George Hartmann Box Set

by Kelly Utt

  I can feel my eyebrows raise and then freeze. I’m bewildered and I want to know what the hell she’s talking about. This can’t be right. I wonder what kind of sick scam these people are trying to pull for ratings. I’d like to set the record straight. It's all I can do to resist the bait.

  "He claims he is the biological father of your oldest son,” the reporter says as she shoves a microphone in my face.

  Just in time, the elevator door opens and Roddy pushes me inside. The doors close in front of us, drowning out the news team. I look at Roddy and want to ask him if he knows what the hell they're talking about. I can't find the words. I’m intrigued and insulted all at once. Mostly insulted.

  I wonder if this really is a desperate plea for attention on the part of the news station, like how shady tabloids follow celebrities and come up with all sorts of strange and unusual tales just to make a buck. Those assholes have no regard for the reputations they’ve destroyed in the process. Or is there something to this? Could there be? It sounds completely absurd. Ali and I have been together since long before Ethan was born she would never cheat on me. Ethan is my boy. I know he is.

  Roddy puts a hand on my shoulder.

  "Let it roll right off your back, George,” he says simply.

  I nod my head in agreement as the elevator doors open and we begin to walk down the hall towards the room occupied by the rest of our family. It feels like I’ve taken a hit to my system and I’m not sure I can let it roll off, but I try.

  "How will we know when Dr. Wong is ready to update us on Ali's condition?” I ask.

  "I'll call down to the nurses desk,” Roddy reassures. "I'm sure they'll let us know right away when there’s something to report. Hospital administration is probably ashamed that a news crew got so far inside of their building. At least, they ought to be."

  I agree. I wasn't expecting that.

  I can hear Ethan and Leo's little voices as we approach the door to their room. I miss my little guys and wish I could be spending more time with them. I want to get back downstairs near Ali a soon as possible, but I'm glad for the chance to see my boys. We open the door and step inside. It looks like a bit of a madhouse.

  I still feel stunned by what I just heard and it’s hard to concentrate on anything else. What the reporter said can't possibly be true. I haven’t even absorbed the news that Ali was found alive and that she's pregnant with our baby. Allegations of her infidelity are not something that I'm at all equipped to handle right now.

  "Daddy!" Ethan says as he runs over and hugs me around one leg.

  His hug helps center me and bring me back into the present moment.

  "Daddy! Daddy!" Leo echoes.

  He can’t run over and grab my other leg like he typically would, so I go to him and give him a big hug. He was sleeping when I was here last night, so this is the first time he’s seeing me since being rescued from the crash.

  As promised, Roddy goes immediately over to pick up the phone. He calls down to the nurses station in the emergency department and tells them why we left the waiting area.

  "George, dear, are you all right?" Mom asks as she walks over and takes one of my hands into hers. "I saw the news trucks out the window. Are they here for you?"

  I'm not sure how much I want to discuss with Mom right now. Joe's here, sitting quietly in the corner of the room. He continues to look out of place, as if he doesn't want to overstep his bounds since we've only just learned that he and Mom are dating. I appreciate his level of awareness about how awkward this is for us. I'm doing my best to welcome him into the family and allow him access as such. But this is all so raw and personal. I'm glad he gets that.

  "Where is Liam?" I ask, avoiding Mom's inquiry. "Did he leave the hospital?"

  "Yes, he went back to the rental house. He said he had to take care of a few things."

  "And Marjorie?"

  "She asked the nurse for a quiet place to get some rest," Mom replies. "They set her up on a cot in a room just down the hall. She's been sleeping for a few hours now."

  Mom walks to the window and looks outside again, peering intently as she tries to see as much as she can at the odd angle created by the window and the position of the trucks down below.

  "You didn't answer my question, George," she says. "Are these news trucks here for you?"

  "Mom, "I begin. "Shouldn't you be asking how Ali is and whether or not we have news from the doctor who's operating on her? Aren’t those questions more important than whether or not the news trucks are here for me?"

  Mom purses her lips and leans her head to one side. She's getting irritated. I can tell.

  "Of course they are," Mom says in a hushed tone, trying not to disturb Roddy as he speaks with one of the nurses from the emergency department.

  "Daddy!" Ethan exclaims, interrupting. "I've been drawing pictures. Joe went to the store this morning and got me and Leo some crayons and construction paper. Do you want to see my drawings?"

  "That's great, son," I say.

  A jab of emotion hits me in the belly when I say the word son and think about what the reporter just told us. Is it possible that Ethan isn’t my biological child? That's almost unfathomable.

  "In a minute, dear," Mom says to Ethan as she again takes my hand, leading me towards her.

  "Give it a rest, Mom," I say.

  "Why are you being harsh with me, George?" she asks. "They are here for you, aren't they?"

  I pause for a moment while I debate whether or not I should tell Mom what has happened. I want and need her support, but at the same time I can almost predict word for word what she'll say when she finds out that the media trucks are, in fact, here for me.

  "Okay, fine," I say. "Yes, they are here for me. But I don't yet completely understand what they want. I don't want to alarm anyone,” I say as I glance at the boys sideways, hoping Mom will get the message.

  Mom’s hand begins to tremble in mine and I can see that she's genuinely fearful.

  “George," she says. "I've tried to hold my tongue for a long time now, but I think all of this is because you're flaunting your wealth. People want what you have and they're willing to hurt you in order to take it."

  Not this again. I attempt to steady myself for the inevitable barrage of criticism.

  "You're a target,” she continues. "Plain and simple. If you lived in a more modest house and drove more modest vehicles, people wouldn't be coming after you. They probably attempted, well, you know..." she says as she jesters towards Ethan. "If you didn't have plenty of money to pay as ransom."

  Her words make my stomach feel sick. I'm vulnerable right now and each statement is sticking in me like a briar, designed to hang on tight. I feel guilty enough about not protecting my family. I feel guilty about some of the things I've done in this lifetime that I can't even talk to anyone about because they’re classified. I feel guilty about not keeping Ali and Ethan safe in Ancient Greece. And now, I have to deal with Mom making me feel guilty for buying a big house and enjoying the money Dad left me. Surely, she knows I would never do anything to jeopardize my family’s safety. If I had honestly thought that buying a big house and allowing it to be known that I have some money would endanger them, I would have done just as she suggests and lived more modestly.

  "Look, Mom," I say, placing my hands on her upper arms and guiding her a few steps off to the side. "I am terrified right now. I'm confused. And I have no idea what the future holds for me."

  "I know," she replies. "That's exactly why I'm saying this right now. I think if you will back off of the wealth and status symbols, it would go a long way towards getting you out of the crosshairs. Even the media is more interested in you because of your wealth. I guarantee it. Can't you see that? They like nothing more than to antagonize wealthy and successful people and take them down a peg. It’s an ugly part of human nature. But for better or worse, that’s the way it is."

  "Maybe,” I reply. "But not necessarily. There's nothing inherently wrong with having money, Mom. I th
ink maybe you and I disagree about that on a fundamental level."

  Mom closes her eyes as if she's working to maintain composure. It seems like she's beginning to get frustrated with me.

  "George, you are my son. These are my grandsons. And my daughter-in-law, well, you know..."

  She wants what's best for me. I know that. Her intentions are good. I sure wish she would keep all of this to herself though.

  Sometimes, I think about my childhood and the money messages I received from my parents. I know they started out without much money at all. And I know Dad worked extremely hard to make his fortune. But I can't quite figure out how Mom came to have such jumbled feelings about money. John Wendell and Grandma weren't exactly rich, but they were secure. John Wendell made a reliable and comfortable living working with the railroad. I don't think Mom ever suffered for a lack of money growing up. I've often wondered if something happened that I don't know about. Perhaps no one knows about it. I've even speculated that maybe she got involved with something which scared her.

  "Mom," I say. "Where is all of this coming from? Did something happen to you that made you think money was bad? Because I don't think it's good nor bad. It's simply is. I think you can do good things with money or you can do bad things with money. And I'm not a bad person, Mom."

  "Dear," she responds. "It's more complicated than that. Maybe when you’ve lived as long as I have, you'll understand."

  "I think I've been around long enough to understand plenty," I say.

  "No, you haven’t."

  Joe seems like he's trying not to listen, but can't help himself.

  I shift my position, turning my back towards him. Then I lower my voice so as to keep our conversation more private.

  I haven't told mom about our business plans yet. There's so much going on. It just doesn't seem like the right time. The list of things that I need to tell people is beginning to get long and overwhelming. Maybe once things quiet down and we're back at home, I can sit everyone down and go over all the various things I want to tell them.

  "Come on, Mom,” I say. “Please. I have more on my plate than you know right now. Can we not do this?"

  She raises one hand to smooth the front of her shirt along the line where the buttons are, just like she did the day Liam and I talked to her on the front porch of her house and she was trying to hide Dr. Joseph Epstein inside.

  "I'm scared," she says.

  I guess that makes sense. It does seem like her anxiety and irrational beliefs about money are fear-based. I'd like to be a support to my mom and help her move past her fear. I don't think I have it in me to help another person aside from my wife and little boys right now though.

  "Mom," I try again. "If you're afraid about money, I think that’s something we can work through. But your comments aren't helpful. They're actually harmful to me. Have you thought about it from my perspective? Because sometimes, it seems like you're trying to control my life."

  "Now that's ridiculous, George. You can be so dramatic at times."

  "I'm serious," I say. “Do you realize that, short of physically tying someone up, the next best way to control them is to keep them from having money? Like it or not, we live in a world where money is necessary. And if I'm honest, you have always tried to keep me from using the money that I have by way of your passive aggressive comments and judgments."

  "I don't know what's gotten into you, George,” Mom replies, exasperated. "I understand you're going through a lot right now, so I'm going to chalk it up to that and not take this to heart."

  "Didn't you notice how, for years, I tried to pretend like I didn't actually have the money Dad left me?” I ask. “I lived in tiny apartments and I drove old cars instead of using the money at my disposal. Why do you think I did that?"

  Mom’s hand begins to tremble more. My anger rises anyway.

  "Do you think I would have done that if I'd grown up with a mother who was comfortable with money?"

  Roddy has hung up the phone now and looks at me like he's thinking of intervening. He's perfectly comfortable with his wealth. Surely, he understands what I'm saying here.

  "When I first met Ali and learned that her family had a lot of money, I had to deal with the fact that my relationship with money was messed up,” I continue. “A little thing between Ali and I was going to grow into big differences between us and I knew it. Remember how Ali drove that nice Jeep Grand Cherokee that was a gift from her parents? And there I was with the old, base-model Sunfire and millions of dollars in the bank. Of course, my new girlfriend was going to ask questions. Why wouldn't she? She could tell I was uncomfortable just driving in the Cherokee instead of the Sunfire. And that is seriously messed up.”

  Mom isn’t looking at me directly. She’s not taking this well.

  "Ali spent the early years of our marriage living with me in small apartments and condos when, between the two of us, we could've bought a nice house much sooner using the money our families left us. And what would have been so wrong with that anyway? How is an investment in a nice home a bad thing? It would've been a good use of my money from the beginning. Hell, I should've bought properties as investments and rented them out. But I didn't because I was embarrassed to have a lot of money and to be wealthy. Or more accurately, you were embarrassed for me to have a lot of money and to be wealthy.”

  “George…” Mom tries.

  “And then,” I continue, ignoring her pleas. “As I tried to become better equipped to be a good steward of my money, I had to go through repeated cycles of dysfunction. First, I’d feel a little more comfortable with my money and with spending it. But it was never long until that progress was followed by inevitable feelings of anxiety and guilt. I’d spend weeks and months ruminating about how I shouldn’t have spent the money or how there wouldn’t be enough. For most of my life, your insecurities have been thrust onto me. I didn’t ask for them and I certainly don’t want them. I wish you’d have kept that bullshit to yourself.”

  "Come on, George," Mom says, her voice sounding shaky. "Think about what you're saying."

  "Oh, I’ve thought about it for years. Everything I'm saying now is what's been in the back of my mind. It’s been personal struggle. I've watched my uncle inherit the same money from Dad and I've actually been jealous of how free he feels about it. He doesn't have the guilt I do. He doesn't feel burdened by his wealth. The only sense I can make out of that is that he is free of it because he didn't grow up with you."

  Roddy and Joe are definitely looking at me now and considering whether or not to intervene. The boys have also quieted down and are listening intently. In the back of my mind, I know I should stop and that no good is going to come of this. But I'm frustrated and angry. I'm feeling trapped and I have to unload all of this somewhere. Mom lets go of my hand now and looks like she's about to cry. I carry on.

  “And when Ali came into the picture and I met Marjorie and Roddy, it was so foreign to see how comfortable they were with their own money. Roddy works hard for his money which benefits his family and he's proud. Simply proud, same as Dad was. It’s okay to be proud of hard, honest work that results in wealth. But for some reason, you couldn't be proud and you passed your botched ideas onto me, whether I liked it or not.”

  “George,” Roddy says. “Come on now.”

  "You know," I continue, holding a finger up in the air to indicate that I’m not done. "I used to try and show you the world to help you loosen up. Remember? I used to ask you to travel with me and then to travel with me and Ali. I even paid for your plane tickets, thinking you might approve of that use of Dad's money. Then we would get someplace amazing and all you'd want to do was complain about how extravagant it was and how all the people on vacation were wealthy. What's so wrong with being on vacation and being wealthy? You’d use the word wealthy like it was an insult. What the hell?"

  "I didn't mean it like that…"

  "Yeah? Why do you think we didn't invite you out here to Lake Tahoe with us? You don't even seem to like h
aving fun. Everything has to be serious and burdensome. It's all so heavy. We knew you wouldn’t enjoy yourself here. So we didn't ask you to come."

  Mom is standing strong, but tears begin to roll down her cheeks. I know I'm hurting her feelings now, but I can't seem to stop myself.

  "And so you show up here anyway, without being asked to come. At first, I was really glad to see you. I was glad to see my mom. That is, the good mom. Or the good version of my mom. Can't we just keep that version queued up? I don't believe you have the nerve to come in here and start talking about it being my fault that Ali and the boys are hurt. How dare you?"

  "That's enough, George," Roddy says seriously, finally intervening.

  Joe walks over to Mom to console her. He looks at me and shakes his head like he's disappointed. He might as well join the club, apparently. He puts his arm around her and pats her gently on the arm. Even though I'm mad and can hardly think straight, I'm glad she has someone to console her. I’m glad she has Joe in her life.

  "George, dear," Mom says shakily. "I had no idea you felt this way. Why haven't you mentioned any of this before?"

  "Because I knew how you take it," I stammer.

  I feel like I’m about to come even more unhinged.

  "There's a lot you aren’t privy to yet, okay? A reporter downstairs just told us police made an arrest and that the guy they arrested claims to be the biological father of… you know,” I say, gesturing towards Ethan. “Also of note. Ethan and I had nearly the same dream, a night apart, before we came here to Lake Tahoe. In both dreams, we were searching for Ali in the woods. It turned out to be almost exactly what happened in real life. So, I don't know if it's some type of psychic ability we have or what. Then, it sounds like Dad somehow appeared and flagged a couple of motorists down to direct them to the crash site so they could save Ali. And last but not least, I remember having lived a past life in Ancient Greece.”

  "What in the world?" Mom asks.

  “Yeah," I know. "Apparently, some people who were after us back then and who actually killed, you know…” I say gesturing to Ethan once more. “These creeps seem to be back in the present day and I think at least some of the same people are after us again. To top it off, I remember you and Joe being on some sort of decision making body in Ancient Greece which was responsible for sending Ali and Ethan out of the city. She was pregnant with my baby. At least, I think it was my baby. We were not supposed to be together. I’m pretty sure you and Joe had a hand in the event that started all of this. So don't lecture me about flaunting my wealth. Maybe you need to take a hard look at your part in this and take some responsibility."