by Jordyn White
She sighs audibly and I know she’s gearing up for more.
“Can we talk about something else, please?” I try cutting her off at the pass because I can’t do this right now. Today’s Wednesday, which means today’s the day Jessica picks up Max from daycare, and I get to start the four-day countdown until he’s back safe with me. Trying not to think too much about it is my go-to coping strategy, so my mother wanting to rehash the same shit over and over again is just not something I can do right now.
Anyway, what does she expect me to do beyond what I’m already doing? It’s bad enough my hands are tied. All I can do is take this one step at a time and hope it all turns out in the end.
Though I have to say, for all the frustration my mom can cause at times, she’s been with me through every court appearance and she’ll be there for the next one. Even though she tends to fret and admonish beforehand, she’s steady as a rock during, and for that I’m grateful. Those court appearances have been grueling and leave me gutted. Every time.
“Well, alright. But send him the article.”
“I will,” I lie, just to get her to be quiet about it.
“I just worry about little Max,” she says gently.
I take a deep breath. “I know, Mom. Me, too.” I never sleep well when Max is with his mother.
I’m ready to change the subject. “Hey, I’ve filled the gap left by the Redwood project.” This was for a client who ran into unforeseen delays, leaving me with some pretty significant open time to fill in my schedule. On the rare occasion something like that occurs, I can usually bring in new work, but it still makes me nervous. Between the debt my ex-wife ran up the last year we were married and my current, hefty legal fees, there’s not as much wiggle room in my cash flow as I would like.
“Ah,” my mother says. “Elizabeth Rivers called you after all. I didn’t know if she would.”
“What? How’d you know it’s for her?”
“Well, if you ever picked up your phone, you’d know the answer to that question.”
“Ha ha.”
“Last Friday I found out the Rivers family was at it again so I went over to see what I could do about it.”
“What do you mean? Do about what?”
“Who knows what those Rivers kids were planning on doing with those cottages.” She’s convinced the Rivers heirs have fallen pretty far from the tree, and based on what I’ve heard, I’m not sure she’s wrong. “I made it clear those buildings require skilled, historic restorations. She already knows I’m not afraid to fight for what’s right, and I sure wasn’t going to stand by while they tore them all down.”
“Did she say she was going to tear them down?” I ask, surprised.
“No. But they may have just been after the beachfront property. Anyway, I gave her your card and told her to hire you. I’m glad she did.”
“Mother,” I say sharply, “I told you, you can’t do stuff like that.” Shit, is that why Rod hired me? But Elizabeth Rivers clearly wasn’t sold on the situation at first, so maybe not. How did this all go down? I’ll call Rod and find out if he was pressured to hire me. He and I have worked together before, so hopefully that was the reason he contacted me. If not...
“Oh, there’s no harm,” she says dismissively. “It’s not my fault my son happens to be the best in the business.”
I groan.
“What?”
“I wish you would please stop doing that.” She’s done this before. “You’re going to get one or both of us into trouble. I can find my own work.”
“Of course you can, son.” She says this in the same tone she used to encourage me to tie my shoes.
I roll my eyes. I’d go for another subject change, but between her fussing about the court thing and interfering with my career, I’m zero for two. It’s time to bring the conversation to an end.
Not long after, I’m pulling up to the Alexander Building in downtown Swan Pointe. It’s a beautiful white brick building that was the Jacob Alexander Department store when it was built back in 1902. It’s been through various incarnations since then, but has been beautifully maintained and restored (thanks to one of my mother’s predecessors some thirty years ago) and now houses several offices. Other occupants include an accounting office, a husband and wife real estate team, an interior design firm, and an investment company.
I climb the stairs to my company’s offices, which are on the third floor, and use my keys to let myself in. It’s past five so my office manager is gone for the day.
It’s always so quiet here after hours. Every sound is amplified, the air conditioning when it kicks in, the ding of the microwave telling me my buck-and-a-half burrito is ready.
I pick up the messages on my desk and try to settle in. I’ll most likely be here until late. I don’t really have to. I just will. I do like my work, but the truth is, I’m only working late because it’s better than facing what’s at home.
Which is absolutely nothing.
Chapter 4
Lizzy
I leave the Cottages not sure what to think about what just transpired. As I head back to the resort, the uncertainty of it trails after me like a spider web I can’t shake. I drive my little BMW i3 hybrid up the road that climbs the bluff, and the magnificent, sweeping Rivers Paradise Resort comes into view. The long approach is surrounded by the resort’s wide front grounds, sculpted with graceful Cyprus, twisting Monterey pine, and blooming flowerbeds of fuchsias, iris, and lavender. The bluff’s edge is to my left, and gives a broad view of the sparkling Pacific Ocean.
Straight ahead, the resort itself consists of a long, ten-story building in the center and two, seven-story wings angling back on either side. Behind this is what my father called the resort’s “playground.” Manicured grounds dotted with several different pools, a teen game lounge, courts for basketball, volleyball, racquetball and others, and of course the award-winning golf course.
This sight of my father’s grand vision made real only increases my unease. Are the cottages going to be a worthy addition to the legacy my parents left behind?
The end of the drive circles a shallow pond, which is ringed with colorful ground flowers and occupied by our white swans, Rhett and Scarlett. I pull under the sweeping portico, drive past smartly-uniformed bellhops, and descend the ramp that leads to the underground valet and employee parking. My spot is between my brothers’ vehicles.
I take the elevator to the first floor and head toward the executive offices, passing the cluster of cubicles in the center of the large room, which is circled by doors leading to our managers’ offices. I head straight for my older brother Rayce’s office, which is at the far end and flanked by my office on one side and my younger brother Connor’s office on the other.
Rayce is at his desk and Connor is standing opposite him. They’re going over some papers, but look up when I enter. We’re often told how we resemble each other, and it’s not hard to see why. We have dark hair and similar facial structures, which look strikingly handsome on them and (I’m told) pretty on me. The shape of our eyes are the same, but I’m the only one who inherited grandma’s green eyes. Both my brothers have blue. In spite of the surface similarities, I’ve always thought my brothers still look different because their personalities are so different.
Rayce looks commanding and impressive in his dark suit, as he always does. He’s only a year older than me, but he’s always seemed much older than the rest of us. That used to irk me when we were growing up and I sometimes felt he was too damned bossy, but things are different now. I’ve often questioned my own ability to follow in our parents’ footsteps, but never his ability to do so. I swear, he’s been destined for this from the day he was born.
Connor, by contrast, has always exuded a youthful, free spirit—the same spirit that prompted him to leave the family business and live on his boat so he could travel the world unimpeded. He did that for four years with no intention of slowing down, until our parents died and he had to come back to help out. For ni
ne long months we didn’t know if he was back temporarily or if we’d get to keep him long term, as we all desperately hoped we could. Then that blessed girl Whitney came along, captured his heart, and somehow planted his wandering feet firmly in one place. I will forever and ever love her for that alone.
Still, even though my younger brother doesn’t have the same countenance Rayce does (which some people define as “intimidating”), Connor’s always had this way about him when he puts on his business hat. He’s still friendly and inviting, but manages to wear an unmistakable authority with ease.
I envy and admire both of them, and sometimes wonder how people see me in my role here. I honestly don’t know. Before our parents died, I was still in executive management training, something I figured I’d carry on with for a while. But when our parents’ boat sank at sea and the three of us were suddenly faced with trying to keep the family business from sinking right along with it, Connor and I were thrust unexpectedly into much heavier roles. There were moments when we damn-near cracked under the pressure. Rayce was the one who kept us steady on.
And he’s the one I need now.
I close the door behind me. “You’re never going to believe what just happened.”
As I tell them about the situation with Brett freaking Carmichael, Rayce gets up and slowly comes around his desk, listening carefully. By the time I’m done, he’s leaning against it with his arms crossed, wearing a thoughtful expression.
“Well? Did I just make a big mistake?”
Before Rayce can answer, Connor says, “He does nice work.” He’s pulled up the Renaissance Restoration website on his phone and hands it over.
I fiddle with the hem of my shirt as Rayce scrolls through the online portfolio, still having said nothing. Judging by the expression on his face however, he seems pleased.
He starts to hand me the phone, but I raise my hand in refusal, my agitation reaching a peak. “I’ve seen it already.”
Rayce returns Connor’s phone. “Don’t you like it?”
“Yes, I like it. It’s great. I don’t like that he’s Brett freaking Carmichael.”
Connor laughs. “I can’t say I blame you there.”
Rayce continues to scrutinize me. “Do you think he’s there to cause trouble?”
I shake my head. “No. He doesn’t seem to be.”
“Do you think he’ll do a good job?”
I gesture toward Connor’s phone. “He’s more than qualified. I like his style. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to screw up a job just to spite me. So, yes.”
“Do you think you can work with him?”
I sigh. “Yes. I’m sure I can manage.”
“So what’s really bothering you?” He says this softer, not like an executive, but like my big brother. It draws the answer out of me almost before I realize it myself.
“What if this is the beginning of things going wrong? What if it’s a sign?”
He smiles softly. “Yeah, I thought so.” He stands up, puts his hands on my shoulders, and looks me in the eye. “You’ve got this, Lizzy. Your plan for these cottages is a good one. Stop doubting yourself.”
I swallow past an unexpected lump in my throat. He’s quietly taken on the role of patriarch in our family, and his vote of confidence is almost as good as getting it from Dad. Almost.
I give him a grateful smile and a hug. He gives me a strong hug back. “Thank you. I love you.”
“I love you too.” He pulls away and nips my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now get back to work.”
That Sunday, Rayce and my cousin Corrine and I are sitting on my parents’ couch—now my couch—in the family room of my parents’ house—now my house—waiting for Connor and Whitney to arrive for our monthly dinner.
My brothers and I jointly inherited the house, but I was the only one who wanted to keep it, so I bought out their shares. Corrine stays here while on school breaks, like she did when my parents were still alive.
She’s the youngest of the four of us, three years younger than me, but we’re more like sisters than cousins. I like having her around enough that I’m not looking forward to when the next semester starts two weeks from now. Fortunately, it’s her last semester.
Finally.
She’s been attending Hartman College off and on for six years now, thanks to not one but two rounds of chemotherapy. She’s always been of slight build, but she came out of the other side of those treatments looking just this side of fragile. People tend to be surprised when they see her in action, because she’s more energetic and tougher than she looks, but I saw her at her lowest and know how close we came to losing her. I try not to dwell on the possibility of the cancer coming back, but ever since Mom and Dad died so suddenly, I know there are no guarantees, and worry more than I used to.
My dog, Montana, is sitting on the floor at Corrine’s feet, his massive head resting on her lap. He’s a tan and white hound with a sweet, pouty dog face most people find hard to resist. Corrine adores animals and spoils him silly, so he’s bonded with her as much as he has with me.
My mother never used to allow animals in her house. She was kind of a neat freak and couldn’t stomach the fur all over everything. When I moved in I installed a doggie door that let into the utility room where I have a massive pillow set up for him. He used to be an outside dog, so that was it. But more and more I let him into the rest of the house too. I even let him up on the couch from time to time, and in spite of regular vacuuming, the upholstery has the occasional stray hair to prove it. My mother would never approve.
Other than the doggie door and, you know, the actual dog, the place looks pretty much the same as it has for years, though. Most of my stuff’s still over at my old house, where Connor’s been staying ever since Mom and Dad died, since all he had for a home was a boat. He didn’t want to get a place of his own until he knew if he was staying for sure. Now that he is, I suppose the whole issue of housing is going to change eventually. I don’t know what’s going to happen then, but slow as he’s being about it, I’m not too worried yet.
Rayce is reviewing a financial report on his phone, but I have my Surface Pro 4 on my lap so Corrine and I can comb Pinterest for ideas for the cottages. Her slender hand swipes past images on the screen as we hunt for possible design concepts. It will be a challenge to balance pampered luxury with the casual feel I want the Cottages to embody. I’m not quite the polished designer my mother was, so I should probably hire a professional, but I’m having too much fun playing with my own ideas for now. Besides, it’s still early stages. There’s a shitload of remodeling to do before the decorating can begin.
Over the past few days, I’ve had to go down to the site several times. I only saw Brett Carmichael once, thank God. He was talking with one of his workers, in a room adjacent to the one Rod and I were in. Our eyes met for a moment, then he gave me a lazy salute. It wasn’t exactly mocking, but I could tell he was trying to get a rise out of me. I rolled my eyes and he smiled a bit, but other than that, we let one another be.
The sound of the garage door announces the arrival of the rest of our party. Connor and Whitney come in hand in hand, of course, and she’s laughing at something he said. We exchange hellos and they give some attention to Montana, who’s gone to greet them. These two have all the glowing exuberance of a couple in love. It makes me happy just seeing them together. I like Whitney, too. She’s blended in with Corinne and me so easily.
She lives in San Francisco, technically, but for the past couple months she’s been down here for the weekend as much as she’s been home. When she’s not down here, Connor’s up there. Their commuting days are just about over though. Friday is her last day of work, then she’ll be here for good. She’ll stay with Connor until they find their own place. They’ve been house hunting for a while now, which is fine by me. I’m not in any hurry to figure out what to do with my old place. I’d be fine if they just stayed there, actually.
Slow as they are in the house-hunting depar
tment, it took Connor no time at all to pick out a plane once he finally decided to break down and buy one. A small Learjet. It didn’t surprise me. He’s always had itchy feet, so it makes sense that he needed a plane to give him more reach once he decided to settle down. They’re putting it to use right away. He’s flying up to San Francisco on Friday to pick Whitney up for the last time, then they’ll jet off to who-knows-where (wherever the wind takes him, I’d guess) for a full two weeks.
It’s Corrine’s turn to cook dinner, so now that everyone’s here she heads into the kitchen to start the rice to go with the Hawaiian haystacks that are still cooking in the crockpot. As we gather around the large kitchen island to keep Corrine company while she works, Connor says with an air of triumph, “We think we finally found our house.”
My heart sinks a bit at this news, which surprises me.
They’re both grinning ear to ear, though, and Corrine grins too, measuring out the rice to add to the rice cooker. “Really? That’s great.”
Yeah, it is, I tell myself, wondering why I’m feeling so weird about it. Disappointed, almost.
Connor nods. “It has a pool and a sand volleyball court in the back.”
“Oooh.” Corrine elbows me. I give what I hope is an appropriately excited smile.
“Once I saw that, I didn’t even care about the rest.”
Whitney extracts her phone from her back pocket. “He really didn’t. But lucky for him the rest of the house is great, too.”
“Lucky for us,” Connor corrects her.
Whitney recently confided to both Corrine and me that she’s been a little uncomfortable with the imbalance of their financial situation. From what I can tell, she’s done a great job managing her money and has enough put away that she can afford to take her time looking for a job once she moves here. She’s more than just changing jobs, anyway. She’s been working with orphan refugees for several years and it’s gotten to be too much for her. She’s needed a career change in general and Connor’s encouraged her not to rush into anything so she can figure out what she really wants to do.