by Calista Fox
I channeled the energy not expended with yoga and Pilates into the bouquets. That was in between my still-sometimes debilitating morning sickness.
Dehydration was my current nemesis. I’d suffered three times, thus far, and it wasn’t pretty. Yet despite the complications with my pregnancy, I’d latched on to this baby like a life preserver. I read out loud to it, talked to it, played a variety of music, and generally spent an exorbitant amount of my time rubbing my belly.
I contemplated how many months after the baby was born before I could go back to wedding planning. But bridal consulting left a sour taste in my mouth, following my own devastating nuptial experience. So I considered general event planning for other resorts.
I understood I didn’t have to work—ever. And while I could take advantage of being a full-time mom, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, either. I weighed the options and even spoke with Chelsea’s mother, Abby, about the fact that she had to work. To my surprise, she confessed that even if she had financial freedom she’d feel worthless in trying to be everything Chelsea needed, because she didn’t possess the required skill set.
That was when I decided two things. I needed a bigger worldview of parenthood, since mine was ridiculously limited. And I wanted to help Abby so that she didn’t have to work two jobs to afford living expenses and Chelsea’s care, especially since the latter seemed to be making an improvement in the child’s life.
From there spawned the idea of possibly establishing an autistic children’s foundation or even one for low-income single mothers. Though I didn’t know the first thing about setting up something like that—or managing it. So I retrieved the slip of paper with Mr. Conaway’s number jotted down and called him on Dr. Stevens’s landline, since I hadn’t replaced my cell that was but a remnant at the Lux, along with my diamond bracelet.
He met with me right away to get the ball rolling. Following that discussion, he offered a recap of my investments. His endless reports demonstrated sum totals in each account, percentages of overall capital, return on investments, and so on. As he wrapped up, he pointed out two accounts, showing zero balances.
“What are these?” I asked.
“One is for Dane’s life insurance policy; the other is the policy on 10,000 Lux. We’re still in the paperwork stage. But don’t worry. You have more than enough funds to—”
“I’m not worried,” I said. I’d been broke before and it sucked, but I had money saved from my job at the Lux, in addition to all of Dane’s vast fortune. “I just wanted to know how everything was segregated.”
“Well, I’ve divided the investments into silos that are held by trusts a couple layers deep before they get to your name. Now, you’re perfectly capable of accessing capital immediately,” he was quick to say. “But I don’t want—and neither did Dane—for anyone to easily track the owner of the trusts. There’s some substantial digging to be done in order to connect his money to you.”
“Thank you.” That was a huge relief. I was tempted to request he create another trust with an impenetrable layer for the baby. But I couldn’t bring myself to fully confide in him.
Mr. Conaway did not know why I was at Macy’s retreat. I figured he could easily deduce mental instability. Likely the reason he didn’t even try to pry.
He said in a very firm, solid voice, “I’ll take care of everything on my end. You needn’t worry about a thing, my dear.” He patted my hand. “Everything’s in perfect order; it always will be.” He smiled and it was actually kind of sweet.
I nodded, fighting a few tears. “I know Dane trusted you explicitly.”
He started to pack up his briefcase.
I said, “Just one more thing, if you don’t mind.” As we walked toward the entrance, I continued. “I lost my bracelet that night, at the Lux. The one Dane gave me at our wedding. I’d like to offer a reward to anyone who might have found it or if they come across it while they’re still sifting through the … debris.”
It took a hell of a lot to block my dad’s and Kyle’s voices at the hospital as they’d made me face the gritty reality of what might be all that was left of my husband—teeth.
My stomach lurched. I tried to calm myself.
“I’ll see to it,” Mr. Conaway assured me.
He gave me a fatherly kiss on the cheek before departing. Very unexpected. But heartwarming.
After my lawyer left, it dawned on me that there had been no memorial service for Dane. I wasn’t sure what to do about that. How odd would it appear if I was the one to orchestrate it?
Amano would have taken care of everything, I was sure. I had no idea if someone had planned a service for him, either. I didn’t know if he had family or even a girlfriend, since Lara had passed.
Much as I was loath to do so, I decided to take a trip south to Scottsdale to discuss this with the only person other than Amano and myself who had been close enough to Dane to weigh in on the subject.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a vehicle at my disposal. So I had to ask Kyle for use of his Rubicon—though, naturally, he wanted to drive me. I didn’t mind and felt a hint of security that he’d be close by.
The trip to the Valley was only an hour and a half, but it felt so much longer. Likely because I was on pins and needles, not necessarily wanting to see Mikaela Madsen but knowing it was the right thing to do, like sending her flowers had been. She’d known Dane her entire life, after all. I was certain she was shredded by his death as well.
We found a parking spot in trendy, Western-themed Old Town, the streets lined with galleries, boutiques, and restaurants. Italy on Your Doorstep was tucked into a lovely space between a renowned barbecue eatery and a classy imitation speakeasy.
The tasting room/market was stylish in decor and atmosphere, with burnt-sienna brick walls and dark polished woods. Mikaela was behind the bar, describing the bouquet and flavors of a Sangiovese as she poured. If I wasn’t mistaken, her Italian accent was thicker. I suspected no one in this chic town knew she hailed from Philly, but likely had been told she’d been imported from Milan or Venice along with the finest of cheeses and most expensive of proseccos.
I’m sure she sold the hell of out her wines and antipasto from just her looks alone.
When she spotted me, she cheerfully called out, “Ciao, bella!” and set aside the bottle of red. She rounded the end of the bar and rushed toward me, arms spread wide. As though we were besties.
After an actual hug—not the air kisses—she clasped my hands and declared, “Ari, darling! It’s so sensational to see you!” She rattled off something in Italian that went over my head, though I doubted it mattered. I had a feeling this was all for effect—for her patrons, aka her audience.
“It’s good to see you, Mikaela,” I told her. “You look wonderful, as always.”
“Business is good,” she said. “Come, let me show you around.”
I introduced her to Kyle first, then let her play tour guide of the neatly, artistically arranged place. Impressive, to say the least, and I was certain Scottsdale society didn’t bat an eye at the lofty price tags attached to everything.
We made our way back to the bar and she said, “Sit. I’ll uncork something special for you.”
“Thanks, but I’m driving,” I lied, so as not to raise any sort of suspicion. I didn’t need her speculating as to whether or not I was pregnant. Not that she would have any reason to jump to that conclusion, but I preferred precautionary measures. “Besides, we can’t stay long. I just wondered … Is there someplace a little more private where we can talk?”
The tasting room was hopping for the middle of the afternoon. I could only imagine how packed it was when happy hour rolled around.
“Sì, sì. Of course.” She led us to a small office in the back.
We all filed in and I got down to business. “I wanted to offer my condolences in person. I should have come sooner, but I’ve been … recovering.”
It took less than a nanosecond for tears to flood her eyes, and I instantly
felt the tinge of guilt. This was why she’d played all easy-breezy and cheery out front. Because seeing me obviously brought on a rush of pain.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I have no intention of tormenting you. I just—”
“I understand, Ari.” With a nod, she said, “When I saw from the news reports that you were hospitalized after the explosion, I felt so bad for you. I wanted to come see you. But, of course … I was just so devastated.”
Kyle leapt up and snatched a couple of tissues from a box on the credenza and handed one to each of us.
“How considerate,” Mikaela mumbled as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes.
I said, “The flowers you sent me were beautiful. And greatly appreciated.”
“As were yours.” She gave me a solemn look and told me, “I still can’t believe the Lux is gone. And Dane … Well, that’s just too distressing to think about. He was always so larger-than-life, so indestructible. I keep thinking he’s on an extended business trip, and will be walking through the front door any day now.”
I fought the emotion that swelled in my throat. But I couldn’t stop the tears from burning the backs of my eyes. “I know it’s difficult. And, that I’m aware of, there was no service.”
“Nor an obituary—other than the press release from the Lux’s PR people. I didn’t have the heart to submit one. Dane was such a private person. What would I have said about him? And he didn’t have family other than Amano. On top of all of that, I simply haven’t accepted the finality yet.”
I could understand that sentiment, commiserate. Yet I said, “It seems as though there should be a public recognition of his life. He had friends, business associates, employees.”
Mikaela sniffled as her eyes continued to mist. “You’re right. It’s just so painful to even think of him being—”
“I know,” I interjected before she said that one word that would make me fall apart in front of her. “But he deserves to be honored.”
She nodded again. “I’ll take care of it and let you know the details. Why don’t you give me your cell number?”
“I don’t have one. It was at the Lux that night.”
Handing over a business card, she said, “Then call me early next week. I’ll come up and we can have lunch.”
“That would be nice.” Weird was the more appropriate term, but … whatever.
We stood and hugged once more. Her gaze lingered on Kyle as he politely told her it was nice to meet her. I didn’t know if Fabrizio was still her boyfriend, but she practically devoured Kyle with a hungry gaze.
He didn’t seem to notice. His hand flattened against the small of my back and he guided me out.
The drive to Sedona was a quiet one at first. I could tell Kyle had found the exchange with Mikaela as awkward as I had. Eventually, he put a voice to the thoughts we both seemed mired in.
He said, “It doesn’t seem right that Mikaela would hold a memorial service, instead of Dane’s wife.”
I shot him a look. “People don’t know I’m Dane’s wife, Kyle. No one would question her pulling it all together. They grew up with each other.”
He sighed. “I’m not trying to rub it in here. I’m just … I don’t know. I’m so damn sorry you have to go through all of this, Ari. It’s—” He shook his head.
I swallowed down a lump of emotion “You don’t have to say anything, Kyle. You can be angry and you can hate the choices I made. I don’t regret them. I’m not happy that they upset you—”
“I’m not just upset, Ari.” His hands gripped the wheel tightly. “I’m … I’m … Fuck.” Anguish tinged his deep tone, but he finally said, “I’m heartbroken. For you. This really shitty thing happened to you, not me, and yet … I’m all torn up—for you.”
More tears sprang to my eyes. I should be used to the waterworks by now, but this time I was distraught over how my life so greatly affected Kyle’s.
“I appreciate how you feel about me,” I said, hoping for an accurate explanation. “I’d be heartbroken for you, too. Having you as a friend, Kyle … that helps a lot. More than you’ll ever know.” I smiled at him. Brushed away my tears—for his sake.
“Just seems like this isn’t getting any better for you, Ari.”
On the one hand, there was no denying the situation with Mikaela stung. On the other hand, I was still in too fragile a state of mind to plan a service myself. The finality, the closure, was not something I looked forward to. I didn’t want it. I liked that I could continue to cling to the bizarre—and, yes, highly improbable—fantasy that somehow Dane had escaped that night.
Even though I knew I was only fooling myself.
* * *
I regretted my decision to seek out Mikaela every day after we’d visited her.
Remaining a bit delusional when it came to still fantasizing about Dane miraculously walking through my bedroom door, I faced the fact that I really and truly did not want a service for him. And God forbid she should write an obit to submit to the Republic. I couldn’t handle that. I didn’t want the finality I’d thought of on the drive home with Kyle.
But how did I call it off? Knowing Mikaela, she’d likely find it a fantastic way to plug her business and add more mystery and drama to her image by touting Dane Bax as one of her close personal friends.
Though I did not doubt she was hurting over losing him, I’d gotten enough glimpses of the true Mikaela Madsen to know she used every opportunity to her advantage.
But that really wasn’t what had me worked up. I didn’t give a rip if she found a PR golden nugget in orchestrating Dane’s memorial service.
I didn’t want closure.
At all.
I did a lot of pacing and ran a multitude of scenarios through my head as to how I could stop what I’d put into motion. My anxiety didn’t help my constantly unsettled stomach, and I returned to that previous state of not being able to keep anything down. Both of my doctors threatened me with IV feeding if I didn’t get it together.
So I fought for some calm. Spent more time with Kyle, because he was good at distracting me, diverting my attention. Over the weekend, we were in the solarium, poring over landscaping books at one of the round tables and debating what to do about the bald spot in the east courtyard that was a result of him having ripped out several dead plants and a couple of bushes.
Gretchen had CNN on the flat screen mounted in the far corner. Hannah braved the chill in the air to paint outdoors. She considered the patio her studio rather than the solarium. Chelsea put the Legos to brilliant use, as always.
Dr. Stevens and her staff were building the business by adding outpatient services for a limited number of athletes interested in her holistic approach to physical therapy and healing. They were seen in the detached rehab facility but came into the house from time to time with their specialists for exams. The moderate activity helped to sidetrack most of my wayward thoughts.
Though not all of them.…
Kyle ticked off the merits of installing a small pond of koi in the courtyard instead of replacing the greenery. I let him rattle on as he built momentum. But my brain came to a grinding halt when one word penetrated his diatribe.
Hilliard.
My blood ran cold as memories of Vale Hilliard instantly assaulted my mind. I whipped around in the chair and stared at the TV. The breaking news was the sudden indictment of billionaire Bryn Hilliard—Vale’s father—accompanied by video footage of him being led from a building, surrounded by what I presumed was his huge team of lawyers.
“Gretchen,” I said, breathless. “Could you please turn that up?”
She gave me a little more volume as I stood and walked toward the TV.
The reporter said, “Hilliard is believed to be part of the ‘Billionaires Club’ and is allegedly responsible for doling out hundreds of millions of dollars to politicians in order to push his own agenda. Until recently, the mostly cash contributions had gone undetected or reported to accountants and the IRS as gambling debts. Other sizabl
e donations were funneled through various companies, as were noneligible expenses.”
You almost have it right.
Except that Bryn Hilliard wasn’t part of the broader spectrum of the billionaire network—he was one of the select nine who comprised the poli-econ society of which Dane had been a part.
Chelsea rapped a hand on her table and made a disapproving noise. I glanced at her over my shoulder. She glared at me with big eyes.
“Sorry,” I told her. To Gretchen, I said, “You can lower the sound. But I still need to hear—”
The reporter continued, saying, “Hilliard’s indictment is the second one this week of this magnitude. Billionaire real estate and investments mogul Lennox Avril faces similar charges of criminal corruption, tax evasion, fraud … as well as possible murder charges.”
He droned on about legalities as my head buzzed and my ears rang. I sank onto the sofa next to Gretchen.
My stomach churned, and I felt the bile rise in my throat but tamped it down. Fought back the green around the gills sensation I’d become all too familiar with since I’d left the hospital. But this had nothing to do with the baby. And everything to do with Dane.
A heartbeat later, I was on my feet without even fully realizing it. A whirlwind of activity in my head propelled me forward. I grabbed Kyle’s arm as he stared at me, perplexed and concerned.
“What is it?” he demanded in a low tone, likely so as to not disturb Chelsea further. She didn’t like raised voices any more than I did. Though for different reasons.
“Can you take me home?” I asked.
His brow furrowed. “Why? I thought you were happy here. You’re feeling much better and—”
“Kyle, I just need another ride. Yes or no?”
Time was suddenly of the essence. I needed to get back to the house while the thoughts in my mind were fresh and held so much potential.
“Of course,” he reluctantly agreed as he fished his keys out of the front pocket of his jeans.
I rushed through the house with Kyle hot on my heels. We cleared the security gate and I climbed into the passenger side of his Rubicon. Tension gripped me. So did a curious exhilaration. He couldn’t drive fast enough for me, and my leg bounced anxiously as we made our way through Sedona, headed north, then wove along Oak Creek Canyon to the turnoff on to the back roads that led to the house I’d shared with Dane.