"I want this farm, this cabin. Dad and I built it. I would hate to see it torn down for a resort or whatever rich people do to property they own."
Her head swiveled and she stood. My grandmother began to explore the room around her. Touching the walls as she moved. "My God, my son built this. The boy who would never get his head out of books and wanted to serve his country by enacting laws to help people, ended up creating this building with his hands."
"We did have help. It wasn't only us. I feel I oversold that . . ."
I didn't want her to get the wrong idea about my dad. He was a bookworm until his dying breath. But when we moved here, he wanted a cabin quickly, so he hired a few laborers and got to work learning to build a cabin from the ground up.
"He still helped build this. And you did, too. You are so different than I thought you'd be."
"How did you imagine me?"
She sighed and walked back to the table. "I feared the worst. That you had shut yourself up here. Some crazy loner that was willing to give away lots of money. Maybe you'd be wearing a tinfoil hat or some other nonsense. I'm sorry for thinking that of you."
As she described what she feared, I realized she wasn't far off. And, if I didn't do something about it, that's what I'd turn into.
"I assumed the worst in you, too. I thought you wanted my father to leave. That you felt my father was a burden because of what happened. And, therefore, I was a burden, too."
"Whatever made you think that?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "He mentioned you were hurt and angry after the shooting. Dad said it was for the best we left because he didn't want to upset you more and burden you. I was only a child. I thought he meant you were angry at him."
She waved me up and opened her arms. I stepped forward and my grandmother enveloped my in her arms. "All this time we both were confused and lost in our own misguided notions. I could never be angry at you or Lorne. Please, don't leave me now that I've found you again."
My grandmother lifted her head. She was small and my throat tightened at the sadness in her eyes.
"I won't leave, I promise."
I won't make the same mistake I made with Olivia. My grandmother was family and that was important.
We hugged for a minute and it didn't feel like enough. I thought I wanted to be alone after Dad passed away. It took a beautiful woman in a wedding dress that passed out on my kitchen floor for me to realize all I ever wanted was to be found.
"Come back with me to Washington, DC. I have a son, your uncle. I want you to meet him and his family. He'll be thrilled to see you again." My grandmother pulled back, looking up at me.
"But I live here. My place is here, at the farm."
Reaching up to cup my cheek, she smiled. "Yes, I understand. I'd never take that away from you. But I would like you to visit. Even if all you can afford are a few days in the city."
Thinking of what visiting my family in DC would entail, I wondered if it was even possible. That, after all these years, the fears of my father would be no more. It was over two decades ago, surely the men who were out to get him for what he overheard would be dead. Maybe not all dead, but had at least moved on from that time.
"Yes. I'll go for a visit."
THIRTY-ONE
Olivia
"I'M SORRY, DAD," I said to his back as he lifted the tumbler of sparkling water to his lips.
His brown eyes flicked to me. Lowering his glass, he took a moment to assess me. He was debating whether to attack or forgive. I was rarely on my dad's bad side but when I was, it usually ended in an attack.
But something happened as he turned to set his drink on the silver tray held by the passing waiter. His eyes softened and he smiled. "All is forgiven. Your mother informed me what Derrick did." I let out a breath I'd been holding and ran into his arms like I had when I was little.
"I wish you had come to me and not some cabin in the woods. Your mother told me about that, too." He pulled me back to gaze down at me. "You're my little girl. I'd do anything to protect you."
I nodded. I should have done a lot of things different than run into the woods with nothing but a coat to protect me. But then I never would have met Carter. As much as it hurt me to think about him, I was glad he had entered my life. I'd learned so much from him.
"I met someone while I was in Maine."
His brow raised. "Oh. Would this be the English gentleman with the estate in Kent? I met him at The Lodge when we arrived before the wedding. He seemed like a nice guy."
"No. He's not English, and he doesn't own an estate. His name's Carter and he's a sheep farmer."
I held my breath again and refused to blink as I waited for my father's reaction. I couldn't tell him who Carter really was, but that didn't matter. I wanted my father to be happy for me because I found a good guy, not for his family or money. Not that Carter had money anymore. Since he never signed the paperwork, he was officially a poor sheep farmer.
My father twisted his lips savoring what I had told him. "And this Carter, he knows who you are?" He waved his hand around the room filled with party guests as diverse as politicians to foreign investors to celebrities.
"Not at first. I think he had an idea I, uh . . . had money. But he's—"
My father pulled back and stood to his full height. "Olivia, I had warned you that people will use you for your wealth. That's why I spent so much making sure you had the best trainers to ward off lowlifes who would take advantage of you and your siblings."
The more he spoke, the angrier I became. "The funny thing is, Dad, I used that training on the rich guys. They were the ones who took advantage of me . . . They thought they deserved everything because that's how they were raised. Carter is nothing like that. He told me to leave because he didn't think he deserved me. And he was wise enough to understand that the creeps you had me trained for would be the very same people attending this party. He wanted nothing to do with them. And I was too stupid to see what was obvious to me, that power and money corrupt. He may be a poor farmer, but he's far from corrupt. He was the first man that ever wanted me. Just me. Not what my family could do for him or the money attached to my name. Just simple old me."
I made a mistake leaving. Now that my dad was back to his old self—still a bit pale but otherwise fine—I wanted to race back to Carter. Until my parents learned, it wasn't about a name or wealth that made a person, I didn't want to be around them.
I turned, ready to leave this party, this town, and head back to my wild beast up a mountain, when a hand stopped me.
"Olivia, I'm the one who should apologize. I never meant for this to happen. For this world I raised you in to hurt you."
I turned back to him expecting to find his usual act to put on for potential investors but discovered just sadness. He seemed older. Perhaps the heart attack put more gray hairs on his head or wrinkles on his face. But the man who stood before me was no longer big, powerful, and intimidating. He was fragile, beaten down, and unhappy.
"You have to understand. Everything I did for you, for the family, was to protect you." He glanced over at the guests mingling in our living room and sighed. "Something happened when you were little. A decision I made, that at the time, I thought was a wise investment, but over time, proved to be a horrible mistake. I risked the company but more importantly, I put the family at risk by—"
"President Higgins is here!" My mother rushed over to my father and grabbed his arm.
"Shit," my father ground out under his breath before collecting himself and straightening. "Excuse me, Olivia. I have to go say hi to the former commander-in-chief."
"Oh, look who's arrived, former President Higgins." My father pointed as he pushed me aside to greet the former leader.
I nodded and watched my mother drag my father off toward the front of the house.
President Higgins had shown up to several events my mother was in charge of, but he didn't do much in DC anymore. He had a pharmaceutical company he created after he left office, which
wasn't a big surprise to the country as his family has been in the medical and pharmaceutical field for half a century.
"How's Dad feeling?" I heard a voice come from behind.
I turned from my position by the fireplace. It was warm and in the sleeveless dress my mother insisted I wear; I was freezing.
"Hi, Whitney. Glad you're here. Dad's a bit pale but otherwise his usual."
"He never stops. It's not healthy after a heart attack." She frowned but tried her best to hide it raising a glass of champagne to her lips.
The red waves of her hair seemed to sparkle in the warm lighting of the living room. She was so much like her mother with her timeless beauty and kind heart.
"Why do you care, Whitney? Based on how Dad has treated you and your mom in the past why do you still care?"
I had never discussed this with her before. I wanted to but never had the nerve. But after what Derrick did to me and what I experienced at the farm, I was tired of never asking questions. It was time for me to be bold and not shy away from difficult feelings.
She shrugged. "Because he's my dad. When he's with me, he's different. It's as if his work brings out the worst in him. When I was little, he would take me to the zoo and playground and made sure he made it to all of my school performances. He was like any other dad, except he wasn't married to my mom."
That hurt to hear because he wasn't like that for me or Bea or Allistor. He rarely attended any school functions for us and when he did, he'd have to leave early for a meeting or phone call. I couldn't remember a time when he took us to play at a park—our nanny always did that. Did something happen that caused my father to change or was it us?
"That does sound nice. Funny how he wasn't like that for us," I said but turned toward the fireplace not really meaning for her to hear the pain in my voice.
"That's weird. He used to bring you, Bea, and Allistor around all the time. I remember one time when he took all of us to the Natural History Museum, and you were so scared of the early man exhibit. You thought they were monsters that were coming after you. Dad had to hold you in his arms until we left that part of the museum."
I turned back to face her. "I don't remember that at all. Are you sure?"
"Oh yeah. You and your sister were only three, and Allistor was four. I'm not surprised you don't remember since you were so young. I was seven and thought I was so big and brave because they didn't scare me." She giggled at the memory.
I glanced over at the couch where my father was now sitting with the former president and wondered what had happened that caused him to withdraw from his own children.
Bea strolled over with a champagne glass in her hand wearing the same dress as me but in red instead of blue.
"Hey, Bea, I was talking to Whitney, and she said Dad took us out with her and Allistor a lot as kids. That we went all sort of places. Do you remember Dad taking us to the Natural History Museum?"
Bea's brow rose and for a moment, I thought she was going to turn and walk back the way she came. But she stayed and took a little too long to answer the question. "Yes, I remember a few times."
Whitney, who wasn't a fan of my sister, excused herself and walked over to where Dad was on the couch.
"Why did he stop? I don't remember any outings with him. It was either the nanny or Mom or both who would take us out. Dad was never there."
Bea sighed and placed the champagne flute on the large fireplace mantle. "Let me show you something. It might explain a lot." She grabbed my hand and led me out of the room.
We maneuvered down the hall and up a small set of steps to my dad's private office. It was a small section of the house strictly used for his work. Below this room was a bathroom and the floor above was a meeting room—they were only accessible from his office. Except for the bathroom below had a door to the backyard.
I only came here when my father would request it. What I do remember about my dad when we were young was how he didn't want anyone in his office without his permission.
"I don't think we should be in here, Bea . . ."
She waved me off. "It's fine. There are too many big names at the party for Dad to come near his office tonight."
Despite my sister's reassurance, I stood rigid in the middle of the room, too fearful to get close to his desk.
She walked over to the large shelves of books on the wall beside his desk. Her finger slid over the different colored spines until she found the one she was looking for. With my fear ruling my brain, I thought when she pulled at the book, a secret door in the wall would open.
But it was only a book.
"Here we are." She flipped it open and a few pieces of paper fell out. Reaching down, she picked them up. Placing the book on the table, I saw it was a book on marketing called Why Women Fail at Marketing. Not surprised at all that my father had that book.
"Read this." She handed me one of the pieces of paper.
I opened it to find it was a letter from the White House. There was a stamp across the bottom marked confidential. How did my father have anything confidential from the White House?
A word caught my eye—Fitzwilliam. The more I read, the angrier I became. With that anger, my heart began to twist until it dripped with sadness. The fear that flashed in Carter's eyes every time I mentioned my hometown now made sense.
It wasn't that he would be hounded by journalists at his front door, it's that there were powerful people here that still wanted him dead.
Tears burned my eyes until I couldn't read another word. But I did see the one name that was the biggest shock. And he was in this house.
"The president?" I whispered as if saying it any louder might draw attention from the people several rooms away.
"Yes. And Dad played an unwilling part. The shooter was a manager at one of his stores. He had mentioned the guy was unstable to a senator. I never found out who the politician was, but a few days later, the manager Dad fired from his store was arrested for killing Carter's mom and baby sister."
There was so much disturbing information that I had trouble making sense of it.
"But that was a coincidence. I mean, Dad did just fire him. He was troubled."
Bea shook her head. "I wish that were true, Ollie. The man didn't own a gun and after the shooting, the gun conveniently disappeared. Do you know where the police finally found it?"
I swallowed and wondered if I wanted the answer to her question.
"No, and I don't think—"
"It was Dad's gun."
The room began to spin, and I clasped my hand over my mouth to muffle the cry that was welling up in my throat. I stumbled to the brown suede love seat that was flush against the banister which separated the stairs and the bathroom.
Bea came over and sat beside me. "Remember that break-in here at the house when we were in first grade? You swore your DVD collection of SpongeBob SquarePants was stolen by the robber, but they were under the mess of toys you pushed under your bed." We both laughed at the memory. "The robber took Dad's gun. That was the firearm used in the shooting. The police questioned Dad, but since the robber stole it before the shooting, it wasn't linked to him. I think that gun was taken on purpose, but I don't know if Dad staged the break-in or he was a victim, too."
She placed her hand on my arm and continued, "I promised Carter I wouldn't tell you I knew who he was, but it's obvious you know. I noticed you never told Mom his last name. That's not like you. If there was a chance of Mom liking Carter before she actually met him, you name-dropping Fitzwilliam was the way to go."
I nodded. "He told me before I left. But I thought he didn't want to come back here because of the paparazzi. I had no idea his life was at risk. Or maybe it isn't? It seems they only wanted his father dead, not his family."
"Here's the other piece of paper. It's a letter written after Carter's dad disappeared. It's by Senator John White, who I think might have been the one on the phone with Dad when I overheard the conversation. I still don't know because all Dad said was 'senator.' I
tried to warn Carter when I was there, but every time I tried, you ended up popping up. Therefore, I kept my mouth shut."
The corrupt Senator White and his wife, who happened to be a senator herself, had been in the paper lately for various illegal activity. Some of it involving terrorists.
I read the words as another wave of emotion hit me. I felt sick to my stomach.
"He was a child and they wanted to murder him. But why? What could be so important as to kill people, especially a baby and then try to target a little boy?"
Bea exhaled and leaned back on the small couch. "I've thought about this for a long time. I don't know why they were after Senator Fitzwilliam, but I think they meant to only have him killed. But once he disappeared, they had no idea if Carter's father told him anything. To cover their asses, they set about trying to find him and Carter and make them disappear permanently."
My eyes burned and I let a wail loose, not caring if anyone heard. Bea's arms wrapped around me and she let me weep. I had only known Carter for two-and-a-half months, but it felt like these people were after my family. They wanted to kill the man I loved, and I hated them for that.
"Is that why you became obsessed with the disappearance of the Fitzwilliams as a kid? You overhead Dad on the phone talking about it?"
Bea nodded. I always thought my sister was different than most kids, a bit more mature for that reason. Now I understood the weight she was carrying on her shoulders—a secret no child should hold.
"Bea, I'm sorry. I wish you had confided in me."
"And risk popping the magical bubble my little sister lived in? I loved you too much to ever do that. I was jealous of your joy and happiness, knowing what I did about Dad and the Fitzwilliams. No matter how many fights we had over the years, I would never burden you with that. But now that you're in love with Carter, I felt you needed to understand what was at stake."
After learning this, I was thankful Carter hadn't come home with me to meet my family. But would I ever be able to go back to be with him? Was it too dangerous? I didn't want Carter hurt or worse, killed because I was selfish enough to want to see him.
Cabin Fever (Lost and Found Book 1) Page 21