The Better Man (Chicago Sisters) (2 page)

“Simon, it’s Mommy.”

Black sneakers with neon green striping poked out from under the one closed door. He knocked as if she was the one who needed to open up for him.

“Can you unlock the door for me? We can go back to class together.”

His little feet shuffled back, recoiling from the suggestion of going to his classroom. Avoidance, escape—these were his friends. These were his comfort when the anxiety took over.

“I talked to Nana and she said you can hold Zoe’s leash when you go to the groomer, but you have to make it through the school day. If you don’t make it through the day, then there’s no playtime with Zoe.” It was a bribe, plain and simple, but sometimes that was the only thing that worked.

Silence.

Kendall hated the silence. She wished it was a tangible entity that she could strangle and put out of its misery. Her hand rested on the stall handle.

“Come on, Simon. Open up, honey.” She resisted the urge to say she would take him home. As soon as she made that promise, she was done for. One thing she learned from Psychologist #1 was that she couldn’t make a promise in the middle of one of these episodes and not follow through. His trust was essential. He had to be able to rely on what she said.

She wanted him to stay and finish his day of school. She wanted to try to save the mess she might have made of the Sato project. Yet what she wanted was of little importance when the anxiety was in charge.

“I’ll stay for lunch. We can have lunch together. Then you can tell the yucks to take a hike and finish your day. I know you can do this. I know you can.”

Silence.

Sometimes she wished the silence would finish her off. It was good at choking her, but she always survived its evil games. Survived but never won. No, the silence was always the victor.

Kendall could feel the three pairs of eyes watching her. Watching. Judging. Pitying. She hated that the most. The pity. Pity and sympathy made her almost as angry as silence. Almost.

Everyone at school knew why the boy didn’t talk. Kendall had sat in the principal’s office on more than one occasion to discuss the difficulties Simon was having at school, at home, in life. She had accepted their referrals for counselors and behavioral specialists. They had done the charts and incentives. She had taken him to Rainbows grief support groups, which ended up being filled with more children dealing with divorce than the death of a parent. She had read every book written on both grief and selective mutism. Still, she felt lost. She refused the medication because he didn’t need medication. He needed his father. There was no pill to cure a broken heart. She would have taken it a long, long time ago if there was.

“I’m going to count to ten and then I want you to open the door for me. Ready? One, two...” she counted slowly, each number that went unacknowledged by the boy on the other side of the door tearing at her paper heart. “Ten.”

Silence.

In an alternate universe, she pounded on the door with both fists, making it quiver and rattle. She screamed at the top of her lungs, “Knock it off! Stop being afraid!! It’s just school!” In her fantasy, she stormed off and back to her meeting with Mr. Sato.

But in the real world where she had to live, Kendall dropped to her knees and pushed her pride and dignity aside. She buried her rage and her fear. She crawled under the door and into the stall with her son. She righted herself and pulled him into her arms. He melted against her.

“I love you. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make the world okay for you and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.” Kendall’s tears fell on top of Simon’s head as the weight of his world began to crush her.

He clung to his mother, not caring that her body had been in contact with an elementary school boys’ bathroom floor. He hugged his mother like he wished he could make the world right for her, too. But the world would never be right because his dad was dead and he was never coming home. He was never going to help out at school or eat lunch with him. Dead was forever.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered. Resigned. Defeated.

The walk to the house offered much less promise than the one in the opposite direction a few hours earlier. Simon held tight to his mother’s hand. Kendall’s eyes were focused solely on the sidewalk ahead of her. She was a failure. A complete and utter failure.

Trevor would never have given in. He would have made the boy tough it out. Told him to man up. Trevor wouldn’t have given in to the silence. He would have filled it with a firm voice and a confidence that couldn’t be ignored. Trevor would never have surrendered.

At the last stoplight, they had to wait for the signal before crossing the street. A blur of colors went by as car after car moved past them. The city was alive. Her husband was not. The city roared, a myriad of noises—buses, people, machines, music. Her son was a mute.

Simon pulled on Kendall’s arm. Tugging and tugging.

“Stop it, Simon!” she snapped.

“Dad! It’s Dad!” he yelled over all the street noise. He pointed across the street to a man jogging toward a cab. Simon pulled on her arm again, almost taking them both into the busy road. “Dad! Wait! It’s us!”

Kendall’s whole body froze like it had that day, one year, two months and three days ago. The man looked up at the screaming boy and his mother. Eyes met. Her mouth fell open and she was sure her heart stopped.

“Trevor?”

CHAPTER TWO

M
AX
J
ORDAN
WAS
a punctual man.
Always
on time.
Never
late.

Except when meetings were scheduled before noon, that is. He tended to be a little tardy for those.

In his defense, he was still adjusting to the time change. It was only eight-thirty in Los Angeles, and the only time Max saw eight-thirty was if he was getting ready for bed after an extremely late night. In the restaurant and night club business, daytime was bedtime.

Even though the restaurant he was here to run wasn’t open yet, it was difficult to change his sleep schedule. There were plenty of places for him to scope out, as competition in the restaurant business was tight in the Windy City. He wanted Sato’s to be a success. He needed it to be.

Managing a successful restaurant would look good, and right now, Max needed to look good—in the eyes of the court, his ex and, most important, his son. Being late to his first meeting with the interior designers was not going to help.

The invitation to sit in on the presentation had been unexpected, especially since Max knew Mr. Sato had the only vote that counted. Sato was a shrewd businessman who only hired the best of the best. Whomever he chose to design the restaurant’s dining area would be top-notch.

That didn’t excuse Max’s lack of punctuality, however. He should have been there. On time. How he was going to explain his late arrival was the only thing on his mind as he raced down the steps and out the door toward the cab he had called. Just as he reached for the car door handle, he heard a voice.

“Dad! Wait! It’s us!”

Max stopped, looking up and across the street. Nobody called him Dad. Not even Aidan, his own son. It wasn’t the name that captured his attention, but the desperation.

The boy across the street looked much older than Aidan, but they shared the same brown hair and strong lungs. Aidan’s scream rivaled that of any horror movie leading lady. Max glanced around, searching for this other child’s father. There wasn’t anyone on his side of the street and the boy looked like he was about to dart into traffic.

Max felt his heart skip a beat until he noticed the boy held a woman’s hand, his mother most likely. She’d keep him from getting hurt.

Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds and he could’ve sworn she recognized him. But that was impossible. There was one thing he hadn’t made time for since he moved to Chicago and that was women. The only person he’d spoken more than a couple of words to was the nice—almost too nice—guy who owned the condo under his in their three-flat.

Max slid into the back of the cab and rattled off the address and a plea for haste. Rubbing his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he tried to refocus on his excuse for being late. He had texted Mr. Sato’s assistant that he’d be late the moment he’d woken up and realized the time. He hadn’t, however, given a reason.

An accident.
A boy ran into the street and was hit by a car. Max had to stop, wait for help to arrive.

Nah. Boys being hit by cars would probably make the news. He needed to think less dramatic.

Traffic? Traffic in Chicago was almost as terrible as in L.A. Almost. Unfortunately, it wasn’t bad enough to make him an hour late.

He could almost hear Katie now. His ex-wife would be reading him the riot act if she knew.
This is what you call being responsible? The only thing you’re good at, Max, is lying. Doesn’t this prove Aidan deserves better than you?

Some days he hated her. Her, her sanctimonious attitude and her new attorney husband. Nothing bugged him more than the way she acted like a saint. As if he didn’t know who she used to be. As if her life in L.A. never existed. Sadly for her, he did remember and she wasn’t perfect.

Max took a deep breath and stared out the window as the buildings grew taller and the streets more crowded. He swore things would be different in Chicago. He would be different. He came here to prove something and he wasn’t going to blow it. He was not going to be like his deadbeat father. Not if he could help it.

* * *

M
R
. S
ATO
’
S
OFFICE
was in the heart of the West Loop. Max knew they were close when they passed the Willis Tower. He threw in a couple of extra dollars of tip for the speedy service and jumped out of the cab.

With no excuse but the truth, he marched into the building and headed for the elevators. Hopefully he hadn’t missed the entire presentation. Perhaps they’d waited for him. The designers were sure to be less than pleased with him if that was the case. That accident excuse felt less wrong for a minute until the elevator reached the correct floor.

The dark gray marble beneath his feet matched the color of the imaginary cloud above Max’s head. He approached the receptionist seated behind a curved glass block desk, buttoning his jacket closed before smoothing down the lapels. He smiled, hoping the friendlier he was, the friendlier others would be in return. “Good morning. Max Jordan. I’m here for Mr. Sato’s meeting with the interior designers.”

The woman pushed her red glasses up her nose and tucked her jet black hair behind her ear. Everything about her was severe, from her hair color to the angle of her chin. “Mr. Sato’s nine-thirty meeting?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“That’s the one. Better late than never, right?”

The woman’s lips didn’t even twitch. “Let me see if it’s still happening,” she said, her tone as judgmental as the look she gave him. She picked up her phone and dialed. “I think the designer left,” she told Max.

That figured. Max bounced on the balls of his feet and patted his pockets for the cigarettes that weren’t there because he’d quit. He needed to figure out a way to make it up to Mr. Sato. Work harder. Do more promotion. Put in more hours when the place opened.

“Through those doors and to your right. The conference room is at the end of the hall.” The receptionist glanced over her shoulder at the glass double doors.

“Thank you,” Max said, trying to still appear professional while nearly sprinting to his meeting.

He ran a hand through his hair and rolled his neck around before pushing open the conference door. Mr. Sato’s eyes were the only part of him that moved when Max entered the room. His son, Jin, wore a look of disapproval that spoke louder than any words could. A third man stared like he was seeing a ghost. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head.

“Mr. Jordan, how nice of you to join us,” Jin said, without an ounce of sincerity in his tone.

The designer approached him cautiously and held out his hand. “Owen Sung, the O in KO Designs.”

Max shook it firmly and apologized for being late.

Max turned to Mr. Sato. “I wish I had a better excuse than sleeping through my alarm. I will not let it happen again. I assure you, sir.”

Mr. Sato’s head bowed ever so slightly in acknowledgment.

“Shall I go over our design for Mr. Jordan?” Owen asked, handing Max a folder filled with the breakdown of the design elements and cost.

Mr. Sato whispered to Jin, who relayed the man’s wishes. “Just a brief overview. Time is of the essence.”

Max felt the sting but took a seat. Owen quickly outlined his firm’s vision for the restaurant and Max listened with rapt attention. It was a beautiful, contemporary design. There was a hipness that would attract the younger crowd but a sophistication that would lure the more established money in the city.

“Where in the world are you going to find an artist to paint a mural of this size for nothing?” Max asked as he reviewed the price points, hoping to win back Mr. Sato’s approval by finding a hidden cost.

Owen immediately squashed that dream. “My partner will be painting the mural, so her services are already paid for.”

Mr. Sato whispered a few questions to Jin while Max asked about project management. Owen stated both he and his partner would be overseeing everything on a daily basis.

“Where is your partner today?” Max asked. His tardiness was troubling, but for the K in KO Designs to be missing seemed inexcusable.

Owen puffed out his chest, an offended tone coloring his words. “Kendall was here earlier, Mr. Jordan. She had a family emergency and couldn’t wait on you any longer. I assure you, there is no need to worry about her dedication to this project. She put her heart and soul into this design.”

Properly put in his place, Max decided to stay quiet for the rest of the meeting. There was little fault to be found in the design. He could see why Mr. Sato had solicited KO Designs to make a bid. At his father’s whispered request, Jin called the meeting to an end and informed Owen they would be in contact soon. Escorting the designer out, Jin left Max and Mr. Sato alone.

A full minute passed before Mr. Sato broke the silence. “I hired you because I believe you are the best at what you do, Mr. Jordan.” His voice was deep and gravelly. He was a man of few words, and when he spoke it sounded like he hadn’t done so in years.

“Thank you, sir.”

“As manager, I expect you to be a role model. Being late is unacceptable. Understand?” Max nodded and tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. “You will be at the site every day. Early. No excuses.”

Mr. Sato’s warning had magically tightened the tie around Max’s neck. Slipping his fingers under his collar and giving it a tug, he promised, “I’ll be there every day, sir. I won’t let you down.”

“I hope not.” Mr. Sato stood, his stature not nearly as intimidating as his usual silence. At six foot two, Max was a giant in comparison. “I will accept the bid from KO later today and request we begin as soon as possible.”

Max got on his feet. “That sounds perfect, sir. I’ve been scoping out the competition to ensure we’ll be better than all the rest.”

“Glad we have the same goal, Mr. Jordan.” As if on cue, Jin opened the door as Mr. Sato made his exit.

Jin shut the door after his father left the room and began to circle Max like a lion stalking his prey. He had voiced his displeasure with his father’s choice to hire Max from the beginning. Jin had been under the impression the job would be his simply because of his last name.

Jin wasn’t exceptionally good at hiding his dislike for Max. The man was more of a boy, fresh out of college and overeager. His sense of entitlement was annoying. He believed himself worthy of the same respect his father had spent decades earning. He was child with a lot to learn.

“It won’t take much for me to persuade him to let me run the restaurant if today is any indication of your work ethic,” Jin said.

“It’s not.” The only job Max had ever handed over to someone else was parenting Aidan. He planned to earn that job back and prove himself worthy of this one.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Jin said snidely. “For some reason, I have little faith in you, Mr. Jordan.”

Get in line,
Max wanted to reply. Instead, he smiled and wished the junior Sato a good day before leaving. He certainly wasn’t going to prove anyone right or wrong standing in a conference room arguing with someone who had no idea what he was talking about.

* * *

M
AX
TIPPED
HIS
cab driver less generously on the ride home. Feeling deflated, he headed up to his condo with much less vigor than when he’d left. The guy from the second floor, who’d previously introduced himself as Charlie, was the hare to his turtle, nearly running Max over as he dashed down the stairs.

“Sorry about that, Floor Three.” Dressed in jeans and a navy T-shirt with the Chicago Fire Department logo on the front, Charlie gave Max’s arm a friendly punch. “I need to remember someone lives above me and might be on these stairs now and again.”

“No problem,” Max assured him, hoping for a quick escape.

“You home for lunch or something?”

“Or something.” Max continued his ascent.

Charlie stopped him. “I’m grabbing lunch down the street. Best burgers on this side of the city, and as a good neighbor, I feel it’s my duty to expose you to the finer things we have to offer around here. You have to come with me.”

“Maybe another time.” He didn’t want to be rude, especially since Charlie was nicer than anyone he’d ever met in L.A., but right now, he wanted to be alone.

Charlie relented with a smile. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Max didn’t doubt he meant it. He retreated into his condo and loosed his tie, pulled it over his head and tossed it on the couch. Stepping around a stack of boxes, he made his way to the kitchen to grab a drink. He’d had big plans to unpack and make this place a home, but work was always his default. His apartment back in L.A. had been spotless because he was only there to sleep. This place was going to take a little more effort once Aidan started coming around.

Max bypassed the television and headed for his music. His records were the first thing he unpacked when he got to Chicago. The vinyl collection really belonged to his mother, but she had lost her love for it long ago and he had happily taken it over.

Joanna Jordan currently lived in Portland, where she was exploring her newest fascination—healthy living. Max couldn’t complain. It was much better than her former love affair with alcohol or her cosmetic surgery phase. She’d traded her vodka in for kale shakes and did hot yoga instead of Botox injections. But Max knew it was only a matter of time before she moved on to something else. Another obsession. Another addiction. His mother re-created herself every couple of years. He never knew who she’d become, but he could always count on her to be different from the last time he saw her.

Max rarely benefitted from her frivolity, but the record collection was a wonderful exception. He had everything a music lover could want, from the Beatles to Buddy Guy. He slipped his favorite Pink Floyd album from its sleeve and set the record on the turntable. The music filled the room and Max lay down on the couch and closed his eyes, letting it take him away for a moment or two.

He patted his chest pocket, looking for something he knew wasn’t there. Old habits died hard. As a teenager, Max spent more afternoons than he could remember blowing off class, listening to music and smoking his mother’s cigarettes. It used to be what calmed him down, allowed him to escape his life.