SIX
AIDAN
The long plane ride back gives me plenty of time to think. From the moment I sit down, I’m utterly assaulted by the kind of thoughts I’ve fought to hold back since hearing the news.
When was the last time I talked to my parents? When was the last time I ever thanked them for everything that they’d done for me, and apologized for the fact that we were never able to see eye to eye on things?
Fucking bullshit.
For as far back as the Callahan line goes, Callahan men have been cut from the corporate cloth. It’s just what you’re supposed to do. You’re not meant to question it. You’re meant to marry a beautiful woman who will tolerate you fucking her in missionary. Who will bear you more Callahan sons, and who will know exactly how to keep an immaculate home and entertain guests. But that sort of life was never for me. For starters, missionary sex makes me want to fucking shoot myself in the head.
The old man sat down with me one day, right after college, and told me that he’d fund my travel for one year, wherever I wanted to go. The unspoken part of this agreement was that I’d get the wanderlust out of my system, and then I’d come back and work with the family. I backpacked around Europe, went to Thailand, Japan, went to Whistler, BC, Brazil, Fiji. My final stop was Hawaii. Perhaps a bit of a cliché, but I’ve always loved Hawaii. Kauai especially. I did actually have a plane ticket back to Chicago, but I let that day come and go. I decided I was going to stay in Kauai. I knew Dad would cut me off, yeah, but I decided I wanted to make my own way in life. I worked at a coffee shop and couch surfed until I’d saved enough to get a cheap apartment. At the same time, I started offering surfing lessons to tourists. It was less than a year later that I had enough private clients to support myself without the additional income from the café.
“But what kind of car are you driving?” my mother asked during one of our infrequent phone conversations. “And you’re . . . you’re living in an apartment?”
“Yeah, Mom,” I’d said, with far more patience than I felt. I loved my mom, but she was concerned with all the things that didn’t really matter. “And, actually, didn’t Alex and I grow up in an apartment? Don’t you and Dad still live in an apartment?”
“Darling, it’s the penthouse. Please don’t call it an apartment. Now, tell me what kind of car you’re driving.”
“A Jeep Wrangler.”
“A what? A Jeep? Are those things safe?”
“Don’t worry about it, Mom.”
“I just want you to be happy, Aidan. I’m your mother. Aren’t I allowed to want you to be happy?”
But I was happy, and she just couldn’t seem to understand. I couldn’t really be happy, could I? The only way I could really be happy would be if I went back to Chicago, if I did what every Callahan man before me had done. If anything, I think my dad might’ve understood how I felt about it, even if he didn’t agree with it. One night, not long before I was to take off to Europe and begin my backpacking expedition, we’d stood out on the penthouse’s terrace, overlooking the city skyline. Dad had a glass of cognac. I had some lemonade. I remember that, the way the ice cubes were melting in the cup, the thick humidity clinging to the air.
“I hope you’ll have a good time,” Dad said. “You’ll have to take lots of pictures; send us updates. It’s actually something I always wanted to do, y’know? Just never had the time. Also, there’s no way that your grandfather would have allowed me such an indulgence.”
Hint, hint. Aren’t I such an indulgent, generous father?
“Well, I do appreciate it,” I told him. “And I’ll be responsible with the money. And if I can find work along the way, I’m not going to turn it down.”
“I know you’ll be okay,” Dad told me. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Life’s funny, sometimes. Often, we find ourselves having to do things we don’t want, or might think we don’t want to do. But after we give it a try, we realize that it’s not so bad.”
Hint, hint. When you get back, you’re going to give this thing your best goddamn shot.
He seemed to be talking more to himself, even though I was standing right there. “People have certain obligations they’re bound to, whether or not they want to be. That’s what makes them obligations.” He looked at me. “You have obligations, too.”
“I know, Dad.” Then, all I could think about was Europe and getting as far away from Chicago as possible. I don’t remember the entirety of that conversation, but I do remember the promise I made to myself as Dad was standing there, talking about responsibilities and obligations. I promised that I would never get involved with the family business. I would never become a corporate suit like my brother. No matter what happened.
******
Oh, Chicago. I have not missed you.
I leave O’Hare and get blasted in the face by an Arctic wind that makes my bones feel as though they’re about to shatter. Forget about crystal blue skies and friendly sunshine. Here, we’ve got dense low clouds and no sun in sight at all. Everything’s grey, somber, frozen. No one looks happy. Everyone seems as though they’re trying to get somewhere else. Anywhere but here.
Arturo arranged for one of the company drivers to pick me up, but I walk right by the middle-aged guy holding the CALLAHAN sign. The dude doesn’t even give me a second look. After all, I don’t exactly look like a Callahan. I’m horribly underdressed in just a sweatshirt and jeans, so I go by unnoticed. I’d rather freeze than sit in the back of a Lincoln town car right now. Instead, I wait for the train and take it into the city.
I don’t have a key to the penthouse, but the doorman—I don’t recognize him—let’s me in, telling me he’s been told to expect me. Of course, it’s no surprise when the elevator door opens and Arturo is right there, looking ancient as ever in his grey three-piece suit.
“Aidan,” he says. My name sounds like a fucking curse word coming out of his mouth. I step out of the elevator.
My parents’ home hasn’t changed at all. It’s like a museum with its high ceilings and low lighting and dark hues. There’s a noticeable empty feel to the place; it’s too quiet, too cavernous, too cold.
“Hi, Art.” We shake hands. His skin feels like it’s made from crinkled old paper.
“I’m going to give you some time to settle in, son,” he tells me. “But after that, we need to have a conversation.”
I just grunt. There’s a Christmas tree set up in the living room, a few perfectly wrapped presents underneath. I walk down the hallway to my old bedroom, which my mother has kept exactly the way I left it.
I throw my duffel bag down on the bed, and then walk back out to where Arturo is waiting. Part of me is expecting Alex to be right there with him, a self-satisfied grin on his face. I told you I’d get you back here, you son of a bitch.
But he’s not there. It’s just Arturo. “Why don’t we go sit down,” he says. I follow him into the den where there’s fire crackling in the fireplace. The whole scene seems so ridiculously quaint and Christmassy that a wave of nausea rolls over me. “Do you want a drink?” Arturo gestures to my father’s vast array of expensive single malts.
I shake my head. “No thanks.”
“Well. All right, then. Yes.” He fiddles with the buttons on his blazer, then scratches at his bushy grey eyebrows. “ I suppose there’s no need for me to tell you how sorry I am, Aidan. I really am. I really should have insisted they got a cab. But Alex—”
“Was Alex. He wouldn’t have listened to you, Art. Don’t blame yourself.”
“Yes, well. I’m still…so shocked. So very sorry for your loss.” It’s his loss, too. Without a wife or any children of his own, he’s been a part of our family forever. I place a hand on his shoulder, not really sure if I’m meant to hug him or not.
“Thank you, Art. This is all…just a lot to take in.”
“I know,” he says. “Alex has been…Alex was under a lot of stress recently. I know he was excited about taking the company over, but something like that…it’s a huge headache, too. He was managing the best he could, but there’s only so much a man can handle before he starts to lose sleep. And he was worried about you.”
“He was worried about me?”
“Oh, come now. Your brother cared about you. He wanted you to come home. He had a temper, yes. I know the two of you were like oil and water, but he had a vision. He wanted to talk to you about it in person. I thought it might be better to at least bridge some of the specifics with you over the phone, but he was adamant that once you got here, the two of you would go out, have a brotherly chat, and then take on the world.”
“Is that so?” And all I can think of is the last thing I said to my brother before I hung up the phone: Why don’t you fuck off and die?
I don’t think Art knows I wasn’t planning on coming home, nor do I think he knows how shitty he’s making me feel right now. If I’d been here, maybe I would have been the one driving. None of this would have happened to begin with. Everyone would still be alive. But no. I had to put my own wants and desires before everything else. I mean, acting that way has always served me well before, but now, right now, it appears that it’s backfired horribly.
“I’ve been in touch with the only living relative of the man driving the truck. His name was Vaughn Floyd. His sister’s name is Essie Floyd. I did a bit of investigating. Seems it’s been just the two of them for a while. They were struggling to make ends meet,” Arturo says. “I called and offered to take care of the funeral expenses on behalf of the family. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”
“How generous of you.” When he says on behalf of the family, he means on my behalf. I’m such a fucking waste of oxygen that I didn’t even think of that myself, and yet I’m mad that Arturo chose to speak for me.
Arturo shrugs. “Maybe by covering the funeral costs, we might avoid any potential lawsuits this young woman might want to pursue. That’s just one headache we don’t need to deal with right now.”
How very fucking pragmatic of him. Buy off the poor woman who’s lost the only family she had. “So she accepted?”
“Yes.” He gives me a tight grin. “Though…she was hardly happy about it. Furious is probably a better word to describe her temperament, in fact.”
“Can you blame her? I assume you told her who you were. I’d probably be pretty pissed too.” I think about the girl for a minute, whoever she is, and her brother, whoever he was. Like mine, her life is now irrevocably changed, and we’re all just expected to carry on.
My father’s most trusted friend sighs heavily. “If she can at least give her brother a decent memorial service, I think we won’t have to worry about her in the future.”
“Jesus. So glad to hear you’re thinking ahead.” I can’t hide the disgust from my voice. I rub a hand over my eyes. “Maybe I should go lie down.”
“Maybe. Yes. Well.” Art nods, glancing around at his overly shined Italian leather shoes like he’s trying to find something he’s lost on the floor. Eventually he says, “Yes. A nap would probably do you some good. Just one more thing before I go. You’ll be expected to speak at the family memorial service. Just a few words. All the other arrangements have been taken care of. Your mother had very specific requests.”
“My mother had her funeral planned?”
“You sound surprised. Your parents have always thought ahead. They were realists. They knew this day would come eventually.” Arturo looks at me. “When was the last time your father spoke to you about his will?”
“His will?” I laugh. “Never. If he was going to talk to anyone about that, it would have been Alex.”
A pained expression crosses Arturo’s face, almost like he feels bad for what he’s about to tell me. “The Callahan Corporation was to be passed on to you and your brother. Since your brother is no longer with us, you are the sole heir. The business is yours.”
“Excuse me?”
“The Callahan Corporation is yours. You’ll need to hit the ground running, Aidan. The company was going through major transition already. Everything’s up in the air. What the business needs now is a strong hand and guidance. Everyone’s...well, they’re reeling, of course. Many of your father’s employees are in a state of panic. People think they’re going to lose their jobs.”
“But…what about the board? Won’t they just manage everything from here on out?”
Arturo shakes his hand, sliding his hands into his pockets. “The Callahan Corporation never went public, Aidan. There is no board. You trying to tell me you didn’t know that?”
“No, I…” I feel stupid. I’ve never had even the slightest interest in what happened in that shining glass tower that dominates the Chicago city skyline. But to not even know how the company was structured? That’s madness. This whole situation reminds me of a movie. Something scripted. Completely untenable. This is just like fucking Batman, except Arturo makes a shitty Arthur and I am just about the worst Bruce Wayne ever.
Arturo speaks some more. I think maybe they’re coherent sentences, but I can’t decipher a single thing that comes out of his mouth. My parents are dead, my brother is dead, and now everything is mine.
Everything I’ve ever tried to free myself from is mine.