Chapter 13

 

Connor

 

The day my parents died, I was descending Mount Everest and out of cell phone range. It would be three more days before my phone picked up a signal, and I heard it ring. When I answered, Lizzy’s frantic voice said, “Oh my god, Connor!” It was the sound of painful relief and agony all mixed into one. I’d never, ever heard her voice sound like that before. It sent me into an immediate panic.

“Lizzy? What’s wrong?”

The sound of her hysterical crying faded, like she was pulling the phone away.

“Lizzy? Lizzy!”

“Connor?” It was Rayce. He’d taken the phone from her. His voice was calm, but grim.

No. Corrine. That’s what I thought. The most logical thing. The worst thing I could possibly think of.

It was far, far worse.

“Corrine?” I asked.

“No. It’s Mom and Dad.” His tone of voice alone told me it was something truly horrible. Confusion blurred with cold dread. Mom and Dad? There couldn’t be anything wrong with Mom and Dad. They were invincible. Truly.

Except they weren’t. As I stood outside of base camp at the foot of Mount Everest, the wind whipped around me and rustled against my insulated jacket, and Rayce told me Dad had taken Mom out sailing three days ago. Their boat capsized and their bodies were found later that night. Three days ago, I’d been on top of the world. I was literally on top of the world the very day my parents were dying. I couldn’t process it. It couldn’t be.

“I’m sorry, Connor.”

No. It couldn’t be. Except my brother would never lie to me. Not about this. The wind whipped through again, my jacket rustling violently.

“Connor?”

“I’m here.”

“Where are you?”

I should be home. “Uh... base camp.”

“What?”

I hadn’t told my siblings I was climbing Mt. Everest. Dangerous stuff makes Lizzy nervous, and we had a deal that I wouldn’t tell her about things like that until after they were over. It’s not common for me to go several weeks without calling, but because of the various things I do it’s not exactly unusual either. The radio silence I needed while I climbed Everest wouldn’t be enough to cause her concern. Normally.

I need to be home. I need to be home right now. “I’m in base camp,” I said again. “Mount Everest.”

“Jesus.” He paused then said, “Is that Tibet or Nepal?”

“I’m on the Tibet side.”

“All right, hang on. I’m going to call Carl Maddox. He said he’d help with transportation if we needed it, once we tracked you down.”

“Okay.” But my brain was still thick. I couldn’t think much of anything. I sank to the ground, right where I’d been standing, and stayed there while my brother made arrangements with Carl. Carl owns Maddox International, has a ridiculous amount of money and resources, and he and his family are old family friends. I don’t know how many private jets and planes the Maddoxes own, but they have offices and various headquarters all over the globe, with planes to go with them. So, a lot.

When Rayce came back on the line, he said, “Can you get a car to Shigatse? There’s supposed to be a small airport there.”

I flew into Lhasa City, which is farther away, but trusted him. I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. “Yes.”

“Okay, Carl will have a shuttle plane meet you there. He’s still putting together the rest, but he’ll take care of it. You don’t need to worry about anything. We’ll get you here as soon as possible.”

I heard Lizzy crying in the background.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“It wasn’t your fault.” I’ve never heard my brother sound so old and tired.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I scared Lizzy.”

“She thought you were dead.” I pinched my eyes shut. I’m sorry. “She’ll be okay now. Let me know when you get there.”

I nodded. “I will.”

There was a moment of silence as we sat together on the phone. I didn’t want to hang up. I didn’t want to be alone here.

“We’re going to need you, Connor.”

“I know. I’ll ship my boat back. I can’t arrange it now. I’ll have to do it later.”

“I’m sure Carl would be willing to help.”

“I’ll do it later,” I said again, unable to think about it any further.

“Okay,” Rayce said. “Are you all right? Can you make the call?”

“I can make the call.”

“Keep me posted.”

“I will. Tell Lizzy I love her. And Corrine. I love you, too.”

“Travel safely. Please.”

I’d said I could make the call, and eventually I did. But I must have sat there on the ground for many minutes, my brain in shock, before I was able to think through all the steps, which suddenly felt very complicated: look up the number, make the call, tell them where I am, get my things together.

The next twenty-six hours were the longest of my life. I hired a car that drove me the eight hours to Shigatse, where there was indeed a very small airport. There I was greeted by a grim-faced Maddox employee in a suit, who simply nodded and said, “Mr. Rivers.” He led me to the plane—just a little Learjet—and we flew to Lhasa City. Aside from the employee and the pilots—I never even learned their names—I was the only one on the plane. From there, I was once again the lone passenger on a Falcon jet that flew almost direct to the airport in Swan Pointe, landing somewhere a couple times—I don’t remember where—to refuel. The employees on board tended to me, expressing their condolences and bringing food and drink. I let them, but I ate and drank little and mostly just stared out the window in numb disbelief.

When I de-boarded the plane, Lizzy and Rayce were there waiting for me. Lizzy ran into my arms and damn near knocked me over and we clung to each other like our lives depended on it. She cried on my shoulder and I may have shed some tears on hers too. Rayce didn’t cry or speak, but he put his arm around Lizzy and rested his hand comfortingly on my head.

The patriarch already, I’d thought. I remember that very clearly.

I really couldn’t tell you how long we stayed joined together like that.

Through it all, our parents were still dead.

 

 

The day before the funeral, my siblings and Corrine and I spent the entire day at the resort, going through Mom and Dad’s offices and trying to figure out what we needed to do to keep things running. We sorted through emails, reviewed calendars, went through files. We dealt with open correspondence with various people, although by then most people knew what was going on and were patient with all the delays. We made endless lists of things to do.

It was a long day. It was the first day I felt a mantle settle like an anvil on my shoulders. It was the first day (but not the last) that I felt terrified by the fact that we didn’t yet know all the specifics we needed to know about the business, and might not be able to keep Mom and Dad’s dream from collapsing in on itself. It was the first day (also not the last) I felt damned determined to make sure that didn’t happen.

The first few months passed like a whirlwind. Truth be told, none of us were what Mom and Dad would’ve considered “fully trained.” Rayce was closest. He’d been working as the CFO, and his duties intersected with Mom and Dad’s most often. Lizzy was still “stair-stepping” up and working as the Director of Lodging—we’ve since hired another—and it’s my understanding that she did a good job of it. But she was still training with Mom to learn the other aspects of operations, which Mom handled herself, and there were a few remaining gaps.

Thanks to my good memory and lifelong drive to prove I could do anything my big brother could do—it began once I’d started walking, according to Mom, and hasn’t let up since—Dad had trained me on quite a bit on his side of things before I left home. But I wasn’t really thoroughly versed in all the details of the resort’s executive operations either and besides, I’d been gone four years.

It was kind of a disaster, at first, and we relied heavily on our management team. Eventually we started to figure things out, but it took us awhile to sort out a new division of responsibilities. Mom and Dad had overseen various aspects of the resort based on their interests and strengths, which didn’t really line up with what the three of us did best. Rayce still handles the financials, but he and I share the executive relations side of things, which Dad handled. Lizzy and I split up some of the operations, with her focusing more on rooms and events, and me overseeing the restaurants and activities side. Things eventually started to calm as we got a better handle on things and were no longer working ninety-hour weeks.

That’s when the dust started to settle, which was almost as bad. With far less to distract us at that point, the shock let up and the grieving hit hard. Almost eight months later, I wouldn’t say anyone’s over it, but we’re getting on as best we can, I guess.

Though, I’m not so sure about Rayce. Honestly, things have been a little rough with us.

As for the business itself, though, it’s almost routine now. Every so often we’ll hit a snag—we’ll discover something Mom or Dad handled that no one else knew about—but it’s going pretty smoothly overall. Thank God for our incredible managers and staff. Many of our employees have been around for years, a few from the very beginning, and they’re almost like family. When it happened, they gathered around us and did everything they could to help. Not to mention our regular guests and members of the Swan Pointe community, who also expressed their love and support. I’m deeply grateful for it. Truly.

I still wish my parents were here instead.

And I’m rapidly approaching a fork in the road I’m dreading. Really dreading. Because I have no idea what I’m going to do.

 

 

Rayce pulls his Bentley Continental into the parking lot of the lawyer’s office building at exactly one o’clock. Most people would consider this close enough to being on time, but not Rayce. Not lately, anyway. Rayce unbuckles his seatbelt, practically oozing irritation. From the front passenger seat, Lizzy gives him a look, clearly wanting to tell him to relax but not wanting to stir the pot.

I don’t care.

I get out of the backseat still in happy shock about Whitney. I can’t believe she’s here. If it weren’t for this stupid meeting I would’ve just crashed her lunch party, because I didn’t want to let her out of my sight for even a second. And what a sight she was. Wow. She’s beautiful anyway, but damn did she look stunning in that dress. Not to mention the way she felt in my arms. Her smell. Her smile. Damn.

I’ve thought of her often since we last saw one another. It took a while to get over her. Much longer than I thought it would. Well, okay maybe in some ways I’ve never really gotten “over” it, but what could I do? I’d deliberately left things without a way to contact her, and she didn’t ask for my information either. I told myself that had been the right thing to do, too, because there have been many, many moments of weakness when I would’ve reached out to her.

And now here she is. I’m a little drunk with it. I’m not assuming she’s interested in starting anything again. I couldn’t begin to say. She could have a boyfriend, for all I know. Though the thought of that makes me a little crazy, so maybe not. I hope not. God, I’m a mess. But even if all I get to do is talk to her, I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever I can get.

I ignore Rayce’s silent fuming all the way to George Hollister’s office. Normally I’d take the bait, I admit. We’ve been rubbing each other wrong for months. This isn’t how things used to be and I don’t like it, but he’s been acting kind of like a jerk and I’m not going to just put up with it. Today though, I’m energized just thinking about Whitney, which is probably only irritating him more since I’m not at all sorry about making us late.

We walk into George’s office and shake hands while Rayce apologizes for our lateness, looking right at me. I smile in response, just to piss him off, and he scowls a bit. When he gets in these moods, I can’t seem to keep from goading him. It’s practically habitual at this point.

We all settle into chairs, opposite George, who sits behind his broad, mahogany desk. He’s a frail-looking man in his sixties, with thinning gray hair and pale, sagging skin. Don’t let his looks deceive you. He’s a lion in disguise, and goes way back with our family. He knew my father in Dad’s real estate days, before the resort, and the two had remained tight over the years. He specializes in estates, and our parents chose him to be the trustee of the Grant and Sharon Rivers Trust.

Let me establish one thing right now. Assets coming your way because your parents drowned at sea feels pretty fucking ugly, no matter what it is you’re receiving. As for me, since you’re probably wondering, this is what I got: a portion of their investment real estate properties and portfolios, several items from their art collection (most of which are on display at the resort), sizable cash assets, and my one-third share of the resort itself.

Rayce and Lizzy’s inheritances came to them right away, but because I’m not yet twenty-five, my inheritance is still technically part of the trust. I get cash allowances of a sort every two months—not that I need it or want it—the size of which is determined by the man sitting across the table from us. There’s been no conflict about it. He’s been fair and, as far as we can tell, following our parents’ wishes. I’m just sticking it in the fucking bank and ignoring it anyway.

When it came to money, our parents took a strong hand with us from the time we were old enough to balance a checkbook (ten, in case you were wondering). In addition to our business training, which took the form of working just about every kind of job imaginable at the resort—from busboy to maintenance crew to front desk—and one-on-one management training with our parents, we were expected to fully understand money. We were allowed to spend a small portion of what we earned on the stupid stuff kids like to buy, candy and games and whatnot, but then the rest of our money we had to manage under our parents guidance. We were expected to save, invest, and donate.

Our father taught us how to evaluate stock portfolios, real estate markets, and even soft investments like artwork, though those purchases are as much about the heart as they are about anything. All my dad’s training paid off, though not in the way he’d hoped. My freshman year of college, I made friends with some upperclassmen who were knee-deep in plans to launch a start-up. I gave them some free advice, since they knew more about tech than they did about business, and even made a small investment in their company. Which came back to me ten-fold.

This led to me gaining a reputation of sorts, and now the largest portion of my investment portfolio is in start-ups. Some have been successful, a few have crashed and burned, and two have made me a small mint. One woman I invested in has grown her fledgling tech business into a multi-million dollar company that’s getting ready to go public. I could travel the world on income from that investment alone. While I’ve shared my business skills with the companies I’ve invested in, for the most part I always kept my hands-on role to a minimum. Too much of that would’ve interfered with my wandering ways, and I made enough to keep it all afloat anyway. If I had aspirations to be a billionaire I suppose I could work night and day for it, but what’s the point of having money like that if I’m too busy to enjoy it?

In addition to the life-long training we’ve had in business and money management, our mother taught us how to investigate charitable organizations, whether they be large, international groups like the one Whitney works for (which has been the recipient of several Rivers family donations, in fact) or small, local groups who tend to really work in the trenches. We were expected to be in the trenches sometimes too. As kids we did everything from help prepare meals at the local Ronald McDonald house to help sort cans at the food bank.

I’d love to say I was never a bratty kid who complained about such things, but it’d be a lie. My mom knocked that attitude out of my head pretty thoroughly though, and by the time I was in high school I learned to appreciate what she was trying to teach us. Thanks to her, I realized people are just people, and if we’re in a position to help someone who needs and wants it, we should just get off our asses and do it. As a bonus, it feels good to help, but we were expected to do it whether it felt good or not.

Before I left for college, when I was old enough to understand, she said something she only ever said once. “You might want to consider the value of anonymous donations. It’s a good way to take yourself out of the equation.”

Maybe I’m wrong, but I got a feeling Mom took herself out of the equation more than she put herself in it. Looking back, the only time she went public with support was when it was to leverage the pull of the Rivers name to help more. As an example, the resort holds a fundraising dinner for the battered women’s shelter every year. The resort donates the venue, labor, food, and supplies. We also donate cash from our personal funds because my mother insisted business donations do not negate the responsibility for private donations. People pay $500 a plate to attend, plus spend thousands more in a high-end silent auction of items donated by area businesses.

A good portion of the attendees are the kind of people who come partially because they care about a good cause, and partially because they want to be seen caring about it. Mom knew that, and knew putting the Rivers name on the event was a way to draw them to it in droves. You know, for the prestige. But, being the person she was, she never judged them for it. The way I sometimes do, to be honest. Rather, she figured their money did just as much good as anyone else’s and we should be grateful they’re willing to give it, regardless of the reasons.

God, I miss her.

After some preliminary niceties, George opens a file on his desk and launches into an update on the disbursements of the trust. While from a strictly legal standpoint, he doesn’t really need to tell us about the things that don’t affect us directly, it was our parents’ desire that their children be kept in the loop on everything.

When they first passed away, we were each given a copy of the trust, a densely-written legal document some fifty-two pages long. I was in too much of a brain fog to pay attention to most of it. I still can’t bring myself to comb through it. All I know is that while they made sure the bulk of their estate passed to their kids, there’s not a family member, close family friend, or favorite charitable organization that went overlooked. Distant relatives I’d never even heard of received a modest chunk of change. Some people went so far back in our parents’ memories that George is still trying to track everyone down.

In addition to important people we never knew about, we had no idea the extent of our parents’ wealth. There were real estate properties Dad owned we didn’t even know about. I now own two of them, or will when I’m twenty-five.

Corrine inherited a property herself, along with an investment portfolio the three of us are teaching her how to manage. It, too, is still technically under the umbrella of the trust, but George has been good about letting her make decisions about things.

He finishes telling us about the current state of affairs—he’s tracked down a couple more of Dad’s old friends—and lets me know how much I’ll be receiving in the upcoming disbursement. I sigh. Maybe I’ll just make a donation to the Mayo Clinic. I don’t know. I’d rather just have Mom and Dad back, thanks anyway.

As the meeting goes on, I know we’re getting closer to a topic I’d rather avoid. Even the high I’ve been feeling from seeing Whitney is not enough to keep me from feeling anxious about it.

“So, Connor.” George turns to me more fully and rests his hands in his lap. “Have you given any thought to what we discussed last time?”

Lizzy and Rayce both look at me. I keep my eyes on George.

“Yes, but I’m still thinking about it.”

He nods and puts his hands up in reassurance. “That’s all right. You have plenty of time.” An answer that’s technically true. He looks ready to move to the next item of business. I’m sure he’d love to, but we all know that’s not the end of it.

“Do you know which direction you’re leaning?” Rayce asks, managing not to sound too exasperated. I’ve known him my whole life, though, and hear a trace of it anyway, deep under the surface.

“No.” I don’t want to talk about this. I’m not trying to be difficult, but I really don’t know what to do. I wish I did.

Lizzy sighs. “It’d be helpful for us to know what you’re thinking,” she says gently. She even puts her hand on my knee.

“I don’t know yet.”

“This isn’t the kind of thing you can decide one day and be gone the next,” Rayce says, his effort to remain calm fading.

“Who says I’d be going?” I retort, looking at him sharply.

He rolls his eyes, which gets my goat, but before I can say any more Lizzy says, “We would just need time to prepare.”

“I’m aware of that. I don’t know yet.”

“Okay,” she says. “It’s okay. No one’s trying to pressure you.”

But Rayce and I have been looking at each other hard. “You don’t know,” he asks, “or you don’t want to say?”

I narrow my eyes. “No pressure, huh?” I say to Lizzy, then look back to George, who’s been watching us carefully, probably waiting to see if he’ll have to step in, which he’s unfortunately had to do before. “My answer is I don’t know,” I say firmly.

“Fair enough.” He glances at Rayce and moves us along to the next topic. Rayce lets it go, but he’s still steaming, and so am I.

Eventually the meeting ends and we make it clear back to Rayce’s car before he starts in. “You know, Connor,” he says hotly, as we’re all buckling up, “you could at least try to give us something.”

I clench my jaw, take a deep breath, and keep my eyes out the side window. I’m just going to let it go. I don’t want to get into it with him again.

“Let him be,” Lizzy says as Rayce starts the car.

“Stop taking his side.”

“I didn’t know we were on different sides,” she says calmly, not taking his bait. Just like Mom would have.

We pull out of the parking lot and onto Alameda Boulevard. “Fine. We’re not on different sides. But we both know what’s going to happen.”

“What’s that mean?” I take his bait just fine.

“That means I’m not keen on being blindsided by you and wish you would just man up with an answer already.”

Oh, fuck you, I think, as we come to a stop at a red light. I hastily unlatch my seatbelt.

“Rayce, knock it off— Connor, where are you going?”

“I’ll meet you back at work.” I open the door and climb out. “Don’t follow me, Lizzy.” I should get props for merely closing the door, instead of slamming it like I want to, but maybe not, because if it were just Rayce in the car, I totally would’ve done it.

Actually, if it were just Rayce in the car I’m not sure I wouldn’t be taking a swing at him. We’re not kids anymore and I’m almost as tall as he is. Maybe I could take him these days. Who knows? As it is, I take a right and head down Melwood Avenue.

I’m not walking in the direction of the resort, and honestly it’s far enough away I’ll probably just call a fucking cab, but I’m too steamed to care about any of that at the moment. I’m well aware of the fact that I’m not only angry, but hurt as well. But if it’s all the same to you, I’m just going to keep ignoring the hurt part as best as I can.

I realize I’m close to Gilligan’s and decide a cold beer is in order. Whitney’s on my mind, of course, but I don’t want to try to talk to her when I’m like this. I need to cool down first.

 

 

Gilligan’s is a small, old, relatively clean bar with a good selection of local craft beer and a couple of pool tables in the back. Being an early Friday afternoon, it’s pretty quiet. As I’m saddling up to the bar, I get a text.

Rayce: Where are you?

You’d be surprised how often they still ask me this question, as if they’re half expecting me to just take off one day. As if they can’t believe I’m still fucking here. I’m tempted to answer “Puerto Rico” just to be ornery, but honestly, given the circumstances, it’s a fair question.

Me: Gilligan’s. Be back later.

He doesn’t reply and I order a local brew I’ve never tried before. It’s not half bad. I concentrate on trying to breathe and calm down. Once I get myself together, I’ll call Whitney. That reward turns out to be good motivation, and I’m just about ready when someone settles into the seat next to me.

I glance at Rayce, who’s holding up a finger to get the attention of the bartender. I look straight ahead and finish my beer.

The bartender comes over and Rayce orders a Jack and Coke. “Can I get you something?” He doesn’t sound pissed anymore, so I guess that’s progress.

I hesitate. I could just walk out. But I raise my bottle to the bartender, indicating I want another.

“I haven’t tried that one yet,” Rayce says. “Any good?”

If it weren’t, I wouldn’t be ordering another one, I want to say, just to be a jerk. I’m clearly still feeling ornery, but he’s trying. I can try too.

I nod and gesture to the new bottle, which the bartender just set down. Taking my invitation, Rayce takes a sip and puts it back.

“Hmm. Not bad.”

“Yeah.”

We each take a sip of our drinks.

“Come on.” He slides off the seat. “Let’s play.”

He heads for the pool tables and I sigh. I take another swig, then follow him back. He removes his jacket and drapes it over a nearby chair. As I come up, set down my beer, and do the same with my jacket, he says, “Wanna rack ’em up?”

“All right.”

We roll up our cuffs and Rayce picks out a cue stick while I rack us up for Nine Ball, the variation we both favor.

When I come back to the table after hanging up the rack and getting my own stick, Rayce is leaning on his stick, watching me.

He drops his eyes, then picks up the chalk. “You’re doing a good job here, Connor,” he says, prepping the cue stick. “You stayed when we asked you to, and you didn’t hesitate.”

I soften in spite of myself.

He blows on the end, puts down the chalk, and glances at me. “I haven’t forgotten that.”

Then he leans down, takes aim, and makes a clean break.

I keep my eyes on the movement on the table, sighing and giving in. What can I say? He’s my big brother. I’m always going to forgive him, just like he always forgives me. I’ve done my share of things to require forgiveness lately, too.

The only thing he sinks is the cue ball. I take it out of the left center pocket, evaluate the table, and set it where I want it. He’s waiting for some sort of response from me. I sense it.

I look at him. “You suck at pool.”

He smiles and I take my shot.

As we play out the game, we’re more settled with one another if not still a little raw. Not for the first time, I wonder if we’ll ever be the way we used to be. We keep doing this—fighting and making up, fighting and making up.

But even when we make up, it seems there’s something significant going unsaid.

Even I don’t know what it is.

Or how to start trying to find out.

But for now, I’ll settle for a game of pool. That’s something, at least.