton. I won’t, though.”
“How about two million?” Tom said.
“Fine.” A tremble of reality shot through Eric. He was in the presence of his dream; it had become solid, food offered to his hungry mouth.
“How do we handle this — this arrangement in terms of the children?”
“Usually I would only tell Nina. I don’t gossip about my clients. But I don’t have to tell her.”
Tom held his neck with his left hand, leaned his head back, and stretched, a doctor feeling for tumors. “You should tell Nina if that’s what you would normally do. But ask her not to discuss it with the others.”
Eric explained the mechanics of the transfer of the money, that his fee would be the industry standard of 1 percent annually of the two million, with a 20 percent performance incentive on any profits, and that for the time being he would only charge the commission that the floor broker takes, adding nothing for his own pocket. With that out of the way, he could speak confidently. Tom became almost childlike as Eric expounded his current view of the market, interrogated Tom about his tax situation, made gentle fun of Tom’s previous broker’s strategies (they would have been fine, actually, if the double-digit inflation and bond collapse of the mid-seventies had not followed hard upon the death of the go-go sixties’ stocks; it was the classic position of its time, the shoals that almost every financial adviser had crashed on), and recounted some of his own triumphs, musing on how much money Eric would have made for Tom if he had had the money then.
When Eric returned to the house, he felt okay, even though the Winningham summer house had taken on the aspect of a funeral home. They all talked in hushed voices, averted their eyes when Nina walked past like a widow out of her mind with grief, unapproachable and pitied, Luke still in her arms, his eyes watching everything, moaning from time to time, one little hand clutching his mother’s sweater. Even with all that, Eric was calm. What he’d lacked his whole life was a chance, a shot at the big time. At last, he’d landed a big fish, a client with real dough. And if Eric performed, there would be more, and the best part, the best part was that it would all one day come back to his son. He looked at the sisters and at Brandon.
Let them make Nina miserable for now.
Those weaklings would never create any grandchildren.
The money would go to Luke.
And swelled by Eric’s genius, his son would be rich.
NINA COULDN’T bear the stuffy nursery room, the mumble of voices from various bedrooms, the shrill sound of her blood in her ears, the desperate moths thudding on the windows, and the squirming, restless movements of her baby.
She bundled Luke in a heavy blanket and walked out of the nursery, through the living room, ignoring the startled looks of her family, and on out into the night.
Here there was air and refreshment. The tall birches swayed against a bright sky jammed with stars. Luke was silent the instant the real world surrounded them. The bay, a gray presence behind the trees, swelled and contracted gradually, like a body breathing in sleep. She felt so much better away from the shelter of home, much more safe in the wild. She wished Eric and Luke and she could become pioneers, travel away from the prison of everything and into the free nothingness.
“Look at the stars,” she said to Luke, and her words were scattered by the outside. Luke seemed to study them anyway, his body absolutely still, awed by the earth’s vast ceiling. She felt sure that he also wanted to be away, apart from people and their crowding, their nagging, their criticisms.
“Nina!” Eric called, in a whine despite the volume.
She walked around the corner toward the shore, away from Eric. It was silly — he would be sure to follow.
“Nina?” She heard him and then his feet cracking branches, stamping the grass like an outsized creature, a brontosaur of a man. “Here you are!” he said, running up to her. “It’s cold. Is he—”
“He’s covered with a blanket!” she snapped.
“Okay. Okay. Okay.” Eric faced the shore, took a deep breath, and gazed at the bay. “Looks so beautiful. Almost makes me wish I could swim in it.”
“Why don’t you?”
“At night?” Eric squeaked. “I’d hit my head on a rock and die.”
“I guess you’d better not,” she answered.
He looked at her. She couldn’t make out his expression, he was half in the shadow of the house. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you. It’s a secret. You’re not supposed to tell your brother and sisters. Your father has given me money to invest.”
“Do you get anything out of it?”
“Of course,” Eric answered with a laugh.
Nina’s experience with her father and money wouldn’t make that answer automatic. Tom seemed to regard himself as a good-works opportunity for his children.
“It was weird. He did it today right after—” Eric stopped himself.
“My fit?” Nina supplied the description for him. “That makes sense.”
“It does?”
“Just Father’s way of apologizing to you.”
“Apologizing?”
“Yeah,” Nina said, and began to walk. When she glanced at Luke, she was surprised to see he was asleep.
Eric hustled beside her. “For what? I thought he was giving me the money because he thought—”
“That too, of course. He wouldn’t take a chance otherwise. I mean, the timing.” Shut up, Nina, she told herself. But she couldn’t. It was a bitter fact, and who else could share the sour taste but Eric?
“Wait,” he said to stop her from entering the house. “This is important. I have to know about this. Don’t be mysterious. If he gave me the money for some personal reason, he might take it away suddenly. I have to know.”
“He gave you the money to apologize for being stuck with Luke and me,” she said, popping the cork on her bottle of sorrow. With the plug out, she felt her strength leak as well. She wanted to cry.
“Oh, no,” Eric said, his voice soft, hurt, like a boy’s. “No, you’re wrong. Maybe he did it because of Luke, because I’m more a part of the family. Not ’cause he thinks badly of you.”
“Your parents love you, Eric. You can’t understand what I’m talking about. It’s like a sin to you, a taboo.”
“No! It’s his way of being closer. He talks with his money. He’s saying he’s on your side.”
She leaned her head onto Eric’s shoulder and closed her eyes to squeeze the tears back.
“Believe me,” Eric pleaded. “Your father loves you. So does your mom. And your brother and sisters are just jealous. That’s part of love too.”
He was so foolish, so naïve, so loving. It made her want to cry all the more. And now she was crying. Dammit. When she went inside, they would see. The tears were loose. Her brain shook from the pain, and rained its aches.
“Believe me,” he kept repeating, a little boy consoling his mom, frightened by her emotion. “Believe me,” he begged.
“I do,” she lied. Anyway, Eric loved her. And he loved his son. If only she could be alone with them and leave the rest of the world out. If only Luke was happier. If only she could fix her baby. She was crying again.
“What is it?” Eric mumbled into her weeping face. “What is it?”
“He doesn’t smile,” she said.