Four: What Will It Be? (1/2)

Josh had trouble falling asleep that night, hyperaware of Emery's presence. Emery's slumber didn't seem remotely restful despite how exhausted he had been. The blanket ended up on the floor half a dozen times from his weak thrashing, brow furrowed even in sleep; every single time Josh had gotten up to cover him, he'd been shivering.

The occasional sounds Emery made weren't whimpers — Emery Hall didn't whimper, Josh told himself with the assertiveness born of wilful self-delusion. When he tried to feel Emery's temperature, he found his skin cold and clammy to the touch, his cough unrelenting. To Josh's surprise, Josh's palm on his forehead seemed to calm him down somewhat; Emery didn't rise, but his sleep was less troubled after that.

Acting on instinct, Josh knelt by the sofa, wanting to offer some comfort for a moment longer; he woke up at first light, still on his knees, drooling over the armrest, with his arm numb and his palm resting on Emery's forehead. He was lucky Emery hadn't had a chance to see him like that.

Josh wiped the drool from his face and told himself the only reason he was pressing his lips to Emery's forehead was so he could tell if the man was running a fever. Which he likely was, given how hot his skin felt under Josh's lips. Giving up any pretense of going back to sleep, Josh busied himself with taking a quick shower before calling Mark from further down the hall, where he could still keep an eye on Emery without disturbing him.

Mark picked up after a small eternity. "I'm up, mom."

Josh rubbed his weary eyes, the corners of his mouth curving upwards. "Not your mother."

"Of course you are — the only other person who calls me at this hour is my boss, and I'm not calling you 'boss'."

"You should be so lucky. Was Sam mad at me yesterday?"

"Mostly she was mad she missed the drama. Serves her right for being late. Zoe and Dan, absent any sort of personal life, were thrilled to have lived vicariously through yours."

Josh snorted. "I'm sure all you agony aunts made it seem a lot more interesting than it was. Listen, are you going to be at the hospital today?"

"That depends — do you need something, or is it the deadweight you brought home from Central Park yesterday?"

"He's not deadweight," Josh hissed. Mark was a kind and compassionate man, but the mere mention of Emery's name served to make him forget that. "And anyway, how do you know I brought him home?"

"Because you wouldn't be calling me before I even had a chance to shower if you hadn't. So I'll take that as a yes, you brought him home, and yes, he's the one who needs something."

"And I'll take that as yes, you'll be at the hospital today."

"Touché. What does he need, aside from a personality transplant?"

Josh rolled his eyes despite the lack of an audience. "You've never even met him!"

"And I hoped I never would, after the way he behaved with you."

"Promise me you're not going to have that attitude when I bring him by."

"At the hospital? No. I'm a doctor there, not your friend; if he comes in needing care he's going to find me respectful and professional. I make no promises if you make me look at his face in any other situation."

"I just want to get him checked out. He was coughing all through the night, even in his sleep."

"Ugh. Please tell me you didn't sleep with him."

"Oh for the love of— Of course I didn't!"

"There may be hope for you yet."

"I'm serious now, Mark — his cough doesn't sound right, and I think he's running a fever."

"Mmm. I'd swing by and go check him out there, but I can't fit an x-ray machine in my pocket and you're making me think I'll want one. Bring him by at 10 and in the meantime let me take a shower, will you? Call me when you get there so I make sure I'm the one who picks up his case."

"Will do. Thank you."

"That's what I'm here for. That and punching you in the face if you require it."

"Yes, mandatory threats of violence are an intrinsic part of the Hippocratic Oath, I'm sure. See you then."

"Bye, mom!"

In the living room, Emery stirred.

#

Looking at Emery's face, made stranger by the shaved shape of his head, Josh found himself tongue-tied. He wanted to at least say good morning, but every opening he could think of seemed contrived, as if daylight had magnified the awkwardness of the previous night a thousandfold.

"Josh."

Ah. There was a non-committal opening. Why hadn't he thought of that?

"Emery." A pregnant pause. "I'll make breakfast."

The small smile on Emery's lips was fond, yet overshadowed by the sadness in his eyes. "Thank you, but I think it's time I leave."

"That's not what we agreed. You said we could talk."

Emery shifted on the sofa, sitting up straighter and placing the blanket beside him. "So I did. What is it I must talk about before you consider that agreement fulfilled?"

"You're being difficult again."

"I'm trying to remove myself from the situation so that any difficulty caused by me is a non-issue; you're the one who isn't helping make that any easier."

Josh ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it slightly so he'd have something to do with his hands instead of throttling Emery. "Damn it, are we back to this? Why are you in such a hurry to leave? Do you have anywhere you need to go? Can't wait to go out and what, commit suicide by exposure?"

"I'm not trying to commit suicide."

There was something in Emery's brown eyes, a flash of wounded resonance, that chilled Josh to his bones. He swallowed hard before voicing his realization. "You're not trying — but you wouldn't be particularly disappointed if you ended up dying."

Emery flinched then coughed into the curve of his arm, the violence of it leaving him breathless for a moment. "I am not deliberately trying to die. Can you not be satisfied with that?"

"You're a coward."

Emery had managed to resume his impassive look too quickly for comfort; the jab bounced off him without hitting its mark. "I never claimed otherwise. Is this talk of yours going to be a recitation of my flaws?"

"I thought 'this talk of mine' was going to be us eating breakfast and hopefully me getting it through to your head that you have options; suicidal thoughts weren't on the menu."

"I don't have suicidal thoughts. If you're worried I'm going to leave here and jump in front of a train or dramatically hang myself somewhere, don't be. I have no intention of killing myself, dramatically or otherwise."

"Most people cling more to life than simply having no intention of killing themselves."

"It's much too early in the morning for psychoanalysis, Josh. Tell me what you want to know so I can be on my way."

"I want to know what 'on your way' means, for starters. What's the plan for when you leave here? Go back to sleeping on the streets?"

"No, I thought I'd retire to the country house and hunt some pheasant," Emery deadpanned.

"Sounds exciting. Can I tag along?" Josh could give as good as he got.

Emery got up, agitated. Clearly he hadn't anticipated Josh playing his game. "What do you want, Josh? Where is this interrogation leading, where—" Another round of coughing interrupted his tirade; he sunk back into his seat once it was over, trying to control his breathing.

"To Columbia Presbyterian, preferably. You need to get that cough checked out."

Emery's eyes hardened. "Let's move this along, then. No, I have nowhere to go. No, I am not planning to kill myself. I've been homeless since the trial, under house arrest before that, and wallowing in self-pity before that. That was the first domino to fall. No, I am not your problem. Yes, I'm grateful for what you did for me yesterday, and for what you're trying to do today, but this is where it ends. No, I don't have anything else to offer. No, I will not be going to the hospital with you, so can I be on my way, please?"

Josh wanted to shake him, to snap him out of it; the casual way Emery dismissed himself made the breath catch in Josh's throat in the worst kind of way. Time to change tactics. "I still have most of the money Emma left me."

Emery's eyebrows rose. "Should I offer my congratulations to you for being thrifty?"

He'd regret having murdered Emery if he gave into the impulse now, Josh assured himself; there'd be no wringing any necks for the time being. "You can use it. You can invest it, you can make it grow, I know you can. If you invest it for me and take your cut you can hardly call it charity; that's what I want from you: make me a rich man."

Emery looked as if he'd been slapped. His face fell, even as resignation replaced the puzzlement in his eyes. It was the look of a man whose world made a devastating kind of sense.

"So that's why you came to get me," he said softly, more to himself than to Josh. Then, louder, "I wish I could. I give you my word, if I had the option, I'd assist you. I'm legally barred from working in finance. It's a lifetime ban. And if you're the one investing then someone is bound to realize you worked for me at some point and you risk going to jail. I won't do it."

Josh ignored the first crushing statement for the moment, not wanting to focus on how much it hurt him that Emery was so quick to jump to the worst possible conclusions where Josh was concerned. "Barred? But you were acquitted. Wasn't Roger the one responsible?"

"People lost their retirement savings, Josh, and the company bore my name. They were out for blood. Without Roger there to extract it from, I was the next logical target. The DA couldn't get me convicted of something I didn't do, but she could — she did — successfully argue that I was morally responsible for what he did."

"Morally responsible? How were you to know he'd join the dark side out of the blue? How long was he your business partner, ten years?"

"Twelve. But that is immaterial. I'm the one who gave him power of attorney. I let him run rampant and do what he wanted. His actions are my responsibility."

Josh exhaled as Emery continued coughing. He'd followed the story through the media even as he tried not to, but he only had an incomplete puzzle. "I don't understand. Things were fine back when I worked for you. The two of you never seemed to have any issues. What changed?"

"He was a lawyer, not a trader, or a mathematician, or an analyst. After Emma... I was grieving. I was having trouble summoning the will to get out of bed; dedicating the time to understanding the markets wasn't my priority."

After Emma. After Josh had walked out without a backwards glance, even though he knew how devastating the pain of loss was every single time. If Emery was morally responsible, then Josh shared some of that responsibility for not at least checking in.

"I gave him power of attorney," Emery continued, "so he wouldn't need my signature in every single piece of paper, and told him to keep it running as it was until I returned. No new clients, no investing, just holding the investments I deemed safe and selling everything else. I was grieving, but I knew what I was doing; I stand by the decisions I made; the company would have been fine. He—"

"Hold that thought," Josh interrupted, desperate to shake the guilt that clawed at him, "and come sit by the counter so I can make us breakfast while we talk."

"I'd prefer to hurry this along."

"And I'd prefer to eat." Stubbornness, Josh could deal with. "Unless you have a speech problem that only manifests itself when you're sitting on a bar stool?"

Emery snorted as he rose, eyes crinkling. Humor had always softened his sharp edges. His steps were measured, halting. His feet must be hurting, and Josh didn't have a single pair of shoes to offer him that wasn't too big.

"Am I allowed to empty my bladder first, or is that something that is also best done while sitting on a bar stool?"

Josh rolled his eyes and didn't dignify that with an answer.