by Ivy Fox
“I’m not heartless at all, Oliver, just self-reliant. Something my daughter should be. But if that’s the hard lesson a mother must give, then I’m more than willing to deliver it.”
Chapter 14
Holland
I cringe under my grandmother’s disapproving glare.
“You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” I mumble, pretending to straighten the blanket as a decoy to how her stern expression turns my stomach.
My grandmother lets out a tired huff and walks over behind me to fluff the two pillows at my back, ensuring that I’m as comfortable as possible in this dreary hospital room.
“I’m not angry, Holland. Just disappointed,” she confesses, her facial features wounded and full of sorrow.
I lower my eyes to my entwined fingers, hating to hear those disapproving words coming out of my Nana’s lips. My brewing uneasiness only multiplies, thinking of how I’ll always be the cause of my grandmother’s never-ending concern.
She’s been there for me all my life, supporting me, nurturing me, and loving me. To know that I can somehow cause her pain for all her sacrifice breaks my heart into tiny shards, leaving nothing but my bitter lament and shame that she didn’t get the healthy granddaughter she deserves.
“I’m sorry, Nana. I’m sorry I failed you,” I croak out hoarsely, mortified of the pain I’ve caused her, only to deepen my frown when I gain a shake of her head as a reply.
“Oh, child, it’s not you, I’m disappointed in. It’s in myself. I knew that letting you come to live with your mother here in New York was a mistake. I just never realized how much it would cost you. I should have fought harder to keep you. To protect you,” she bemoans, forsaking the cheap, adjustable chair in the room and sitting down on my bed next to me.
“This is not your fault, Nana. We both knew this would happen eventually,” I remind her pensively.
Just like me, my grandmother always knew what the future held for me in regards to my illness. If I had both my kidneys, then maybe living with lupus wouldn’t have felt so overwhelming. Any person can get used to a disease if they’ve lived with it long enough, unfortunately. You get used to the joint pains, the skin rash, and even the sensitivity to light. These and other symptoms alike become second nature to you—your new normal. It was when I had my kidney taken out at fifteen that my circumstances took a dire path. Even if I had maintained the most vigilant regimen, sooner or later, the remaining frail kidney would succumb to my illness. It was never a question of if it will happen, but rather when.
My grandmother latches onto one of my hands, pressing a tender kiss over my pale knuckles, and says, “I know that, sweet child. But my gut tells me if I had kept you close, then maybe we could have delayed this a little bit longer.”
I give her a sheepish shrug, and lean my head on her shoulder, wanting to let myself enjoy my grandmother’s presence, even if it was brought by my declining health.
“It doesn’t matter now. There are far worse things than having to do dialysis every day. The doctor thinks I’ll be able to go home in a few days anyway, so we have to count our blessings, regardless of how few they are.”
“Hmm,” she mumbles. “About that, I’ve talked to our doctor back in Brookhaven, and we’re setting things up so you can come home. You’re eighteen now, Holland, so your mother doesn’t have a say in the matter anymore. I think it’s time we put an end to your living arrangement in this city and return to a place where I know you’re taken care of. A place that brings you peace so that you can heal.”
I pull away immediately from her warm embrace and shake my head vehemently, hating the direction this conversation is heading.
“No, Nana. I’m not going back. My home is here now,” I protest adamantly, clearing the plan of taking me back to Brookhaven off the table.
“It’s not, sweet child. Your home is with me. With a family that loves you.”
“I have a family here too, Nana,” I insist, knowing that no truer words have ever left my mouth.
“Do you?” she asks skeptically, her gray, puckered brow still in place.
“Yes, I do. I really do.”
She straightens her back and shifts on the bed to look me directly in the eye, the gray hues on her eyes cloudy and mistrustful of my heartfelt declaration.
“Do you mean those two boys standing guard outside this room, or the one the newspapers can’t get enough of?” she asks with her knowing brow arched up to her forehead.
“All of them,” I reply, biting my lower lip.
I’m worried my grandmother won’t understand, no matter how I explain it. Telling someone you are in love with three men equally isn’t exactly easy, but admitting it to the woman who raised you is even harder.
“I see.”
“Disappointed in me again?” I question, apprehensive that my grandmother—the only real maternal figure I’ve had in my life—won’t accept my relationship with the men I’ve fallen in love with.
“As I said, you can never disappoint me. Let’s see how the next days go, and then we’ll talk more about you moving home.”
“But—”
“Later, Holland. Right now, my major concern is getting you out of this hospital room and living a normal life.” She smiles with her eyes and lies with her lips.
My grandmother knows that normal is just something I can never aspire to be. But I guess my version of normal isn’t as bad as other people’s reality. I am loved and cared for in more ways than I could ever even conceive possible. That’s enough for me.
It’s more than enough.
“Nana, we need to talk about a more serious matter, though.” I begin to broach the subject that has been plaguing in my mind as of late.
I’ve spent the last few weeks seeing justice fail miserably, and the need to tip the scales—even if only for one aspect of my life—has been keeping me up at night.
“More important than your health?”
“To me, yes. Were you able to do as I asked? About giving back the money that my father stole from all those people? Did you have any luck tracking the list of names down?” I ask, hopeful that I’m able to at least right this wrong.
But by my grandmother’s regretful expression, I don’t think I’m close to getting even that right. I huff out a frustrated sigh and slump back onto my pillows.
“Now, don’t look so glum. I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“Your face tells me everything, Nana. It always has.” I heave a disheartened sigh.
“Are you saying I have a bad poker face? I’ll have you know that I kill in Vegas every time I visit,” she jokes, trying to make light of the subject at hand.
“Counting cards is illegal, Nana. I’ve told you that before. Your poker face has nothing to do with you cleaning out some swanky casino on the Vegas strip.” I pout.
“When did you become such a sour puss, girl?” she continues to goad, but the side-eye I give her is enough to kill her humorous, yet fake, mood.
The pregnant pause that ensues makes us both feel uneasy with each other. It’s still a sensitive subject for my grandmother to confront what her son did—steal and betray so many people without any remorse or shame.
I knew from the start that this conversation would be awkward, but I can’t keep ignoring it. And neither can my grandmother, no matter how hard she wants to. His crime will always loom over our heads if we don’t take action and try to repay the wrong that was done to so many trusting people. They’ve all put their faith in him, and he ruined them.
“I did contact the FBI as you asked,” she utters at last, making me snap my neck instantly toward her.
“You did?” I question hopefully.
“Much to my disapproval, yes, I did. I know how important it is for you. As the money your father left is now under your name, you should be able to do as you see fit.”
“It’s dirty money, Nana. It was never mine, to begin with.”
She lifts h
er hand, stopping me from saying another defaming word about her son, and out of respect for her, I do just that.
“I know you don’t believe me, but all the money your father left was hard-earned. Not one dime of it was stolen, but again, it’s your prerogative. So, as I said, I contacted the FBI for you and gave them all the details of Craig’s offshore accounts,” she explains, looking exhausted for having to be in such a situation.
“Thank you, Nana. I really appreciate it,” I say, kissing her on the cheek.
“Don’t thank me yet. First, the feds will have to make sure the money was raised from a felony. I’m not just going to hand them the keys to your future just because you don’t believe me. Once they’ve done a proper investigation, then they will be able to contact the right people and distribute the funds in a percentage that satisfies everyone.”
“Percentage?” I repeat, confused. “Why percentage? Shouldn’t the full amount be in all my father’s secret accounts?” I ask as my grandmother scrunches her lip. I pull at her hand before she thinks twice about hiding anything from me, and command forcefully, “Nana, if you know something, tell me. Don’t keep me in the dark, okay? I’ve been cast to the side long enough.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, child. I just don’t want to add more onto your already full plate.”
“I’m a big girl. I can take it.”
She gives me one of her prideful smiles, tenderly gripping my chin, and lifts my head to say, “I know you are. You’ve always been such a force, even when the odds were stacked against you.”
“Stop stalling, Nana. Tell me. What did the FBI say?”
“As well as headstrong, you were always like Craig in that sense too—impatient.”
“Nana,” I insist, waving my hand in circles for her to get on with it.
“Fine. So apparently, even with the millions lying dormant in your accounts, the feds told me that it’s still not enough to cover all that was swindled,” she explains, trouble marring her features.
“Really? How short are we?”
“If we are to trust the FBI’s numbers, then they estimate that we are about twenty-two million short. And that’s considering we sell all the properties under your name and hand over every last dime.”
“What?!” I shout out, lifting my back off the bed in astonishment. “That can’t be possible. Twenty-two million dollars just doesn’t evaporate into thin air like that. Are you sure Dad doesn’t have another account or property that we aren’t aware of?”
She shakes her head remorsefully, and states, “No. Craig made sure I was the only one who knew about them in the first place. Not even your mother has an inkling to it. I know I’m flogging at a dead horse, but in my heart, I still believe that your father was pulled into something that went above his head, and he couldn’t quite get a handle on it. I honestly don’t believe my son stole money from his clients to line his own pockets. He might have had many flaws, but greed wasn’t one of them. And not knowing where that money went only reinforces my idea that Craig was innocent. Or at least an innocent bystander to a game he ended up losing.”
I thin my lips, seeing how talking about my father has my grandmother hurting. Unlike me, she still sees the good in him. Even when he left me at her doorstep, begging her to raise me, Nana never lost faith that his heart was pure.
She always said that he left me with her because he didn’t know how to be a father at the time, but at least he had the good sense in bringing me to Brookhaven, rather than letting Vivienne mold me into her cold, mirror image.
As often as my grandmother spieled this grand tale of his self-sacrifice to do what was best for me, I never believed her. I always resented my father in the same way I resented my mother.
It was only when I was diagnosed with lupus that I saw a change in him—an effort to be my dad. But that, too, was short-lived since he killed himself. He preferred death than to face justice for his crimes. And the cold truth of the matter is that my father chose to cut his life short, rather than be a presence in mine.
Even if my grandmother is correct in saying that greed wasn’t one of his sins, I’ll always know that selfishness was.
“I’m going to get tea from the cafeteria, Holland. Do you need anything?” my grandmother suddenly asks out of the blue.
She obviously wants some time alone to deal with the raw emotions this conversation brought on. My father’s untimely death and the ruin of his reputation is something that still plagues her, so it’s understandable she needs some privacy to regroup.
“No, Nana. I’m good.”
“Okay, then. I’ll be back in a few. Rest, child.”
I slump further down on the bed, my mind still all over the place with memories of my father. What could he have possibly acquired that was worth more than twenty million dollars? Or better yet, what value could it represent for him to risk his reputation, his morality, and in the end, cost him his very life?
The chaotic whispers still run wild inside my head when a faint knock on the door slices through my troubled thoughts. I turn my head toward the door, my eyes going wide in surprise at the elegantly dressed woman who is tentatively walking into my room with fear and rightful shame plastered on her face.
“What are you doing here?” I ask accusingly, not wanting this traitor in my midst.
“Would you believe me if I said I’m still not quite sure,” Claire Hurst replies with a stutter.
All the uncertainty I felt a minute ago, regarding the conversation I had with my grandmother, dissipates, and in its stead, rage starts bubbling inside me just by the mere sight of this woman.
“You’re a liar. I wouldn’t believe you if you told me the sky was blue,” I bite out, my venom poisoning any civility I could offer her.
“You’re upset with me,” she states matter-of-factly, slowly stepping further inside the room until she’s standing at the foot of my bed.
“Shouldn’t I be? I have nothing to say to you, Claire. And unless your next words are to tell me you are going to admit, on the record, that you lied in your testimony about Rome, then I don’t see anything else for us to talk about,” I rebuke, holding my ground, showing her that I’m not one bit happy with this unwanted visit.
She must have slipped in without the twins realizing it because if they saw this deceitful woman anywhere near me, they would lose their minds and call security so fast it would make her head spin.
“I’m not here to talk about the trial. I’m here for you, Holland. No one else. Just you,” she explains with that soft, amiable voice of hers.
It never ceases to amaze me how she can look so kind, so trustworthy, even when I know she is anything but. She did fool me. I thought she was different from the other eligible elitists I’ve met back at the Grayson household soirees held by my mother. However, she’s just like them—playing with people’s lives like pawns on a chessboard.
“You wasted a trip, Claire. You should go before someone—who may be a lesser fan of you than I am—sees you here,” I threaten, making it clear the peril of her being here. “Trust me when I say that they’ll be even less forgiving.”
“I’m sure you’re right. But it doesn’t change the fact that I need to talk to you, regardless. It’s important,” she supplicates, her bright, blue eyes earnest in their plea.
Just what game is she playing now?
“What could possibly be so important that it couldn’t be said over the phone, text, or email?” I seethe, fisting my hands at my side, a move that catches her eye.
“I see that your anger with me hasn’t simmered down yet, which is perfectly understandable. Love has a way of making us want to defy the world. But only a few people have the actual strength to be capable of doing so. I think that maybe you are that type of person. Strong, fearless. I envy you that much.”
“I’m sorry, Claire. I don’t have time for riddles or false flattery. Say what you have to, and get the hell out of my room!” I
shout, finally reaching my wits’ end.
“It’s about your father,” she rasps nervously, her fingers gripping the end of my hospital bed as if it’s the only thing keeping her standing in place.
“My father?” I repeat, perplexed at the topic, considering he was the very thing tormenting my every thought just a few minutes ago.
“Do you mind if I sit?” She tilts her head to the chair next to me.
“It’s not like I can stop you,” I reply, pointing to the machines connected to my body to emphasize my incapability of preventing her from sitting down, much less removing her entirely from my room as I so much crave.
She slowly walks over to my side and takes the seat next to the bed, and begins to stare at my face with the most surprising affection, her tenderness leaving me even more confused than her unexpected visit.
“You look so much like him,” she hushes nostalgically. “The same white-blonde locks, the same gray clear skies for eyes, and the same big heart. It’s like looking at the past and remembering each memory so vividly, so accurately, just by looking at you. You’re just as beautiful as he was—both in and out. The similarities are extraordinary,” she whispers, her own blue eyes showing the first signs of a waterfall of emotions ready to break through.
Any questions I had, seem irrelevant now because the answers to all of them are displayed, clear as day, on Claire’s stellar face. She was in love with my father. And by the looks of it, still is.
“When you came over to my house, I honestly thought you had come to me to talk about him. It surprised me how disappointed I was that you only wanted information about Vee and not Craig. After you left, I realized how much I needed to talk about him to someone. How much I missed him in my life. It’s so strange when I think about it. How one brief relationship can affect you so; can affect your life so profoundly that you will never be able to move past it. That was Craig for me. He flew into my life and altered my existence forever. But I guess, love always does, doesn’t it?”