Sometimes It Is Rocket Science (4 page)

“Georgiana, is something wrong?”

“No.”  Her brittle smile did little to reassure him.

“Are you ill?  Is there a problem with Tab?”

“Bobby, I’m fine,” she said, obviously the exact opposite of
fine
.  She shook the keys.  “I need to go home, now.”

He wanted to reach for her, to pull her in his arms and do whatever it took to wipe that strained look off her face, but he settled for slipping the keys from her freezing fingers.  “I know we’ve drifted, Georgiana, but you can come to me if you need help.”

“Thanks.”  She popped up on her toes and brushed her lips across his cheek.  She quietly removed herself from the room and slowly trekked down the stairs.  “NORA, I’m leaving.  Take care of Bobby.”

“Good night, Georgie dear,” the house’s AI responded.

Robert waited until he heard the Aston Martin’s engine rev to life before descending the stairs.  He wandered into the gleaming white kitchen and leaned his elbows on the cool, granite countertop.  “NORA, is there something remiss with Georgiana?”

“At 140/85, Ms. Collier’s blood pressure is slightly elevated.  Her heart and respiration rates are also elevated.  However both are within acceptable parameters.  Last analysis showed mild iron deficiency anemia, a deficiency in all required vitamins, and low levels of serotonin.”

“No, damn it, that’s not what I meant.”  Robert rubbed the back of his neck.  He couldn’t get angry with the house, not when it sounded so much like his mother.  “I’m sorry.  Thank you, NORA.”

It took twenty minutes to haul all five of his suitcases into the house.  His old suite was free of dust.  There were fresh linens on the bed.  He was willing to bet every dollar in his wallet that it was Georgiana’s handiwork. 

He was tired.  His second wind had faded halfway through dinner.  While he’d been dining on heart-healthy cuisine, Cedric had sent preliminary data on Collier Analytics.  He was dying to dive into the information, but the pillows looked so inviting.  He managed to toe off his shoes before falling, face first, on the bed.  He never noticed when NORA turned off the lights.

Georgiana gently pulled the front door shut.  Though the bedrooms were on the third floor, she knew how well sound traveled up the staircases.  She crouched to unbuckle the straps around her ankles.  A small spotlight flickered on above her left shoulder. 

“Thanks, ERIC.”  She affectionately ran her fingertips along the wall before slipping off her dress shoes and tucking them under her arm. 

ERIC’s voice, a soothing tenor voice chosen from a database by Dan, was softened to a whisper as he listed the vital signs of house’s other occupant.  He wasn’t programmed for it, but Georgiana swore she could hear sympathy in the AI’s tone.  She quickly and silently made her way up two flights of stairs.

No interior lights were on and all the curtains were drawn to keep out the moonlight and streetlights.  Georgiana could navigate the third floor hallway blindfolded, sick, and, as she’d learned after her MIT graduation, blindingly drunk.  She unerringly stepped into her bedroom.  The door had been removed, along with all others except for the front door, five months earlier.  Dark fabric shower curtains suspended by tension rods across the bathroom and closet doorways allowed the illusion of privacy. 

She grabbed the old MIT t-shirt and yoga pants she wore for pajamas off the end of the bed.  The bathroom attached to her bedroom was cool and still.  The overhead lights slowly grew brighter.

“No,” she bit out, turning her head sharply from the mirror.  “Turn them off.”

Georgiana didn’t need lights to change clothes or wash off her makeup, and she didn’t want to have to look at her reflection.  She didn’t want to see the sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks.  She couldn’t stand looking at the utter failure reflected in the mirror.

She bumped her shins twice on the toilet while changing into her pajamas.  Her hands shook and her knees trembled.  Tears pricked the corners of her aching eyes.  She had only picked at her dinner, and she needed to eat.  Since that awful phone call from NORA about Dan’s attack, she’d been running on adrenaline.  Food had been relegated to an afterthought.  Not that she’d had much of an appetite since early October.

Shortly after installing ERIC, she’d set up drink dispensers in several rooms on the third floor.  There was a microwave in the small sitting room between the two smaller bedrooms and a mini-fridge in each bedroom.  She’d tried to make things as convenient as possible.

All the machines were wired to the same tanks of orange juice, milk, filtered water, and apple juice and they all included a paper cup dispenser.  The tanks were stored in the main refrigerator on the second floor; a free hose was available for dispensing soda or any other drink on the refrigerator’s queue.  Georgiana lifted a paper cup out of the holder and pressed the button for orange juice.

Once the cup was filled, she lifted it to her lips.  Hopefully the cold, tart drink would soothe her scratchy throat and raise her blood sugar level.  Rather than sweet, pulpy orange juice, a thick, vanilla-flavored liquid coated her tongue.  She swallowed reflexively, licked her lips clean of the gritty residue. 

“What was that?” she asked, glaring up at the space she knew a sensor was located.

“A protein shake.  My records indicate that you are currently fifteen pounds underweight, and the results from this morning’s urine analysis fall just outside minimum parameters.”

“You’re supposed to monitor Tab, you know-it-all electronic nag.”

“I am programmed to monitor all inhabitants, Georgiana,” ERIC responded, the slightest hint of exasperation present in his tone.  “I can show you the specific portions of my programming if you’d like.”

Georgiana took another sip of the horrid drink.  The AI wouldn’t dispense anything else until it was ready.  She regretted allowing Tab to mess with ERIC’s personality code.  Her brother was a genius on comparison with Robert Norwood or their father in terms of programming and AI work.  If Tab had been at full capacity, he would have smoothed over all the snags she and Dan ran in to within hours.  Then again, if Tab had been at full capacity, she wouldn’t have needed to create ERIC.

“For the record, I prefer strawberry.”

“Noted.  I will add it to the next grocery order.”

“Thanks.”  She slumped against the wall, tipped the cup back, and chugged the rest of the protein shake.  She rinsed the cup with water from the tap and drank a cup of lukewarm, slightly metallic water. 

The bedroom across from hers was silent.  She eyed her bed wistfully.  The quilt and top sheet were still tangled around the curved iron footboard.  Her eyelids drooped and a heavy wave of exhaustion hit her so hard she swayed. 

A muffled whimper from Tab’s bedroom drifted across the hall.  She swallowed the bitter taste of fatigue and stumbled into the other bedroom.  She conjured a mental map of where every piece of furniture was located in the room.  Five steps later, her right foot struck the leg of her brother’s oak desk. 

A yelp rose in her throat.  She clamped her lips shut.  Fire traveled from her injured toe all the way to her knee.  Limping, she made her way to the canary yellow wingback chair she’d dragged up from her mother’s old sitting room.  The chair was positioned so that she could reach the bed if she needed to, but far enough away that if she read or used her tablet computer the light wouldn’t wake Tab.

Glad to be off her throbbing foot, she sank onto the firm cushion.  Huddled under thick blankets despite the relatively mild temperature, Tab whimpered and shifted restlessly.  Georgiana wrapped her fingers around his covered ankle.  He shifted towards her as if searching for more contact.

She couldn’t imagine what horrors filled his dreams.  The nightmares were a nightly occurrence.  They’d tried sleeping pills, pain medication, and herbal remedies but nothing stopped the dreams.  She’d wanted to seek further treatment, but he’d stopped her.  He saw the nightly mental torture as a twisted sort of penance.

“Gigi?”

She was on her feet in an instant.  The mattress barely registered the addition of her slight weight.  She settled against the headboard and pulled her brother on to her lap.  Though taller by at least six inches and built like a linebacker, Théophile Bertrand Collier felt so frail in her arms. 

“Oh, Gigi,” he rasped, his voice rough from tears and sleep.  He buried his sweat-soaked face in the curve of her shoulder.  Strong hands gripped her waist hard enough to leave bruises.

“Shh,” she murmured, raking a hand through his damp, honey blond hair.  She continued to massage his scalp and whisper soothingly into his ear until he drifted back off to a restless sleep.

With Tab sniffling and crying in his sleep against her, she turned her head to face the door.  The wooden headboard was cool and smooth against her cheek.  The tears she’d tried so hard to contain slipped out from between her eyelashes.  Her brother was in pain, and nothing she did eased that pain.

Six months earlier, things had been easy, relatively speaking.  Their father had still been dead, but the grief had dulled with time.  Georgiana had been struggling to live up to his legacy as a CEO and software genius.  Tab had been at a prep school in Dallas unwilling to skip grades like his sister.  They’d made plans for a weekend of shopping and movies.  Though he didn’t care much for shopping, he welcomed every opportunity to drive his new Mercedes SUV.

Halfway between Dallas and Houston, he’d lost control of the Mercedes and crossed the grassy median into oncoming traffic.  The luxury SUV hit a small pickup truck traveling well over the speed limit.  The driver and passenger hadn’t been wearing their seatbelts.  Tab was the only survivor.

He’d been trapped in his car.  Despite his head injury and the shock, he’d managed to find his cell phone and call her.  When her brain slowed down, she could still hear his awful, tearful words.  He’d seen the two bodies on the grass and the blood.  He apologized and cried over and over.  She hadn’t wanted to hang up on him, but she needed to call emergency services.

She didn’t remember getting dressed or meeting the ambulance in Huntsville.  The poor lady at the admitting desk had kindly put up with her terse answers and biting sarcasm.  When all the damn forms had finally been filled out, an orderly had escorted her to her brother.  He was still strapped to the stretcher with a brace wrapped around his neck; Georgiana had beaten the doctor to him.

When he’d cracked opened his eyes, they’d been bloodshot and filled with so much heartache that she’d nearly vomited on the floor.  He opened his mouth to say her name, but all that came out was a pained croak.  She’d scrambled onto the narrow bed and held him as tightly as possible.

His pained, heartfelt mantra was the stuff of her nightmares.  “
It should have been me.  They’re dead, Gigi.  It should have been me.
”

She disagreed.  She was sorry two people had died, but Tab was all she had.  He’d spent two nights in the hospital.  They stayed another night in a Huntsville hotel before returning to the townhouse.  His broken wrist, broken ribs, and busted head healed on schedule.  His spirit hadn’t faired so well.  His status as a minor and her team of downright vicious lawyers had kept the story from the media.  It was one of the few things that had gone right for them.

As soon as the cast had come off his arm, he’d attempted to slit his wrists in the bathtub.  A week after that, he’d chased a handful of Tylenol with two tumblers of vodka.  Even after the coroner had determined that the two in the other car had been drunk, and the county district attorney had opted to not press charges, Tab continued to blame himself.

Four psychologists had sat with Tab.  Survivor’s guilt was the diagnosis every time.  Two of them recommended time in a full-time facility.  The less tactful of the two received an apology and a hefty pay-off check after Georgiana had thrown her mother’s favorite vase at his head.  She’d listened to their advice, though, and worked with Dan on NORA and ERIC.

Six months after the accident, they were in a holding pattern.  Tab refused to leave the townhouse.  He completed school assignments and video chatted with a private tutor.  They didn’t talk about suicide or blame.  They didn’t talk about the accident either.  Georgiana knew it wasn’t healthy, but she was afraid of pushing him and shattering the fragile balance.  She felt like they were floating aimlessly, sharing half a life, and didn’t know how to move past it.

Certain that she wouldn’t wake Tab, Georgiana lifted one of her synced tablet PCs off the bedside table and unlocked it.  It only took a moment to access NORA’s system.  Dan had given her one of the rooms in his workshop for a project of hers she didn’t want near Tab.  He had full access to the room, but he’d respected her privacy.  She didn’t believe Robert, given his attitude earlier, would be as considerate.  After changing the access requirements for that room, she quickly updated NORA’s system with the doctor’s instructions for Dan’s return home.

Glancing through her personal calendar made her stomach ache.  She hadn’t gone for an extracurricular MBA like her father and Robert. Her degrees were in mechanical engineering and physics.  Numbers were easy so she had no problem with budgets or financial analyses but was completely lost when talk turned to updating the benefits package or marketing.  Every time she missed a meeting or sat while information went in one ear and out the other she felt like she was letting her father down.

A dinner date notation for Thursday gave her pause.  Her assistant knew better than to schedule anything without prior approval.  She clicked on the tab for the date and paled.  Dinner with Walt Prask. 

The ink was still wet on Prask’s divorce papers.  Ex-wife number five was a surgically enhanced bottle blonde two years younger than his daughter Claire, Georgiana’s childhood friend.  Jerome Collier had publicly lambasted Prask’s business ethics, but it was Prask’s skeevy behavior and suggestive remarks that bothered Georgiana. 

She couldn’t risk calling Yvonne, her assistant, and waking Tab.  An email would have to do.  She opened the program prepared to ask Yvonne what in the hell the younger woman had been thinking when she noticed an email from a senior member of Collier Analytic’s Board of Directors.

Expecting a politely worded chastisement for her less than stellar performance at the last teleconference, she opened the message.  Bile rose in the back of her throat.  Prask had gone behind her back and made an offer directly to the board.  They were losing faith in her, despite the positive financial numbers, and were considering the offer.

Anger boiling like hot oil in her veins, she tapped out a terse email response and copied in every director.  She owned a majority of shares in the company, and she was still CEO and executive chairman of the board.  They couldn’t make a deal without her signature, and they’d lost their collective minds if they thought they could bully her.  ‘
Collier Analytics is not and will never be for sale!
’ was her final line.

Trembling with fury and secretly pleased to finally feel something other than misery or apathy, she shut down her email program.  Dan would be disappointed when he learned of her impulsive action, but she’d deal with that in the morning.  If he couldn’t figure out a way to strike a deal between their companies without turning her into a hypocrite, she was certain his everything-rolls-off-my-back son could.  Taking the company private had been her father’s backup plan for everything, and there was no reason she couldn’t do the same.