“My life isn’t any of your business,” he says. “Baker’s Creek is a place I would rather avoid. I don’t want to attend his funeral. Who cares about his last wishes? He never cared about any of my wishes. Nothing he leaves me is worth the trouble.”
The door to the office opens; it’s Mills. He’s a couple of inches taller than me, and he’s the blonde of the family.
“Great, fucker one and two are here,” he says. “We’re having a fucking family reunion. Where are the rest?”
“Who is that?” Pierce asks.
Henry moves the monitor, so he can see Mills. “Oh, the jock. I heard your career is over. You should be the one taking on Aldridge Enterprise and Dad’s assets. Aw, you can be just like Daddy.”
“It’s not fucking over, fucker number three.” His voice makes the entire room vibrate. “I'll be back next season.”
“Original, you know. We do all have actual names. Fucker has nothing to do with them. But what can I expect from you, a stupid jock?”
Mills is smart, but he grew up in Vancouver, Canada, where hockey is a religion and not just a sport. The guy knew how to skate almost at the same time he learned how to walk. It’s understandable that growing up in such a culture he’d end up playing hockey.
“Can you two stop the nonsense? You’re grown men,” Henry orders.
It’s always been like this between them. I guess it’s because they’re only a few months apart. Daddy didn’t stay in Colorado long enough. I’d like to blame the Merkels for trusting him to work in their best interest. Dad acted in his own interest. The deal in Vancouver fell through, but Marie Tremblay became part of his life, giving him son number four.
Honestly, I wonder if our father ever used a condom because how in the fucking hell did he keep knocking up these women?
“What do you want from me?” Mills asks.
I go ahead and explain everything that transpired in the past couple of days.
“It’s just a quick trip to Baker’s Creek,” I conclude, clasping my hands behind my back as I look outside the window.
I can see the Statue of Liberty from here. It’s pretty cool to at least look at something beautiful while you’re working. I, on the other hand, don’t have the time or the view.
“Do you know how many times I begged him to come to see me play while growing up?”
“You’re not the only one, Mills,” I say, exasperated. “I get it. He was an asshole who didn’t care about any of us. Dad missed games, practices, recitals, science fairs, and so much more. It wasn’t only you. He did it to all of us.”
“So, I have to act like a loving son and follow his wishes?” Pierce asks with sarcasm. “Or what’s the plan?”
“We go in, pretend to give a shit during the funeral, sit down while the lawyer reads Dad’s will and decide how to get rid of his money—unless one of you needs it.”
“The jock might need it since he’s too stupid to do anything other than punch assholes for a living,” Pierce says.
“Stop!” I order.
“We’re not teenagers anymore. Even then, it was shitty the way you treated each other,” I say, trying to put some order. They’re thirty-three and yet, they behave like they’re five. “Can you get through this without fighting or punching each other?”
“I can if the bloodsucking lawyer keeps his trap shut,” Mills agrees. “My issue is Arden.”
“Arden?” I ask, confused.
“My son, he’s with the hockey wives right now. They help me watch him during the games, but I don’t have anyone who can help me if I go to Baker’s Creek.”
“You have a son?” we all ask at once.
“Yeah, well, shit happens. Condoms break, and I have a fourteen-month-old kid who shouldn’t be at a funeral.”
“Where is his mom?” I ask.
“She’s not in the picture—long story,” he says dismissively.
I don’t say more, but I have so many questions as well as respect for him.
When Blaire scared the shit out of me saying, I think I’m pregnant, I wanted to bolt. Don’t get me wrong, I adored her, but the kid part scared me. In fact, even though she wasn’t pregnant, I bailed on her and left for Baltimore. Johns Hopkins was waiting for me, and I couldn’t risk my future by having a baby.
Blaire was too young, and I was … an idiot, because what I wouldn’t give to have her and a baby with her.
“We’ll find someone to watch him for a couple of hours,” Henry says with a smirk. “Actually, I have just the person for the job.”
“I’m not leaving my son with a stranger.”
“Sophia isn’t a stranger. She’s my assistant. I’ve known her for a couple of years. She has nieces and nephews. I’m sure she’s capable.”
“How about you?” Henry asks Pierce. “Any children or family we should know about?”
“A wife,” he says and clears his throat. “Ex, if she wasn’t stubborn and would sign the fucking divorce papers.”
“Sorry, Man,” Mills says. “That’s tough. Mom went through a few divorces, and it was never easy.”
“How is your mom?” I ask curiously.
“Happy with husband number five. They live in Calgary. I see her often,” he says. “Do you have any kids, Pierce?”
“Are Beacon and Vance going to be at this party?” Pierce asks, changing the subject. “Because I don’t see them here.”
“It seems like everyone ignored Dad’s lawyer,” I state the obvious.
“Except the nerd,” Henry says, staring at me. “The good son.”
“Fuck off,” I warn him and pull out my phone, calling Vance.
“Hey, it’s Hayes.” I start speaking right away since voicemail picked up on the first ring. “I’m with Henry and Mills. Dad died yesterday, and we want to speak to you.”
“What about me?” Pierce protests. “I’m here, too.”
“Right,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Pierce is on Facetime. We have to talk. The funeral is in a couple of weeks—in Baker’s Creek. We need you there—it’s not optional.”
I hang up, wondering if Vance will even show up. He’s the quiet one of the seven. He’s baby boy number six. Carter was five. When Carter was alive, those two were very close. If things had been different, I'm sure Carter would know how to reach out to Vance.
Scrubbing my face with both hands, I try to find my footing. I don’t like emotions, and they have been fucking with me since Friday. I miss Carter so much. Wondering how things would’ve been if he hadn’t died is useless, and yet, I can’t stop playing the different scenarios.
I was three when Carter was born. My memories about that time aren’t many. It’s understandable, since, according to my mom, I was a busy toddler. All I can remember is a baby crying, and my parents fussing over him. I liked him, and I was a proud big brother.
A few months later, Dad started making a few deals down in Atlanta, and that’s where he met Addison Belle Holmes. The daughter of a decorated general. That’s when Vance was conceived. Dad was lucky that the general didn’t shoot him once they figured out that my father was a womanizer and an asshole.
“I just texted Vance, too,” Mills says.
“You’re in touch with him?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, I saw him once at the airport while he was traveling to Germany. Back when Atlanta had a hockey team. We chat sometimes.”
“What does he do?” Henry asks.
“He’s part of the military. Not sure if it’s the Army, Navy, or … he doesn’t talk about it,” he concludes. “We just text a few times a year.”
“Why him and not me?” Pierce protests, making Henry and I snicker.
“You two fight like cats and dogs,” I respond. “You’re fucking unbelievable. I could ask the same. Hey, why didn’t you invite me to your wedding?”
“Yeah well, I guess we’re not that kind of family, are we?” Pierce answers.
I shake my head.
“Vance is out of the country,” Mills i
nforms us. “He wants you to text him the information, and he’ll see what he can do.”
“Tell him it’s not optional,” I press.
“Okay, one more call,” Henry says, somehow encouraging me to continue.
“Aww, we’re calling the baby,” Pierce mocks me. “He might be sleeping. Isn’t that what rock stars do during the day?”
Beacon plays for one of the most famous bands in the world, Too Far from Grace. At almost thirty, I think he’s the most successful one of all of us. I admire the kid because he’s at the top under his own merit. Even though he’s Hollywood royalty, being the grandson of the famous actor Kirk Fitzpatrick and the son of the famous singer, Janelle, he made it on his own.
The guy never used the Fitzpatrick name, his mother’s connections, or the last name Aldridge. He doesn’t talk about his roots. If anyone figured out who he is, it’d be all over the news, and I think it would affect everyone—including us. How he has kept the secret under wraps is a mystery.
His mother was a huge pop star back in the late eighties and nineties. I don’t know how Dad ended up knocking her up. We never learned the story, but because he got tangled up with her, we learned that he had more than one family. At some point during their relationship, his picture ended up in the tabloids, along with the news that he’s the father of Janelle’s baby. A kid no one ever found out about until that day.
That’s when everyone realized Dad was a scumbag.
“Beacon’s phone, how can I help you?” A cheery female voice answers.
“Is he available?” I ask.
“It depends,” she retorts. “Why are you calling, asshole number two?”
I chuckle. “Is that how my name comes up on the caller ID? He catalogues us as assholes, just like Mills calls us Fuckers.”
“No, it reads Hayes. However, when your name flashed, he just said, ‘Fuck. First a lawyer calls about my father and now it’s asshole number two,’” she explains, trying to imitate a male voice but failing. “I answered because I guess things are not going well with his dad, and he can only ignore him for so long.”
“I can ignore him forever,” Beacon says on the other side of the line. “Leave it alone, G.”
“He's sick, and you have to at least say goodbye. It’ll be good for your soul.”
“I’m soulless, so it doesn’t matter,” he argues while she grunts in response.
“And you are?” I ask intrigued.
“Beacon’s Jiminy Cricket,” she answers.
“Just less green, sassier, and cuter,” he says mockingly. “Hang up, G.”
“What is it that you need to tell him? I’ll convey the message.”
“Can you at least put me on speaker?”
“Fine,” she sighs. “Speak.”
“Beacon, our father died yesterday morning.”
“Tell him I don’t give a fuck,” Beacon says.
“When is the funeral?” His friend or girlfriend asks.
“In two weeks, in Baker’s Creek,” I inform her. “We need him to be there—it’s not optional.”
“Hmm, I know where that is,” she says. “You hear, Beac, we’re going to Baker’s.”
“There’s no fucking way I’m going to that damn town,” he says.
“Umm, we were there just a couple of weeks ago,” she says and then screeches after he says, “That’s it, you asked for it, G.”
“Stop!” She bursts into laughter. “Put me down, Beac!”
“You know what to do,” I hear him say.
“Uncle!”
There’s a long pause and the laughter coming from the phone fills the entire office.
“Look, asshole,” Beacon speaks. “I don’t give a shit about the old man.”
“We agree, Beacon,” Mills says. “Yet, we’re here trying to deal with his shit one last time.”
“Mills?”
“Yeah, and Henry is here, too,” he responds. “Just do this once, okay?”
“Fine. Send me the info. I’ll be there,” he promises, and I wonder how close Beacon, Vance and Mills are. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have family shit to do.”
“Your wife?” I ask, wanting to know more about the woman he’s with.
He laughs. “Nah, I don’t do that shit. My best friend invited me to have brunch with her family. See you later, assholes.”
“You know what’s sad?” Mills asks after Beacon hangs up.
“That we’re getting together just because our father died?” Henry responds with an unamused voice.
“Other than that,” he amends his statement. “That we’re all alone.”
“I’m married,” Pierce protests.
“Are you in all honesty happy with your life?” Mills asks, and there’s no animosity in the question.
“I will be when she signs the fucking divorce papers,” Pierce responds.
“We’re pathetic,” I conclude.
“We have ‘daddy issues,’” Mills chuckles. “Really. That’s what my therapist says. Well, he doesn’t use those words, but it’s all the same, you know.”
“You’re going to therapy?” I ask, impressed, because at least one of us is trying to do something about our screwed-up lives.
“Hey, I’m trying to be a good father. I had a shitty one, so I have to figure out how to do it right, you know,” he says. “So, I go to a guy who tells me I’m an idiot and an asshole in a constructive way, so I can change.”
We all laugh. I’m sure that’s not the case, but he’s getting help and that’s a step or two above any of us.
“I hate to kick you out of my office, but that’s all the time I have for you,” Henry says when his phone buzzes. “I have a videoconference with the manager at the Bora Bora resorts.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that we have food coming in, but I choose to let it go.
“See you in a couple of weeks,” I say, taking my jacket and leaving the office.
“Hey, wait.” Mills walks behind me. “I don’t need to go to the airport until later. Let’s get Arden, and we can have a late lunch or something?”
“That would be good,” I say.
Five
Blaire
“Ms. Wilson, this is Jerome Parrish. I’m part of the legal team for William Tower Aldridge. I called to inform you that Mr. Aldridge died two weeks ago tomorrow. We’re sorry for your loss. The funeral is this upcoming Wednesday. Your presence is required. Please call me at your earliest convenience so we can discuss all the details.”
Six
Blaire
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. That is my motto. Not many things can bring me down. Really, I’m a survivor. It’s not a joke. I could even write a book on how to survive in the Amazon Rainforest. It’s not easy. Let’s start with the animals you have to be on the lookout for. Like piranhas, boa constrictors, jaguars, and poisonous arrow frogs. There’s an anaconda or two hanging from the trees. My biggest enemies are mosquitos. Those suckers carry a lot of nasty diseases.
After all my travels, I’m used to wearing long pants and long-sleeve shirts, even under the heat and humidity of the jungle.
“I can survive everything,” I say out loud, as I drive the rental down the road, taking me to Baker’s Creek. “I’ll make it through this day unharmed.”
I’ve been to the quaint little town with a few thousand citizens—at best—a couple of times. If I recall, they organize the most outrageous festivals to keep the flow of tourists visiting, even when it’s not ski season. This place is a two-hour drive from Portland, near Mt. Hood.
The landscape is spectacular, but at the moment, it’s hard to enjoy it. It’s been a long time since I’ve driven a car, and these steep curves and narrow roads are reminding me why I prefer to walk. The first thing I’ll do when I arrive in town is kiss the ground and maybe search for a home to stay forever, because there’s no way I’m driving back again.
What if I rent a bike and ride all the way back to Portland? Walking would tak
e me more than a day and I’m not sure if this area is bear free. Are bears awake in May?
This trip better be worth the hassle. All the things I could do with— What is it that they’re going to give me? Who cares? I’ll put it to good use.
Right when I’m thinking of what I could do with the money I might inherit, my phone rings. It’s a good thing I listened to the guy at the rental car agency and connected the Bluetooth.
“Blaire speaking,” I say, as I push the answer button on the steering wheel.
“Hey, Boss,” Victoria, my right-hand and best friend, greets me. “Are you in Baker’s Creek yet?”
“No. According to my phone, I should arrive there soon. But soon is relative, since I’m driving at turtle speed.”
She laughs. “You should’ve hired a car service or let me do it for you. You’re a shitty driver.”
No kidding. I learned to drive at seventeen. I didn’t have much practice during college because I didn’t own a car. Back then, my boyfriend let me drive his truck, but not too often—he was afraid I’d smash it against a light pole. After graduation, I moved back to San Francisco, choosing to walk or use public transportation. It’s good for the environment and the other drivers.
When I travel, there’s always a designated driver who knows the area better than me.
“Someone has to stay behind in case I don’t make it out of here alive,” I say jokingly, kind of.
“It can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, but it is,” I argue, sounding dramatic, because she doesn’t know who I’m about to meet and the story between the Aldridge family and me. Or how long has it been since the last time I had any contact with William … or Hayes.
Twelve years.
“Why are you even going then?”
“According to the lawyer who contacted me, this guy left me some money. We could use it, Tori.”
I sigh. If anyone who doesn’t know me heard me say that, they’d think I’m a gold digger who’s just been waiting for the old guy to die. I’m not. In all honesty, I haven’t thought about William in a long time. Ultimately, the money is going to whatever project needs it the most.
Loved You Once Page 4