Tell Me

Chapter 20

Sydney...

The man's piercing blue eyes haunt my thoughts as I try to fall asleep.

I can't stop thinking about how he mysteriously disappeared and for that reason, I go downstairs to get a water bottle out of the fridge.

I stop short at the end of the stairs to see my grandfather sitting on the couch. It's three in the morning and even in the dark, I can tell that he doesn't want to be near anyone. He's showing the same symptoms as I do when I have an anxiety attack. Hands on each side of your face, rapid breathing, sweating, but still okay. Chances are, he doesn't even realize that I'm here yet. Still, I don't move until he calms down. I watch from the other side this time and it feels weird.

When grandpa recovers, he looks around at his surroundings and his attention refocuses on the piece of paper in his hand.

I take that as my cue to move. We make eye contact, but he doesn't say anything. Chances are, he knows I witnessed his episode.

Once I get my water, I decide to go to my grandfather. Maybe he knows something I don't about my disorder. I retrieve a pad of paper and a pen from the counter before I approach him.

I write down a note, telling him that I have the same side effects.

He reads it, sighs, and looks up at me with conflict in his expression.

"Sydney, you're cord wasn't wrapped around your neck when you were born like everyone told you."

Josh...

Bang, bang, bang.

That's all I hear as I punch the crap out of the bag that hangs in the workout room at the clubhouse.

I woke up bright and early this morning to work out. Usually, I wait until later so I can go with Matt, but screw Matt.

Bang, bang, bang.

"Hey, hey, Josh," my father puts his hand on my shoulder and it's the first physical contact I've felt by my dad in months.

I use my arm to wipe the sweat off of my forehead and turn my attention to my father who looks so out of place in the midst of the workout room. It wasn't always like this, my dad used to be extremely into sports, mainly football. He even went D1 and when he was offered to go pro, something happened that made him "change his mind," it's what he told me at least.

I don't understand why someone who loved football so much, like dad did, could just quit. He could have gotten out of the company like I want to.

"What's up Dad?"

He shrugs, "I was up and I just realized that we haven't talked in a while, you know, one on one."

This better not be another one of those company talks.

I sit down on a bench and he does the same across from me.

He looks down at his fingers that fidget in his lap. Finally, he says, "I was wondering how your fishing game has been."

Dad and I have never been close, but we always had one thing in common since he never wants to talk about football, fishing. I think back to a couple of days ago when I took Sydney fishing, but that makes me even more pissed off at Matt.

I shrug off that awful feeling, "I haven't gone since we last took the fishing boat out."

Dad rubs his face, "What was that, like three years ago?"

"Four," I inform.

Dad glances at his watch, "I have time now if you want to wrap up your workout and meet by the garage."

"Deal," I say.

A half an hour later, I approach the long line of garages. Dad already has the boat hooked up to the pickup truck and our hooks in the bed of it.

I jump in the drivers seat to take it by the boat launch while dad gets in the passenger seat to direct me.

We get the boat in the water and before I know it, we're out in the middle of the lake with the sunrise making the sky illuminated.

"You know, Josh, my dad, your grandfather, used to take me out on this exact boat on this exact lake all of the time."

I always thought fishing worked for Dad and I because you need to talk softly, if talk at all when you're trying to catch a fish. The silence was sure, awkward at times, but I enjoyed it others.

The mention of my grandpa sparked my interest, though. Even though we were close when I was younger, Grandpa was a mysterious man, burdened by many secrets. My dad, being his son, probably has some intel on said secrets, so I give any mention of Grandpa my full attention.

"He used to tell me stories about the war and how my mom and him met and his original passion in life."

"What was his original passion?" I ask.

Dad looks at me like he's contemplating telling me. Finally, looking out to the lake, without meeting my eyes, he says, "Your grandfather was a brilliant man. They said he was a waste fighting in the war because during that time, he could have used his brain power to find cures for diseases and disorders, which eventually he did, but most people thought he had an even greater potential if he didn't take those years off. You see, your grandpa was a very selfless man. He would do anything to help anyone who needed it. That's why he joined the army and that's why he devoted his time to finding help for people who couldn't do it themselves. There is an extremely rare disorder. It is usually genetic and doctors are able to recognize something is wrong when the child is born, but unable to identify it, so they lie and say it's the result of something the mother ate or some other random excuse. Your grandpa discovered this disorder. It's a neurotically disorder that keeps people from reaching their full potential. The people who have this disorder typically have brilliant minds, but are unable to use them correctly. Your grandpa tried to find cures to this, but ultimately, he failed."

I take all of this in. My grandpa cared about people who were less fortunate. He devoted all of his time to helping them. "But why did it turn into a pill business?"

"I wish I could tell you," my Dad says softly.

Is he clueless, or does he know the motives of his dad?

Two hours later, we pull the boat in and head home for breakfast. Lily prepared omelets and the rest of my family is nowhere to be seen. Dad takes his omelet into his office to eat. So much for a relational hip breakthrough between him and me.

I sit at the table made for ten, alone.

Hours later, I wake up on the couch to the noise of shouting. It's coming from Dads office.

Suddenly, Damian exits and Dad is following after him.

"Damian, this isn't a good idea, just trust me on this one."

"I'm done bowing down to the Bianchi family. I've been with the company longer than you and I say that this is a good idea. Remember last time I had a good idea and Angelo disagreed?"

Who are the Bianchi's? What happened to Grandpa Angelo? I try to listen as best as I can.

My dad sighs and says, "Can I just take time to think about it? Luca is gone for a reason and Angelo gave me specific instructions to make sure he has nothing to do with the company."

"Whatever John, I'll give you until tomorrow morning to give me an answer."

With that, Damian walks out of Dad's office, scanning the house with his electric blue eyes.

When his eyes land on me, I get a chill, but ignore it.

"Oh, hey Josh." He says, putting a dimpled smile on his face.

"Hi Damian, what brings you here?" I mirror his fake smile.

"Oh, you know, just business." And with that, he's out the door.