Maybe Later

by Claudia Burgoa

  As a businessman, I’m … “Persistent, fearless and adaptable,” I respond promptly, checking the time. This interview is taking longer than I anticipated.

  My brothers would say I’m logical, disciplined, and heartless. They have given me a few nicknames like The Tinman and Ironman.

  “Adaptable?” The reporter’s voice carries a hint of curiosity. “I like that word. Would you mind expanding, Mr. Everhart?”

  “Well, it’s my policy that our company adapts to the economic, social, and political changes our world experiences, just like we all try to.”

  “Would you say that your philosophy is to adapt or die?”

  “Isn’t it everyone’s?” I ask, not caring how she responds, only how long she takes.

  I frown. Adaptation is a verb I use often when asked what's the key to my success. The truth is that I have continued the legacy that my father left behind. But I never say that out loud. I avoid mentioning my parents, hating the intrusive questions about their deaths. They are officially off limits. I still remember the pity looks and sad, morbid stories printed about the orphan raising his younger siblings.

  Everyone remembers September 11th. But the date holds a different significance for me, because that morning I lost my parents. I press a fist against my chest, pushing away the sad memories. Their voices, their directives, continuously play in my head. Their last words, their requests and the need to remind me that no matter where they are, they were still right next to me.

  The call came through in the middle of class. Although I barely used my cell phone, I answered it when it rang. My parents only called me when there was an emergency.

  “Scott, I need you to come back home.” Mom used the calmest voice she could fathom, but I sensed the edgy tone of desperation.

  Something was wrong. My stomach dropped, but I didn’t ask any questions. I rose from my seat grabbing my things and left the classroom.

  “Talk to me, Mom. What’s going on?” I asked, rushing toward the dorm.

  “Harrison will explain everything,” she said, her voice breaking.

  My limbs tingled as the anxiety in her voice spiked.

  “I want you to remember that we love you,” she sobbed. “I love you so much, Scotty. You're my strong, sensitive boy. Please remember everything I taught you. I’ll be watching you from the moon and I’ll love you forever.”

  I froze. Shocked by the finality of her words. My pulse slowed down as she repeated the words she said when she tucked us in when we were younger. A phrase that she made up from two of the books she used to read us when we were little.

  “Mom, wait.” I felt sick to my stomach. “What do you mean?”

  My limbs tingled. Fear rushed through me as I waited for an answer. For some reassurance that they’re going on a long trip, but I’d see them soon. Panic buzzed in my ears, every second that passed felt like a year.

  “I need you to be the glue of our family, keep everyone together.” I heard her cry, and my father murmuring in the background.

  “I can’t, Chris,” she wailed, calling Dad.

  “Mom?”

  My father answered. “It’s time for us to leave, Scott. I’ll take care of her. You help Harrison take care of your brothers.” I could still hear Mom in the background, crying.

  His voice was dry, sad… desperate. He didn’t break as he reminded me of their will. The lawyers, the safe, all the essential details.

  I remained mute, trembling.

  Still.

  Unable to understand what’s happening.

  “I love you, son,” he said. “Be the bridge. Stay strong.”

  My parents used to say that I was the link between my brothers. I was the one who kept the peace—or started the biggest fights.

  “I love you both,” I mumbled as the line went dead.

  My oldest brother, Harrison, called me almost immediately. “I have no idea what’s going on, Scott. Two planes crashed into the towers. There’s a rumor that we’re under attack. Maybe this is war.”

  I huffed, pushing away the sadness. Keeping my shit together while we spoke. “Not another one of your conspiracy theories, Harrison. You need to stop making up shit.”

  “This isn’t a joke. The World Trade Center is burning down.” He stopped, exhaling several times. “Raging fire is consuming the steel and glass along with all the people who are trapped. Mom and Dad included. We need you back.”

  I reached my room, opening the door I began searching for my duffle bag.

  “Dad mentioned it; I’m already packing.” I used my cool voice. If I wanted him to treat me as his equal, I had to show him that I was strong.

  “Good. Jensen is locating a car service for you. From this point forward, we are in charge. You can’t lose your shit. I’m picking up Hunter from school.”

  Harrison was planning, making decisions and pushing away all his feelings. I had to do the same and be ready for what would happen next. For a couple of hours, I allowed myself to cry. I cried until my eyes dried. Until I felt strong enough to help Harrison and care for Hunter and Fitz.

  I adjusted, as everyone expected. Harry’s rage was so intense that he chose to enlist in the army. Leaving the company to me. I didn't mind taking over, even when he had the experience. Everything I do in regard to Everhart Industries is with my brothers in mind.

  “They warned me that you’d be cryptic.”

  I arch an eyebrow toward the phone. Who is she talking about? I’m curious, but I resist asking. I want this interview to be over soon. I text my brother, Fitz while I wait for her next question.

  Scott: Fitz do you have the contracts ready?

  “I think I got most of my answers,” she sighs on the other line. “For my last question, I’ll be quick.”

  “What fulfills you?” she asks. “I’m sure there’s more underneath. CEO suits you, but what makes you…you. What makes you want to be a better Scott Everhart?”

  I turn to my computer screen, holding the phone with one hand and clicking the mouse with the free one until it wakes. The home screen is the snapshot of the one person who fulfills my dreams, my fantasies, and my life. She’s the one who makes me want to be a better person.

  Hazel Beesley

  Her long brown locks draped over her bare shoulders. Those mesmerizing hazel eyes stare at the camera, and her smile is wide and bright. Of all the unforeseeable curveballs thrown my way, she’s the biggest, brightest and best I’ve had to confront in my entire life. She’s the most terrifying challenge, and the most amazing reward. My heart aches with her absence, just like my skin withers without her touch. She makes me want to be a better Scott Everhart.

  “My family,” I don't elaborate any further. “If that’s everything, Miss Krauss, I have a plane to catch.”

  “Your relationship status is on the do-not-ask list, but is it true that you’ll be merging your company with Beesley Enterprises?”

  My pulse accelerates as she’s about to ask about Hazel. She’s not up for discussion. I dislike when people try to pry into my personal life, but I hate more when they drag her along.

  “Is there some insider information you’d like to share, Miss Krauss?” I counter. “The last time I checked, Grant Beesley isn’t planning on retiring.”

  “Well, no, I assumed since Miss Beesley, his granddaughter, and you—”

  “I think you have all you needed, Ms. Krauss,” I grind my teeth, keeping my temper under control. I exhale, trying to relax my shoulders as I massage my temple, calming my tone. “Turn the draft into my public relations department for review, have a nice day.”

  I punch the speaker button ending the call before she has a chance to respond and dial my younger brother’s number.

  “You’ve reached Fitzhenry Everhart, you know what to do…beep,” his voicemail picks up on the fourth ring.

  Fuck!

  I grab my cellphone and try a couple more times. Each call does nothing but add to my anger.

  “I swear … Scott,” Fitz yaw
ns. “What do you want?”

  “The contracts for the acquisition,” I say, refreshing my inbox. “You haven’t sent anything yet.”

  “It’s three in the freaking morning.”

  “In California,” I protest, checking my watch. I have a flight to catch in less than two hours. “I have to review them and signed them before noon.”

  “I have plenty of time—”

  “The contracts, Fitzhenry.”

  “You can’t expect me to have everything ready every time you snap your fingers.”

  I exhale, rubbing my face. He’s got to be fucking kidding me. He’s not just my brother, he’s my lawyer. I should’ve sent them to Hunter.

  My fingers are already typing the message before Fitz has a chance to respond.

  Scott: Can you check your email, I sent you a couple of contracts. They need to be signed today. I need you to read my notes and amend them.

  Hunter: As I told you the last time, we restructured the law firm. Fitz oversees the business, entertainment, and International cases. Not me.

  Scott: But you are a lawyer, Everhart Industries is also yours, and I need them today.

  Hunter: Do you ever sleep?

  “Why the fuck are you sending them to Hunter?”

  “Because the acquisition of Byrne and Murray Consultants closes tomorrow. They need the contract today—by noon. You should’ve sent them over to me before you left for San Francisco,” I reprimand him.

  “I was busy helping Hazel get her shit together. Do you remember Hazel?” He uses a sarcastic tone. “Not that you’ve paid much attention to her, but she moved out of New York.”

  Of course, I remember her. I remember everything about her. I remember the first day I met her the summer she came to live with her grandfather, Grant Beesley. He has been my mentor and a huge supporter since my parents died.

  “Your point?” I feign disinterest, he doesn’t have to know that the distance between Hazel and me is killing me. Being without her causes pains in my chest so deep I didn’t know I could feel. She’s not mine anymore.

  “You’re an insensitive asshole,” he declares.

  “Look, I have a company to run, a plane to catch, and you haven’t finished the one thing I asked you to do days ago.”

  The sound of tussling of sheets and movement comes from the other side of the line. “Fine, I’ll get them ready. Give me an hour. Anything else?”

  “Yes, I’ll send you a list.”

  After hanging up, I email him the list of what I needed to be done ASAP. Then send another to Hunter.

  Scott: The company isn’t just mine, you have to put a little more work into it, Hunter.

  Turning off my laptop, I stuff it in my backpack and make sure I don’t forget anything before heading to my room. Once I check my bag, I close it and roll it into the living room. The grandfather clock next to the glass doors indicates it is fifteen minutes past six. I have a couple more minutes before the service car arrives to take me to the airport.

  Fitz: I sent you the first one, email me any changes or the signed copy.

  I move toward the terrace, where my mother used to spend most mornings. The sky is dark gray, and the ground has a thin layer of snow from last night’s flurries. The place looks dead during the winter. I don’t know if Mom would approve of it if she were alive. The child in me believes that my parents’ spirits are around the house—watching me, protecting me.

  “Would you be okay with what I’m about to do?” I glance around the house, asking no one—yet waiting for their approval. I believe they would. My parents always told me to fight for what I loved, to never give up unless someone is getting hurt by my actions.

  I regret not being open to the possibilities of more when we were together. I let Hazel slip away from me. Now, I’m missing the best part of myself and wondering how I’ll manage to regain her trust. Worst of all, I pushed her closer to the one person who can take her away from me.

  “I’m going to fight for her. Wish me luck,” I whisper before heading out the door.

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  * * *

  Miller

  As a businessman, I follow one mantra: Failure will never overtake me. I’m determined to succeed. Determination is one of my most significant tools. I thought I got it from my father who is a successful, award-winning urban architect. He’s quiet, observant, and wise; a man of few words. His practical advice when I’m about to lose a battle with my mother is, “she’s always right. Just do what she says.”

  For the most part, I follow those wise words. Not today.

  “Mom, I’m on a tight schedule, handling multiple deadlines.” I use the oldest excuse in my book. “We’re about to land two accounts. I can’t just take time off because my sister decided to elope.”

  Clearing my throat, I continue, “Not that she’s eloping. By definition, elopement is marrying secretly, especially without parental consent. Why is she in such a hurry to get married anyway?”

  Sorry, Lola, I have to throw a little shade your way to save my ass.

  “She loves John,” Mom responds defensively. “Engagements don’t need to last long to be meaningful. It doesn’t take a long term relationship to realize that you’re with the love of your life. It’s time for you to grow up and find love too—the right person to spend the rest of your life with. One day I’ll die, and when I do, I want to go in peace, knowing my children are happy.”

  “I’m happy, Mom,” I say, annoyed by the guilt trip. “You’re fifty-eight and healthy. Please, don’t start blackmailing me the way Grandma does to you.”

  I tap on my desk, trying to keep my thoughts to myself. Women are unpredictable. I don’t claim to understand them, but there are a few things I’ve learned during my thirty-four years on this earth. One, they take it upon themselves to try to fix us whether or not we’re broken. Two, arguing with them is pointless. Three, they rarely take no for an answer.

  Fighting with Mom is a losing battle 99.9% of the time, and she doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no. It’s not part of her vocabulary, unless, she’s the one saying it to us. My own mother is my biggest adversary, but I adore the woman. Crystal Archer isn’t to be taken lightly.

  “Everybody dies, Miller. I could die right now and the last memory I’d take with me?” She pauses, and I take a big breath, staring out the window as I wait for her to hit me with the guilt trip. “You, refusing to go to your sister’s wedding.”

  Clumps of wet snow drift mindlessly down. Large snow drifts cover the branches, buildings, and cars moving along the I-25 corridor. It’s just another day in Denver. A blinding sea of white beats against the asphalt. Leaving this cold city to enjoy a few days in tropical weather would be a smart move. Except, I’d have to deal with my family for four long days.

  “Milo, sweetie,” she calls me by the nickname she’s used for me since I was four. I hate it so much. “I’m worried about you. I want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy,” I say sighing. “I’ll be even happier if I can skip my sister’s wedding.”

  “Are you dating again?” She doesn’t acknowledge my plea.

  Am I dating? Fuck, why would I want to date? The last time I was in a relationship, it ended in a major disaster. Thank you, but no thank you.

  “Because Kelly’s daughter is coming to the wedding. Remember her? Georgina Remington.”

  “Mom, please don’t set me up.”

  “She’s one of the bridesmaids.”

  I don’t care who she is, do not set me up!

&
nbsp; “Mom, I already have a girlfriend,” I lie. The last time I begged her not to set me up, she said, “Well, I have no choice since you spend your entire life at the office.”

  “You do?” Her voice comes a little too excited.

  “Of course, that’s why I’m asking you to stop setting me up. I don’t think my girlfriend would appreciate it.”

  “Well, that changes everything,” she says.

  I finally relax and get ready to say goodbye. “That settles it then, I’m off the hook. I’ll make sure to throw them a party once they’re back from their honeymoon.”

  “Milo, this is your sister’s wedding. You can’t miss it. I expect you to be there tomorrow.”

  “Mom, you can’t be serious, I have work to do. She can’t just snap her fingers and say, I’m getting married and expect everyone to drop everything to join her.”

  “You're ridiculous.” She chides me with the motherly voice she’s been using since I was a kid. “She invited you last December when she got engaged. I not only expect you to be there, but bring your girlfriend too.”

  I grip the phone receiver and look around my office. Where do I get an imaginary girlfriend on such short notice?

  “She can’t go, Mom.”

  “I understand, escorts have tight schedules.”

  “Mom that’s—”

  “There’s always Kiley Ott if Georgina isn’t a good fit.”

  How many women is she trying to set me up with? And Kiley Ott? She’s like forty and married.

  “Mom she used to babysit us.”

  “No, her sister Kaileigh is the one who babysat you. Kiley’s ten years younger. She’s cute, and a lawyer.”

  “But I have a girlfriend, Mom,” I insist. I’m determined to win this round or at least fight until she gives up on finding me a date. “I don’t think she’d appreciate if I spent the weekend with Kelly.”

  “Kiley,” she corrects me. “Then, bring her with you. If you need us to buy the plane ticket, we will.”

  “No, Mom. I think I can afford the ticket.”

  “Perfect, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Acknowledgments

  This is one of the most difficult parts for me to write. I have a terrible memory, and I am afraid of forgetting anyone. Please forgive me if I do. Before I continue, let me tell you that I’m grateful for all of you and for being part of the world that I’ve created.