Cape Cod by William Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

week.” Janice came in and dropped onto the sofa.
    “That’s not going to happen.” Dickerson lumbered after her, a beer bottle working in his right hand, the necks of two more twined into the fingers of his left. “Now that you’ve moved back, we’re going to keep you here.”
    Like a bishop offering his ring, he held out his left hand and the younger men each took a beer. Dickerson touched his bottle to theirs. “To the future”—he pointed his bottle at the painting—“and the past.”
    “And the proposal?” Geoff leaned on the mantel.
    “Jan, I know why you love this guy. He comes right to the point.” Dickerson sat behind his desk and looked Geoff and Janice up and down. “Nice white tennis shorts on both of you, a powdery pink jersey for the girl, navy blue for the boy.” He glanced at his son. “You, too, in all your golfie stuff.”
    “ Leisure wear,” said Douglas.
    Dickerson looked at his khaki trousers and shirt. “In my leisure I like to dress like an old fisherman.”
    “You never fished for money in your life,” said Janice.
    Dickerson ignored her. “I remind me of where we came from. You remind me of where we’re going.”
    “Grow up, grow old, and die to make room.” Bad joke. Geoff knew the moment he said it. Bad hearts and gallows jokes didn’t mix.
    But Dickerson didn’t acknowledge the joke. Only the row of pill bottles on his desk—isosorbide, 10 mg., propranolol, 20 mg., dipyridamole, 50 mg.—acknowledged the heart attack. He leaned on his elbows and looked at Janice. “Honey, you know how happy 1 am that you’ve decided to move back so Geoff can make a go of his own firm.”
    “Geoff decided. I’m going along with it.”
    “Whatever… We’re happy. We want you to be happy, too.”
    Geoff felt the backs of Dickerson Bigelow’s unread books closing in around him. “The suspense is killing us. What is it that will make us happy forever, and what do I have to give up to get it?”
    Dickerson looked at his son. “In the family for seventeen years and still he doesn’t trust us.”
    “He knows that if we let him in on this deal, we’re not doing it because he’s the brother-in-law.” Douglas slipped a golf ball from his pocket and began to roll it between his fingers.
    “It’s because he’s the best architect in New England, right?” cracked Janice.
    “It’s because I’m Rake Hilyard’s nephew.”
    “Cynic!” Dickerson Bigelow pushed himself away from his desk and went to the window. Outside, his ancient mother was carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres toward the back lawn. “I raised a generation of cynics, Ma!”
    “Because they grew up around men like you, Dick.”
    “Never misses a beat,” said Janice.
    “Neither does her granddaughter,” added Geoff.
    “And we both love them both,” said Dickerson, “just like we both love Jack’s Island.”
    “There’s a difference between love and lust.”
    Dickerson looked at Janice. “Why did you have to go and marry such a smartass?”
    “Because I knew that some day, you’d want to do business with him. So stop insulting each other and talk like grown men.”
    Love and lust had been known to serve each other well, Geoff knew, and if this offer meant a good commission, which would mean a little freedom, Geoff could stand a little of Dickerson’s lust.
    While the party went on outside, Dickerson talked. Douglas rolled the golf ball between his fingers and clarified. Geoff sipped his beer and acted impassive, as he would in any negotiation. Janice listened, and when she thought her husband too impassive, she asked questions.
    The Bigelows wanted to develop Jack’s Island. The Hilyards resisted. That much had been known for years. During the mid-eighties boom, the Bigelows didn’t even bother to try to develop their side of their island. It wasn’t worth the fight with the town and the abutters when there was so much money to be made on the rest of the Cape.
    But the boom was over. Real estate