by Hart, Taylor
Rym nodded.
“I’ve done well most of my life. My one regret is how I treated your dad.” Grandpa coughed.
Rym wasn’t sure if it was a sick cough or a cough used to cover emotion. He suspected the latter, based on the moisture gathering in Grandpa’s eyes.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, and I realized that he messed up his life, but there were things I could have done to help him, and I didn’t.” His bony hand tightened around Rym’s. “I’ll see him sooner than you will, and hopefully, by the time we welcome you into heaven, he will have forgiven me for my hard heart.”
All the times his father had railed in drunken fury about Grandpa’s success—the anger and the wounded look in his eyes—haunted Rym. He wondered if a thousand years would be enough time for his father to forgive Grandpa. He couldn’t say that to Grandpa, though, not when the man was going to find out the truth soon enough.
“Thank you for telling me. I … it matters,” said Rym.
Grandpa lifted one cheek in a weak smile. “Good. But that’s not why you’re here.”
“Okay.” Rym pulled the word out, not sure where things were going. For a moment, Rym wondered if Grandpa had some sort of dementia on top of everything else. He bounced from topic to topic like a squirrel hopping trees. He glanced up at Karen, hoping for a clue. She focused on refilling Grandpa’s water cup and kept her eyes down. When he looked back at Grandpa, his whole countenance had become serious.
“Rym, you’re all the family I have.” Grandpa’s voice was higher than normal, a sign of his anxiety.
Rym gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Hadn’t he felt the same desperation at the thought of losing Grandpa? It seemed they shared more than a love for skiing and faith in God.
“You’ve done well for yourself. You worked your way through life and you’ve worked hard.”
Rym held his tongue. This wasn’t the time to discuss the five seasonal jobs he maintained throughout the year so he could be free to teach skiing in the winter. After suffering through his associate’s degree, he decided it was worth the sacrifice to do what he loved. He lived on canned soup and cereal to save money. His apartment was a joke that he shared with two guys so he could afford it. But it was worth it to be able to teach skiing and hold a season pass that allowed him access to the hill he loved.
“I started out like you, you know? I didn’t have more than two nickels to rub together. But ...” He turned to look out the window at the stunning winter landscape. “I built this resort and I made it into something.”
That’s putting it mildly. The Iron Mountain Ski Resort was one of the premier ski resorts in the world. His grandfather owned the best real estate in Park City. They catered to the wealthy and still managed to serve the local ski community.
Grandpa faced him. “It’s yours.”
Rym lowered his eyebrows. “What is?”
“All of it.” Grandpa coughed, the sound weak and ineffectual.
“All of what?” Rym held tighter to Grandpa’s hand as it slackened.
Grandpa sighed. “I’ve watched you grow up, Rym. You may have thought I just threw money your way, but I paid attention. You’ve worked at the resort since you were old enough to bus tables, and you bring in more guests as a private ski instructor than anyone else on my payroll. You know this business, Rym. I’d—” Grandpa did that emotional cough thing again. “I’d planned on bringing you into management when you turned thirty-five. I knew that by the time you were forty, I could hand the place over to you. But plans change. You aren’t ready yet, so I’ve prepared a special training for you with the help of a friend. You’re going to be all right.”
All his life, Rym had been told not to expect anything from the old man when he died, and he never had. Never—not even once—did he believe he’d be in the will. Needing to sit down, Rym let go of Grandpa’s hand and fell into the visitor’s chair next to the bed.
“Rym!” Grandpa called. He started coughing so hard the bed shook. Then, even though the coughing stopped, the shaking remained. Karen hurried over and the doctor flew into the room. Rym watched in horror as he filled a syringe and inserted the needle into the IV tubing.
“What are you giving him?” Rym asked. His blood turned cold.
“Something to make him comfortable,” replied the doctor.
“Wait, comfortable as in …?” Rym grabbed Grandpa’s hand and held on tighter than a brand-new ski boot.
The light and stubbornness that was Grandpa slowly ebbed away, unhindered by pain thanks to the shot. There was a flux of that peaceful feeling, and then the veil closed, leaving behind a vast sense of loss. Shocked, Rym pulled his feet under him like a first-timer on skis, unsure if he’d be able to stay up.
Karen put her arm around Rym’s shoulders. “You made it here for him. He was hanging on just for you.”
Rym leaned on her, grateful for her words. His grandpa had loved him, even if it was from afar. And the feelings of respect and caring that Rym had sometimes felt guilty for having for Grandpa, because of his dad, filled the empty places in the room.
He stood up straight. No more. He’d wasted years with his grandpa out of loyalty to his mom and dad, and now he refused to let their bitterness hinder his ability to love. Rym bent over the bed and kissed his grandpa’s forehead.
“If you’d like to step out, we can take care of him,” said the doctor.
“Thank you,” muttered Rym. Not sure where to go, he wandered out of the room and into the bridge-like hallway.
“Sir, wait.”
Rym stopped automatically; his body was on cruise control. Sir. I’m not “sir.” Grandpa was “sir.” Yet this was the third time that day Rym had been called sir. The word fit like a loose binding.
“Hi, I’m Robert McGraw. We talked on the phone earlier today.”
Right, the guilt-maker. Mr. McGraw stood eye-to-eye with Rym, who was six-foot-one. He had graying hair at the temples; the rest of his hair was black and shiny with a wave in the front. He had a few wrinkles around his eyes and down his cheeks. With his spry movements, and the raccoon tan line that could only come from wearing a ski mask on a sunny day on the slopes, Rym found he liked the guy despite his first impression.
“I know you’re probably reeling, but there are some things we need to go over.”
“Like what?” Rym couldn’t think of a single thing—at all. He still couldn’t believe Grandpa was gone. Rym’s interactions with his grandpa flashed before him and, unhindered now by the weight of his parents’ anger, Rym saw how Grandpa Mike had molded him through example. He’d influenced Rym’s life in ways Rym hadn’t thought of until he had to face a world without Grandpa in it. For one, he’d given Rym a reason to be proud of his last name, a reason to hold his head high even when hauling his dad out of the bars. That meant something to Rym as he grew from a boy into a man.
“As Mr. Hoagland’s only grandchild, there are several small points we should cover when it comes to inheriting Iron Mountain, your grandfather’s estate, and his investments. But you need to know, there is one stipulation that will affect you in a—shall we say, personal way.”
Wow—when Grandpa said “It’s all yours,” he meant it. What would his mother say about that? Grandpa’s comment about some sort of training rose up through the fog in Rym’s head. “Shoot.”
Mr. McGraw buttoned his suit, then unbuttoned it, then pulled at his tie. He cleared his throat and gave Rym a sympathetic smile. “You’ll have to get married.”
Rym’s eyebrows shot up. “Married?” That was a sentence worse than ...
Rym looked over his shoulder to where Grandpa’s body now lay, covered by a white sheet. How could he get married? He didn’t date—he couldn’t afford it. Sure, plenty of his clients had asked him out, but he knew they were looking for a vacation fling and he wasn’t interested in one-night stands. He had pictured himself married, one day, in the distant future, when he could support a family. But he was nowhere near that right now. W
ell, with the inheritance, he’d be financially able to support a family, but he was still light-years away from any sort of mental state that would allow him to make that kind of commitment. What was Grandpa thinking? Rym wasn’t ready for marriage. He couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk having to carry someone through life like his mother had, and he lived in fear of being the burden his father had been.
Marriage was out of the question. Surely Mr. McGraw could be brought to understand. “With all due respect, are you kidding me?”
Mr. McGraw shook his head.
Anger cleared the fog. It evaporated like the steam on the driveway. “I can’t get married, I don’t have a … that is, I’m not dating anyone … I mean, how …?”
“I know it’s unconventional, especially these days. But your grandfather has a friend named Pamela Jones, who runs a matchmaking service. She specializes in marriages that are mutually beneficial for both parties. Pamela came out last week and they discussed your …” McGraw’s eyes darted to the side and he cleared his throat again. “… future bride at length.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a card. “You’ll need to contact Pamela today. She’s called several times to check on your grandfather, and she’ll be expecting to hear from you.”
Rym read the card in his hand. BMB? Grandpa, what have you done? The anger simmered. “I don’t understand. A business marriage?”
The lawyer tugged on his shirt cuffs. “I’m not privy to more information than what’s in the will. But it does appear to be a temporary situation.”
Rym flicked the card back and forth over his palm. “Is there any way we can get around it?” Rym’s stomach soured, but he pressed forward. “Can we have Grandpa declared insane or something?” The words left a horrible taste in Rym’s mouth. He cringed at the idea of besmirching Grandpa’s good name.
“I’m sorry. The document is watertight. And with the illness being so sudden, it’s unlikely a judge would consider a case of insanity valid. Besides, he’s given you two weeks to tie the knot.”
Of course he did. Rym shoved the awful idea of declaring Grandpa unsound away. “Never mind.” Another question popped into Rym’s head, and since Mr. McGraw seemed up-front with what information he had, Rym asked, “What happens if I don’t get married?”
“Your grandfather’s investments will be divvied up among his favorite charities. The house will be sold. Et cetera. Iron Mountain will be incorporated and a board of directors will take over. There have been three offers on the resort in the last two weeks. It’s possible that it too will be sold.”
Rym felt a stomachache coming on. He couldn’t imagine Iron Mountain in the hands of investors. They’d milk it dry and ruin the family atmosphere. The resort was Rym’s heritage, and it was home to many who worked there. He personally knew dozens of instructors who relied on the seasonal employment to provide for their families. They came back to Iron Mountain year after year because Iron Mountain often worked around their families’ needs. Grandpa’s company provided daycare at a reasonable cost, allowed shift changes at a moment’s notice, and worked with the local tech school to provide training for their culinary students.
A corporation wouldn’t do those things. They wouldn’t treat people like family; they’d treat them like an asset or a liability. The instructors, bussers, chefs, lift operators, and even the maids and maintenance crew were like family to Rym. He’d grown up with them, laughed with them, skied with their kids. He couldn’t leave them at the mercy of a board of directors.
With a resigned sigh, Rym said, “I’ll call her this afternoon.”
Mr. McGraw’s shoulders relaxed. “I’ll be in touch.” He pulled his eyebrows together. “I guess I should tell you that I work exclusively for Mr. Hoagland, and therefore I’m now on your payroll. Here’s my card. If you have any questions or concerns, I’ll be happy to address them. We need to meet and go over things, but it can wait until after the funeral if you’d like.”
Rym’s head was spinning. He had a payroll? He had a lawyer? He never thought he’d need either, and yet he’d been handed them. His instinct was to shove them back, but there was no one to take them.
Somehow, Rym made it to his car and down the switchback to Sven, who waved him through with a look of compassion.
Rym’s phone rang, and he checked the number before answering. “Hi, Mom. You aren’t going to believe this.”
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Taylor Hart has always been drawn to a good love triangle, hot chocolate and long conversations with new friends. Writing has always been a passion that has consumed her daydreams and forced her to sit in a trance for long hours, completely obsessed with people that don’t really exist. Taylor would have been a country star if she could have carried a tune—maybe in the next life. Find Taylor at:
www.taylorhartbooks.com │ Twitter: @taylorfaithhart │ Facebook: Taylor Hart
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