the things we do in the dark (+18)

15

Spending hours reviewing ten years of financial records has August seeing numbers by lunchtime. His father's company's financial books looked consistent until about a year or two ago. Within the last two years, the company incurred debt from an automated clearing house transfer account, which took $50,000 quarterly from his father's advertising company. There were no files detailing the materials his father's company acquired from this company. Neither did a contractual agreement exist between this so-called supplier company and his father's company.

August realized then that he had much work ahead of him. He's a bookkeeper, not an investigative reporter. But whoever used to manage his father's advertising company's books did a shit job at it. And now August will have to spend weeks upon weeks sifting through contracts to get a contact number on this supposed supplier company leeching almost a quarter million dollars from his father's advertising company.

"I'm going out to buy lunch. Wanna join?" Jonah says, standing by August's office door.

Jonah is undoubtedly an unwelcome presence. August hasn't talked to him since his Fourth of July party, and he wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. Jonah reminded him of Iverem. And Iverem, she reminds him of the worst thing he's ever done. But his brother is unavoidable. Sooner or later, there is going to be a reckoning. August is holding his breath till then.

Fuck it; I need some air.

"Sure," August says. "Give me a minute."

As August shuts down his laptop and scrummages through his desk for his wallet, Jonah starts perusing his desk. "You're going through the record books," Jonah says.

He tosses Jonah a casual glance. His father wanted this whole operation under wraps, so poor Jonah had to stay out of the loop. "Yeah. Dad wants me to get familiar with the company's financial history."

"Right," Jonah says. The frown on his face suggests he doesn't quite believe August.

"Where are we heading?" August says, trying to ease the tension.

"My favourite spot," he says. "They have the best drinks in Dallas."

They exit the building and cross through traffic onto the other side of the street. "We drinking on the job now?" August says.

"Live a little, August," Jonah says.

You have no clue.

Omar waves at them from the end of the block. When they catch up to him, August takes in the glass restaurant. It's a high-end joint with a business casual dress code and probably overpriced appetizers and entrees, not a surprising choice for a silver spoon-fed kid like Jonah. They walk right past the hostess and into the bustling kitchen. No one pays them any mind. At the back of the kitchen is another door. This door is made of heavy dark brown wood and has medieval-age-type engravings. Curiosity tempts August to continue following Jonah and Omar.

Past this door, a steep set of stairs led to a speakeasy illuminated by red-tinted candlelight. The walls are decorated with classical paintings of men fighting as angels and demons whisper in their ears, swaying their judgment. A bartender mans a ceiling-high shelf full of an assortment of liquors.

"How did you find a place like this?" August says.

"I've lived in Dallas my whole life," Jonah says. "I know a thing or two about this city."

"Many gems in this city. We could show you around sometime," Omar says.

Omar and Jonah work together in the company's public relations department. They graduated from the same college, interned at the same company, and once fought for the same department head position. Jonah obviously got the job due to nepotism. Yet despite the similar paths in career and subsequent rivalry because of it, the two men were as thick as thieves. Since August began working at the company, they've been trying to ingratiate him into their little clique. August and Jonah have never been close; they detest each other, and not in an adorable sitcom way. So, his sudden interest in August is downright suspicious.

August doesn't reply to Omar's proposition.

"You settling in good?" Jonah says, unbuttoning his suit and leaning back into the booth once they're seated.

"As best as I can," August says.

"Over the weekend, Devon told me she's ready to assimilate into southern society – even looking to go to a rodeo this summer," Jonah says, chuckling. "Wait and see, she'll soon start calling herself a southern belle."

"Rodeo seasons passed. Y'all will have to wait till next year to go," Omar says.

"Every season is rodeo season," Jonah says. "And Iverem and I wouldn't mind taking you and Devon to one."

His brother isn't going to leave him alone until he's got what he's wanted. August is unsure what Jonah could want from him, but nonetheless, he doesn't succumb to the pressure.

"We'll have to take that offer up another time," August says, measuring his breaths. "I'm visiting some relatives in Oaxaca. I won't be back in Texas till next month."

This isn't a lie; it's more like an excuse. Every year, August and his mother did go to Oaxaca to celebrate the Guelaguetza festival. This year would be no different. Apart from getting to visit the only relatives he knew who didn't view his existence as a hindrance, Oaxaca is his reprieve from America and white people like his father and Jonah.

Jonah rolls his eyes. Before Jonah can say anything else, the bartender takes their order. Omar and Jonah order an old fashion. August orders a coffee. Unlike them, he has a long day ahead of him.

"We're about to close on a big contract in the next couple of weeks," Jonah says, sipping his drink.

"You think you and your dad can actually close this deal?" Omar says.

"Shit, I know it."

"Good news coming our way?" August says.

Jonah gives everyone at the table a smug smile. "Yep, just wait and see."

The rest of the workday is uneventful, just more sifting through paper and finding nothing. After he leaves the office, he scarcely beats traffic to arrive five minutes early to Devon's gynecologist appointment. A year of trying for a baby and being unable to conceive wasn't typical for two seemingly healthy adults. Devon had questions, but more so, she wanted answers.

In the waiting room, August's determined wife sits closest to the doctor's door. She scans the room consecutively, certainly looking for August. When she catches sight of him, her blue eyes sparkle. August wishes he felt the same. Their chemistry hasn't been the same since Christmas, and now he can't touch her without feeling uneasy. He wonders how much time he has before she notices his behaviour.

"You're not late for once," she says teasingly.

Devon leans in for a kiss. August ignores the gesture. His hand settles on her thigh instead. He doesn't understand why the smoothness of her leg causes him to think of Iverem – of her flush face careening into a pillow.

When he moves into the doctor's office, his suit feels all too tight at the thought of her. Devon does most of the talking, as she usually does. This doctor's office has a nice view of a park, so August busies his mind with the intricacies of the forest. The fountain at the centre of the greenery is a refuge for pigeons and crows.

To be a bird, free to go and be wherever.

"August, are you listening?" Devon says. There's a tearful look in her eye like she can't believe he's not listening, or maybe it's about what the doctor said. He can't tell; perhaps it's both.

The doctor clears her throat. "I was just telling Devon that we will have to look at alternative options for fertilization."

Devon reaches out for his hand. August complies with her request. "I have a low egg count. We don't think I'll be able to conceive naturally."

August doesn't know what to say, so he waits for someone to fill the silence. As he comes to terms with the possible future of never becoming a father, August feels no sadness about this discovery.

"We can talk a bit more about your next options," the doctor says.