We’re taking our jet to meet him. It’s the fastest way to get there, and we don’t want to keep him waiting. Oliver is getting things ready to present to Dad. I don’t know what he could be possibly organizing. It’s not like we got any business done in regards to the Red house. And we have no idea why Winston’s called us to come meet him. Oliver’s probably stressed out. I know I am.
“What are you doing, Oliver?”
He stops messing about and looks at me, visibly annoyed. “I’m getting ready to meet Dad. He’s going to have a lot of questions about Scarlet, and I want to be prepared to answer them.”
I know Oliver feels the same as me, but he still wants to keep up this façade. I mean, I don’t intentionally antagonize our father, but I don’t make any allowances for him. I don’t go above and beyond to please him. I don’t see the point. I used to try. I used to try so hard and it got me nowhere. “I’ll never understand why you work so hard to appease him.”
“I work hard so he won’t bother us. If he’s happy, then we’re safe.”
Safe. Hmm. Why do we have to work to be safe from our own dad? I have these thoughts but don’t say anything. We’re always having this conversation, but it never resolves itself. It’s not as if there is anything we can do about him. And whenever we talk about him, we both end up angry and annoyed. Dad is not worth getting so worked up over. We’ll just have to deal with all his bullshit until he’s gone and leaves us to run the business. Who knows if that’ll ever happen. He’d probably have to die. My dad isn’t one to hand things over; I can’t imagine him retiring.
“Okay, Oliver.” It comes out a lot more dismissive than I would’ve liked, but I don’t let that bother me. Oliver knows my intentions. He knows I am more annoyed with the situation than with him. I turn away and decide to take a nap. I haven’t been sleeping well since our weekend with Scarlet. She hasn’t called or contacted us in any way. I’m mildly concerned. When she left us, things didn’t feel completely solid between the three of us. It is partially our fault. We are being quiet and secretive around her, not giving her the full truth. There are just too many unsavory happenings in our lives, and I don’t want her to be a part of it. I also know some of the blame is solely mine. I kept being distant, not talking, and the moment I started to open up, Jeremy arrived and threw it all away. I drift away with competing thoughts of Winston and Scarlet.
• • •
When I wake up, the plane is touching down on the runway. Oliver’s put away all his files and things. Once we’re out of the plane and in the car, Oliver asks me a question,
“You’re not going to difficult, are you, Caden?”
Here we go… We’ve gotten to the part of getting ready to meet our father where Oliver treats me like a petulant child, one who exists only to annoy everyone else.
“Difficult. Why are you talking to me like I’m a child?” Usually, I don’t mind Oliver’s inclinations to treat me like the younger brother, but this feels more patronizing than usual. Like I said, we have a pattern, but he’s taking it further than necessary.
“I know our dad isn’t a great person, but you barely make any effort with him. It would be so much easier if you just tried a little harder.”
I’m done trying. “I already work hard, Oliver. I’m not going to put myself out just to make Dad feel like he has control over our lives. I won’t do anything to piss him off, but I’m not going to kiss his ass, either.”
Oliver means well, but it frustrates me that he can’t understand what an utter piece of shit our father is. And I’m done trying to convince him.
Our drive takes some time. I’m not sure where we’re going. I assume it’s straight to wherever Winston is, because he wouldn’t take into consideration that we just got off a long fight – he’d want to go right into whatever business he has. The car drops us off in front of a gargantuan dark building with windows blacked out from the first floor all the way to the top. I observe the menacing stone gargoyles bearing their sharp teeth, intimidating anyone who enters the building. We go inside and find Jeremy waiting for us in the lobby. Of course he’s here. Our father’s other little errand boy.
“Boys. Your father is waiting for you upstairs.”
Hearing him speak makes me cringe. I can get over Oliver treating me like a child every once in a while, but Jeremy? He thinks because our father gives him so much power, he can treat us as if he’s somehow in charge of us. I’ve never told him off, because, like I said, there’s no point in stirring the pot. It would make my life that much harder. We follow Jeremy into the elevator and ride up to the top floor. There are a few people milling about, but the building isn’t too busy. I wonder what kind of venture is going on here. Winston doesn’t tell us everything he does; not that I terribly mind. It’s not all above board, but there’s also nothing I can do to stop it. He’s too clever for that. We reach the top floor and make our way to a set of double doors to an office. As Jeremy pushes them open, I feel an overwhelming wind of dread take over, but it doesn’t bother me much since it’s what I normally feel every time I have to meet with Winston.
We enter the office and our father is standing by a small table with three glasses. I’m guessing it’s scotch, the same drink he pours whenever he wants to give us a talking to. He thinks it puts us all at ease, but in actuality, it pisses me off. Jeremy is dismissed, and then it’s just the three of us, alone in his uncomfortably large office. Oliver and I know the routine and grab our poured drinks. I sip mine, because I actually like scotch, but the fact that I have that in common with my father angers me.
“I’m glad you two were able to come down so quickly.”
Oliver raises his glass to the both of us, “Well, you call, we run down.”
Hmm. That’s something I’d usually say. Oliver’s always talking about appeasing Winston, even on the plane he appeared to still feel that way. Did something change while I slept? I mean, he was still advocating for peace after we got off the plane. Maybe something changed when we were in the car, because we did have time to think on our ride over. Either way, it doesn’t matter, since our father doesn’t even lose his stride. He rarely shows weakness or at least that’s how he likes to put it.
“Well, thank you for that.”
I expect our dad to say more, but he takes a slow drink, making one of his dumb power plays to make us wait. And we do because we know how he is. After the long swig, he gets to the point, “I called you two here because I have some concerns.” Concerns. How formal.
“Yes. You wanted our input on a business deal?” Oliver sounds hopeful. In the past, our father has never directly asked us for help. He sends us on errands but nothing where we directly work with him.
“Not really. I actually just wanted to talk to you, and I wanted to make sure the two of you would come down.” Of course he would do this. Make us fly for hours simply because he wants to talk to us face-to-face. A simple phone call isn’t suitable enough for Winston Blakesley. “I heard you were spending a lot of time with that Red girl.”
“You want to talk about Scarlet?” It’s the first time I’ve said anything, mainly because I’m genuinely surprised. I know he thinks we should be moving faster with the sale, but he can’t say much with the luck he had before us. And spending time with her would be the optimal way to succeed from his perspective. “Is there a problem?” There’s a hint of a threat in my voice, because he’s entering dangerous territory. He’s never questioned our methods before. Not that we’re sleeping with Scarlet as a methodical move, but I know how he thinks. His first intuition would be that we’re using her to get the house, and if that were true, why would he be upset about it? His whole shtick is being shady and devious.
“That’s what I’d like to avoid.” God, I hate when he’s vague. “You two need to be careful around her. Better yet… avoid getting mixed up with her any further. It would be bad news for all of us.” Bad news? He’s the one who urged us to talk to her. Buying the Red house has been something he’s be
en trying to do for years. One way or another, I could get along. It is a nice piece of land, but Winston must have another secret agenda. You know what? Scratch that. He definitely has a secret agenda. Oliver steps in with his questions,
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why do you want us to stay away from her? Interacting with her is essential to close this deal. What’s going on?” Something must’ve happened. Something we don’t know about. Something bad.
“It shouldn’t matter. I’m your father, and you’ll do what I ask you to do. I know what’s best for this company and us. That girl is bad news, and the two of you need to be careful. Do we have an understanding?” It’s not really a question, more of a command.
Oliver and I both agree to do what he says, and I down the rest of my scotch. I have a sudden urge to get very, very drunk, and I don’t plan on stopping it.
We leave the building with no idea where we’re going or what we’re doing. I turn to Oliver and tell him about my thoughts on us getting drunk. He dismisses my suggestion,
“That sounds like a good idea, but let’s get out of this city.”
That’s an even better idea. We find our way back to the plane and have the pilot fly us back home. Getting drunk in Coldgrove somehow sounds better than anywhere else, even if it’s going to take hours to get there. Ironically, since it takes so long, we end up drinking on the plane. About an hour in, we’re pretty sloshed.
Oliver is nearly starting to slur his words, “Dear, god. I have not been this drunk in so long.” Neither one of us has. We both have serious control issues, so getting drunk is a rarity.
“I think there’s a reason for that. We don’t do well drunk.”
We spend the next couple hours shitting on Winston, and at some point, both of us pass out. The plane touching down wakes me back up. Oliver is already awake, gathering his stuff together. I push myself up and rub my head. “Are we in Coldgrove, yet?” I can feel a hangover starting to form.
Oliver stops moving around and looks at me. “Yep. And I think we got drunk enough on the plane. Home seems like the place to go now.”
“I agree.” I stand up, and the two of us descend from the plane. There are two cars waiting to take each of us to our respective houses. We say goodbye and head our separate ways. The ride home gives me time to think. My mind is mainly on Scarlet. Oliver and I didn’t talk about Dad’s request, and we shouldn’t treat his threats lightly. It would be easiest to do what he says, the path of least resistance, but I don’t know if I want to do that. I’m tired of adjusting my life to fit his plans. The car arrives at my house and I thank the driver.
Once inside, I fall onto my couch. I’m still a little tipsy. I manage to grab a water bottle from the kitchen and go back to draping myself on my couch. I’ll need to talk to Oliver about everything later, but now it’s time to lie down and do nothing. But it’s not purely nothing with Scarlet on the brain. It dawns on me that I might not see her again. Could I live with that? Maybe if we’d never had the weekend, I could walk away. I’d managed to live with her sudden departure years ago, but back then I didn’t know how intoxicating her presence was. How great she fit in with Oliver and me. How good her body felt on mine. Damn. My longing for her is growing deeper.
I start to reminisce about our weekend and all the things Oliver and I did to her. She was so willing and even suggested her own ideas, and they were sexy ideas. The way she felt… touching her body was something else. In the game room, when she took charge… Shit! My dick is getting hard in my pants. I could ignore it but know I won’t be able to get my mind off Scarlet, so it won’t go down on its own. I’ll have to take care of it myself. I unzip my pants and take my penis out of my pants. I close my eyes and envision the image of Scarlet riding me in the game room. As I softly stroke myself, I think about how tight she was. She knew all the right moves. Her pacing got faster and faster while she rode me, and my hand mimics those movements. My hand doesn’t compare to Scarlet, but it’ll do for now. As I get closer to my climax, I grip the edge of my couch. My orgasm isn’t as strong, but I still feel exhausted afterwards. I zip myself back up and go to my kitchen to wash my hands. I’m starting to feel sorry for myself, and that never leads to anything good. I make a sandwich and go back to my couch to watch T.V. and wallow in more self-pity. At some point I fall asleep, somehow managing to calm my distressed mind.
Chapter 15 – Scarlet
Chloe called and told me her dad is back in town. She’s planned to have dinner with him but hasn’t told him I’ll be there. We’re basically ambushing him, and I’m going to get the truth. No matter what.
I’m sitting outside Chloe’s childhood home, waiting for her to text me. She said she wants her dad to start eating and feel comfortable; that way he can’t make a hasty exit. While we were planning this out, I figured out that I do not want to cross Chloe, because she’s quite the devious person, not to mention a little scary.
I get the text telling me it’s time to come in. Chloe left the door unlocked, so I can walk in. Chloe and her father are talking, and then I hear him say, “Did the door just open?”
As I turn the corner into the dining room, I see Fred looking in my direction. His face drops, along with this fork, when he sees me, and it’s clear he feels guilty about something. At that moment, it’s solidified in my mind that something happened to Grandma Rachel and he’s involved somehow. Even after reading the autopsy, I’m still holding onto hope that it’s all a big misunderstanding.
“Scarlet, I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” His eyes avert to Chloe, expecting an explanation.
“I thought I mentioned it to you? I mean, it’s no big deal. Scarlet’s like family, right, Dad?”
Fred shifts in his seat and breathes in deeply, still uneasy, but he doesn’t do anything to refute what Chloe’s said. He nods and tells me to sit down. Chloe goes to the kitchen to bring me a plate of food. Fred and I are alone for a bit, partially by design – Chloe said to make suggestive comments to get her dad as antsy as possible while she gets me food.
“I- I’m sorry to hear about your grandmother. She was a great lady.”
“Yeah, she was.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t-” He’s probably going to mention the funeral, because he wasn’t there, but I interrupt him instead.
“You know what, though,” I try to keep my voice calm and clear. “Something isn’t sitting right with me. It’s just odd the way she died. I don’t feel comfortable with it.”
“What do you mean?” Fred twists his neck then swipes his thumb at the edge of his chin, a nervous tick of his. The seed has been planted.
I’m about to answer, but Chloe walks in with my plate. Fred shifts in his seat again, obviously uncomfortable. We resume to eat and have aleternative polite conversation, but Fred doesn’t completely settle throughout the meal. Chloe steers the conversation back into the sale of the house, which opens the floor again to us talking about Grandma Rachel. I make my move,
“Yeah. The Blakesleys have shown an interest in buying the place. I don’t know if I want to sell to them, though. They’ve been a bit aggressive.”
“The Blakesleys? Have they visited you?” Fred hasn’t relaxed at all since I’ve gotten here. His gaze stays fixated at his place, which he’s barely touching – merely moving food around with his fork and knife. Every so often, he checks the clock mounted on the wall.
“Yeah, we’ve spent a lot of time together. They’ve been really nice to me.”
Fred nods his head, still avoiding any eye contact, “Oh, have you?”
Chloe then chimes in, “They took her to dinner and showed her their office, and it looks like they’ve all really hit it off.”
The grip around Fred’s fork and knife stiffens, “That sounds nice.”
We’ve been building up to asking Fred the main question, though. It’s time to set the trap, so as I see him take a bite of food, I add,
“And ever since the rumors started, having a support system like that h
as been so helpful.”
With a clash of his metal fork and knife against his glass plate, Fred roars into a fit of coughing. “Rumors? What rumors?” Fred asks. We got him right where we want him.
“Well, people are saying that Grandma Rachel didn’t die naturally. That there’s more to the story, but that’s ridiculous. I mean, it’s so far-fetched.” I pretend to laugh it off, but then I look Fred directly in his eyes and ask, “Isn’t it?”
Chloe is looking at him too, prodding holes into him. He doesn’t immediately say anything, but then he laughs and says,
“Of course it’s ridiculous. You two know this town and its idle gossip. People have nothing better to do except make up asinine stories.” He sounds almost convincing, but that initial pause was all-tell revealing.
“Because, Dad, if anyone would know, it’s you. And you wouldn’t lie to me, right?” Chloe looks at her dad.
I’m leaning forward in my seat as silence descends onto the dinner table, swirling around in thick fog around us as we wait for Fred to answer us, but he only presses his lips into a tight, thin line and lets out a long exhale.
“Chloe there is nothing for you to worry about it. May we finish dinner in peace.” He snatches the food on his fork in the blink of an eye like a ravenous animal.
Chloe ignores his response and continues to poke around, “I can understand if you’re scared or if there was money involved, but that wouldn’t provoke you to lie to me. Right, Dad?”
CLANG!
Fred’s fists, utensils still in hand, crash on top of the table, causing the plates and silverware to hop.
“Dad!”
Steam airs out of his ears, his nose and his mouth, “Chloe! Enough with the useless questions.”
Chloe’s eyes narrow as her nose and lips twist into a grimace, “What’s wrong with you?” She sits back with stern crossed arms, staring at her half-eaten plate.
With a heavy sigh, Fred turns to Chloe. He looks much smaller and defeated. “You girls don’t understand. Winston Blakesley owns this town. The truth will only get more people hurt.”
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