Off the warm brown eyes that I just couldn’t place.
But unfortunately, today, I have something much worse than the emergency room waiting for me, and I can’t be late.
“Hey, Cal.”
When I get to the meeting room, my cousin is standing just outside, his coat folded over his arm, his blond hair receding slightly. The strange thing about growing up alongside someone is that they look like they always have, and yet completely different at the same time.
I’m just starting at BHC today. Cal is still on bereavement leave.
Technically, the policy at the hospital doesn’t cover uncles, but I imagine HR was plenty aware of the father-son-esque relationship between my cousin and dad, so here he is, looking fraught and actually, kind of frail.
Both Cal and Alena are taking my father’s death harder than I am. My sister is a huge part of the reason I’m even back in this city. Between her struggling with the loss of our only parent and marriage troubles, it was clear she needed me, even if she never would have asked me directly to leave NYC and come home.
“Hey, Russell, good to see you,” Cal says, drawing me out of my thoughts. He surprises me by reaching out and pulling me in for a quick hug. I give him a solidthumpon the back and we spring apart, both looking into the empty conference room.
“And here I thought I was late.”
“I…might have told you fifteen minutes early,” Cal admits, giving me a lopsided grin. “Thought you might be distracted by your first day at the new hospital.”
I raise my eyebrows, both impressed and slightly annoyed with him. The standard feeling evoked by my cousin.
“Fellas!” I turn to see a guy from the board walking toward me, his suit perfectly tailored, his silver hair obviously dyed anebony black. Throughout my life, I’ve been introduced to various members of the board during parties and events, and I have never once remembered any one of their names. To me, they seem to replace each other and swap out like Lego men in a set.
“Good morning,” I say, turning to him and offering my hand. “Russell Burch.”
“Iknowwho you are,” he laughs, shooting a look at Calvin likeget a load of this guy. “You can call me Ronald.”
He shakes my hand, then punches in a code for the conference room and leads us inside. Ten minutes—and ten more handshakes—later, we’re all seated around the table. Everyone else has folders and materials they’ve brought with them, but I didn’t get the memo that this was show-and-tell.
“Alright,” Ronald says, lacing his fingers together, looking around the table with a quick glance in my direction. “Shall we just go ahead and tackle the obvious ticket here?”
Obvious ticket?
I’m in this meeting room to replace my father’s normal presence in this quarterly affair, as dictated by his will. His last will and testament dictateda lot, actually. Plenty of fucked up expectations for me to acquire an inheritance I have no interest in.
What do I need all that money for? I have plenty myself, and I’m not going to dance like a monkey for a few more dollar signs.
During the private reading, the lawyer—Mr. Grande—had even looked apologetic, like he realized how much of a hard ass my dad could be, even if the rest of the world only thought of him as some sort of untouchable saint.
No—he’s the kind of man who detailsmarriageandinvolvement in BHC operationsand asteady home baseas requirements for me to get what he’s left to me. His house on the outskirts of the city, quite a huge lump sum of money, and holdings within the BHC empire.
When he got to that section, I’d laughed and asked Grande to move on. That brought us to his direction for me to take his place on the board. Something I was actually willing to do, but maybe the will should have included some sort of information packet. An instructional video.
I didn’t go to business school. I’m not used to conference table cadence.
“I actually have some thoughts on that situation,” Cal says, leaning forward in his chair and tapping twice on the little stack of papers.
Blinking at my cousin, I raise my hand slightly, interrupting his flow, “I’m sorry, what situation?”
There’s a hush around the table. If I was anyone else, they might just ignore me and continue on, I know that. I also know that not a single person in this room would feel comfortable ignoring the son of the late and great Franklin Burch.
“…the clinic downtown,” a woman at the end of the table says, in a voice so low it might as well be a stage whisper.
My father came into BHC working under his father. While grandpa had been solely focused on growth and advancement—there was so much new technology coming out in his time—my dad had focused on outreach. Establishing rural clinics, sources for those without health insurance. Every October, for Breast Cancer Awareness, he organized free mammograms to anyone who couldn’t afford to obtain one otherwise.
That’s why people loved him so much—rich boy is publicly selfless. Gobble that shit up.
Even though I’m flippant about it, that clinic downtown has a special place in my heart. It’s where I first volunteered my time as a high schooler. Where I first saw the real implications of health and wellness on those who had never had it before.
