THE PRICE OF VENGEANCE

chapter 5

THE BUSINESS MEETING

Isabella's point of view

I gazed down at the broken tomato on the kitchen floor, its blood-red tomato juice oozing on the white tile. Dr. Martinez's words in my mind still were, "Abnormal cells, more tests, might be serious." With shaky hands, I hung up and told them I'd be in in the morning. Overnight it appeared as though all of life was coming unraveled.

I had cleaned the floor to a sparkling glow and cleaned up the paper towels. I wish life could be tidied up so easily as tomato juice could be rinsed off of food colouring. If only it were so simple to restore normalcy through sweat and toil and soap and water. But certain stains were too deep to be scrubbed away.

I had already been on my hands and knees in front of the front door when it opened. David strode in wearing his new costly suit. He passed by me like I wasn't even alive and never bothered to ask why I happened to be dusting the floor at noon on a typical Wednesday. With a deafening clatter, he slammed his briefcase on the counter.

"I need to talk to you about something," I said, getting up and putting the soiled towels on the ground. This may be my time. Perhaps I could knock some sense into David regarding Papa's arrival, the doctor's phone call. Perhaps he would come out of the time machine and envelop me in his arms and say I'd be fine.

David produced papers from his briefcase without once looking at me. "May I wait? I had a few calls to return before my two o'clock appointment. He spoke in a level, matter-of-fact tone when speaking to men he did not know so well: just the tone he now employed speaking to me constantly.

"It is about my father," I explained, trying to keep calm. "His business is in trouble. You have big problems, David. He might lose all the money he has earned. I even spit the words out one by one, and they weighed in my mouth like rocks.

Finally David raised his head off his papers. As if to peer through thick glass, his blue eyes were cold and remote. As if Papa's problems never involved him, he inquired,"And?" As if our family despair did not involve his busy life.

"I thought maybe you could help," I said, my voice becoming softer. "You know people who work in construction. You have a connection. Maybe you could make some calls and get him a job." It sounded so simple when I said it. Wives' husbands helped out their families. That was what marriage was supposed to be for.

No warmth in David's laugh. It was cutting and frigid, like breaking glass. "Help your father? Why? He spoke like I had requested him to fly to the moon or swim an arm of the sea. As if assisting my family was the silliest thing he'd ever heard.".

"Because he is family," I grumbled, already feeling like an i***t when I spoke. It did not seem to make a difference that David and I were family. "Because he has given his life to his work and is a good man. because we are in a position to provide him with the support that he needs."

David grasped his phone and began to scroll through his messages. "Your father's problems in business are his own doing. Poor choices have consequences. That is how things are in this world. Instead of discussing the future of my family, he was distracting himself by playing a game with his fingers as they traveled down the screen.

"Wrong choices?" Anger and pain started to mix as my chest heated up. "Papa never made bad decisions. He is the most cautious person I know. He follows all the guidelines and pays attention to every detail. Which bad decisions are you talking about?

"Ask him about the Hayes project," David stated, focusing on his phone. "Ask him how to reduce costs by taking shortcuts. Ask him about the ramifications of violating safety procedures. With each word, his tone became louder as if he employed outraged sounds to construct a firewall between us.

The Hayes project. Papa had referred to that name an hour or so back. The work nearly destroyed his company five years back. the occasion when somebody passed away. But how did David remember it? Why was one old construction site special to him?

I shuddered in response. "That was an accident." "A terrible accident Papa is still sorry about. Accidents happen in the building trades. That is no reflection on Papa being a bad person or a bad entrepreneur."..

David at last hung up and gave me an icy look. "Accidents occur when individuals try to cut corners. When money counts more than other people's lives. When they believe to be above the law. Every statement stung like a slap and was designed to sting.".

I replied, 'You do not know what you are saying,' but my voice must have been faint even to me. "Your Papa would never risk someone's life in return for money. Never. Papa is not like that. ".

"Is he not?" David stood up and walked over to me inquiringly. For a moment I thought he would throw me into his embrace and apologize for being so tough on his heart. But he merely walked by me and opened the fridge to get a bottle of water as if our conversation had ended.

"Please, David," I implored, loath to hear the tiny sound of my voice. "I do not have special needs. Few calls. Just a little help to find a job. Papa has treated you well. You were welcomed into our family by him. You are treated by him like his very own boy.

As if he had all the time in the world, David uncapped his water and sipped it slow. When he'd finished up, he licked his lips and looked at me pityingly. "Isabella, I'm not having your father's issues. He made poor choices, and that is why his business is struggling. I will not shield him from the ramifications of poor choices."

"We are family," I repeated in despair. "Families support each other. That is what it means to love.".".

"Love?" David laughed again, in the same condescending tone. "Love will neither repair broken businesses nor pay bills. Love will neither revive lifeless individuals nor delete the past." He set down his bottle of water and grasped his case. "I must be off. Later on in life, we will conclude our conversation."

"When?" I called after him as he headed for the door. "When will we conclude this conversation? When will you be able to look after my family? When will you be able to show me that you care?

David grasped the doorhandle and paused. For an instant he shrugged his shoulders as if weighed down. Then he stood up and opened the door. "I do not know, Isabella. Truly, I do not."

Then he went out the door and I was standing alone in the empty kitchen and I felt like I'd been struck by a truck. My husband had just declined to come and help my family and I did not know why. He'd been cold and uncaring and unkind. This is not the husband I married. Three years ago I married another man.

I went into David's office and sat in his chair while browsing through papers on his desk. Business reports, reports on investments, meeting notes. Tidily stacked and highly significant. More significant than her father's struggling business or her husband's loss. Half-hidden in a pile of contracts, I saw it then, an aging yellow-bleached newspaper article.

The title, "Construction Worker Dies in Scaffolding Collapse," froze the blood in my veins. The headline preceded an image of a young man whose hair was dark and whose smile was broad. The young man was younger than David. More material. more vibrant. "22-year-old Eric Hayes dies instantly when faulty scaffolding collapsed at a Chen Construction job site," went the headline at the bottom of the story.