Authors: Claire Adams
Just as the blonde
was about to take me deep into her mouth for the second time, a staff member
emerged from below decks holding a phone.
"Sir, you
have an urgent call," he said as he managed to keep his eyes above the
action happening on the lounge.
"Can't you
take a message and tell them I'll call back?" I said, irritated, as I
watched the brunette princess playfully fight for her oral rights.
"It's your
mother, sir," he said. "She said it is urgent that you answer the
call. No matter what you are doing."
"Son-of-a-bitch,"
I swore under my breath as I pushed the girls aside and pulled my shorts back
on. The one thing I knew about my mother was that she never cried wolf. If she
said it was urgent, then it was urgent.
I descended the
stairs and entered my office where the phone sat waiting for me. I took a deep
breath before I picked it up.
"Hello,
Mother," I began.
"Jackson
Fitzgerald, you need to come home," she said solemnly. "I need you
here, now."
"What's
wrong, Mother?" I asked, playfully adding, "Can't the king fix things
for you anymore?"
"Your father
is dead, Jack," she said and then went silent.
"Wait,
what?" I replied, unsure that I'd heard her correctly. "I thought you
just said Pop is dead."
"I did,"
she replied. "He died this morning on his way to meet with some new
investors."
"You're
kidding me, right?" I said, trying to process the news. I kept talking,
"He can't be dead. He's the healthiest man alive. He's obsessive when it
comes to his health!"
"I'm sorry,
Jack," my mother said. "I know it's your birthday and that you had a
party planned, but we need you to come home right away."
"I'll get
there as soon as I can," I said, adding as an afterthought, "Are you
okay?"
"I'm … I'm …
I don't know what I am," my mother said, sounding small and scared.
"I didn't expect this."
"I'll get
home as soon as I can. I promise," I said, trying to reassure my mother
from thousands of miles away. "Where's Lincoln? Why isn't he there with
you?"
"He's in
California on a big case," she said quietly. "He said he'd try to get
home by the end of the week."
"Son-of-a-bitch,"
I cursed under my breath.
"Jackson
Fitzgerald!" my mother scolded. "Do not say those words! They are
vulgar!"
"Sorry,
Mother," I apologized, but I wasn't sorry at all. I was pissed at my
brother for not hopping on the next plane back to New York to be with our
mother as she grieved. "I'll get to Athens and catch the next plane out.
Probably in the morning."
"Hurry,
Jack," she pleaded. "I need you here."
"I'm on my
way, Mother," I said then added. "I love you. I'll be there as soon
as I can."
"I love you,
too," she said, before hanging up.
I instructed the
captain to pull up anchor and head for Athens. Then I walked back up to the top
deck where the two girls had resumed sunbathing. They both looked up
expectantly, ready for me to rejoin the fun.
"C'mon,
Jack!" the blonde called. "We kept your spot warm!"
I looked at the
beautiful
naked bodies lying on the
chaise lounge in front of me. I pushed my shorts down around my ankles and slid
in between them.
"Have your
way with me, girls," I said. I cupped the blonde girl's breast while the
brunette princess straddled my hips, giggling as she began rocking herself to
an orgasm of unparalleled intensity. I let go and pushed my sorrows aside as I
gave in to the hedonistic pleasures of the girls' bodies as the yacht sped
toward the mainland.
Reality could wait
until we arrived.
CHAPTER
TWO
"
Dammit
, Leah!" my mother yelled as she
leaned against the doorframe, lighting a cigarette. "Where the hell did
you put my bottle? I just had it five minutes ago!"
"I didn't
touch it, Mama," I said as I sat on the couch folding clean laundry,
trying to avoid my mother's wrath.
"The hell you
didn't," she muttered as she walked back into the kitchen, slamming the
cabinet doors as she searched for the bottle of vodka. It was no use telling
her that she'd finished it several hours ago. She'd simply accuse me of lying
to her. She yelled at me from the kitchen as she searched, "You're a lousy
daughter, you know that? Molly never would have hidden my bottle from me! She
was a blessing, that one. Not like you ... ungrateful little sneak."
I set my jaw and
kept folding. The words weren't new, but the pain they caused each time she uttered
them was always surprising. I thought that by now I'd have gotten used to the
insults she hurled when she was drunk, but to my astonishment the wounds always
felt fresh.
"Gram, you
drank the last of the bottle before we had lunch," Riley called from the
back room. "Don't you remember?"
"I most
certainly do not!" my mother shouted back. "Why are you lying to your
Gram, child?"
"I'm not
lying," Riley said emerging from the back room dressed in an oversized
hoodie and a pair of jeans two sizes too big. Her dark hair was cut like a
boy's and stuck up every which way, no matter how much product she used. My
twelve-year-old niece was a dedicated tomboy who seemed to be the only one in
the family safe from my mother's sharp tongue.
"Then walk
with me to the store so I can get another," my mother demanded as she
searched through her purse, looking for money. It wasn’t long before she
shouted, “Leah, did you steal all of my money?"
"No, Mama, I
didn't," I said, shooting Riley a look from across the room and nodding
toward my purse. We'd been through this so many times, and she knew exactly
what to do. I reminded my mother, "You used it to buy your last bottle. Do
you need a loan?"
"No, I don't
need a damn loan!" she shouted as she turned her purse upside down and
dumped the contents onto the dining room table. "I need my goddamned money
is what I need!"
"C'mon,
Gram!" Riley called as she held up the twenty-dollar bill she'd gotten
from my purse. "I've got your money right here. Let's walk down to the
bodega and get your bottle, okay?"
"How the hell
did you get that money from my purse?" my mother demanded. "It wasn't
here when I dumped it out!"
"Yes it was,
Gram," Riley lied. "I just picked it up and found it. Let's go, Gram!
Get your sweater!"
I nodded at Riley
who gave me a lopsided smile as she took her grandmother's arm and led her
carefully down the steps. I didn't like the fact that Riley was the one who had
to walk Mama to the store, but with Molly gone and Patrick at the parish, Riley
was the only one Mama would allow to help her.
"Don't steal
anything else while I'm gone, Leah!" my mother shouted as she headed down
the street. "Do you hear me?"
"Yes,
Mama," I sighed. "I hear you. I always hear you."
Later that
evening, after Mama had drunk enough to put her into a deep sleep, Riley came
out and sat down next to me on the couch.
"Why does
Gram drink so much?" she asked. She curled up in a corner of the couch,
wrapped her arms around her knees, and picked at the hem of her hoodie.
"She's in
pain," I said as I pulled the elastic out of my ponytail and ran my
fingers though the long, dark curls.
"Why is she
in pain, Leah?" Riley asked. "Is it because of me?"
"Oh goodness
no, darling," I said shaking my head. "Gram is sad about a lot of
things. I think she is most sad because she misses your mom."
"Is that why
she's so mean to you?" the girl asked, quietly looking away.
"I don't know
why Gram is mean to me," I said. "I think sometimes people are mean
to the ones they love the most because they know that those people will never
leave them."
"But that
doesn't make any sense, Leah," Riley said. "If you love people, you
should be nice to them. You shouldn't be mean to the ones who stay with you
even when you're not nice. You should be mad at the ones who leave."
"Are you mad
at your mom, Riley?" I asked. We hadn't talked much about Molly's
disappearance, but I knew it weighed on all of us.
Molly had gotten
pregnant with Riley when she was seventeen. She'd skipped her senior year of
high school and moved in with Danny Donahue, the boy who'd gotten her pregnant.
Things turned from bad to worse when Danny was arrested for dealing drugs out
of their small apartment and was sentenced to ten years. Two years into his
sentence, he was killed in a drug-deal-gone-bad inside the maximum-security
prison, leaving Molly to raise their daughter alone.
With no skills and
no high school diploma, Molly turned to the only thing she knew how to do.
Soon, she was walking the streets at night while Mama or I watched Riley. She'd
lied and told us she was working at the plant, but the first time she got
arrested for solicitation, the truth came out. She tried to pull herself
together for Riley's sake, but before long, she had been down on the wrong side
of town, shoving a needle in her arm.
When people have
no hope, they often do things that rob them of the possibility of ever
regaining it.
Then, one night, a
few weeks before Riley's ninth birthday, Molly disappeared. She didn't call to
tell us she was leaving. She just vanished into thin air. I filed a missing
person's report at the local precinct, but the officers assigned to the case
knew Molly from the streets. They told me that it was unlikely that she'd been
abducted and that finding her was not a high priority. Another missing junkie
prostitute didn't warrant an all-out effort, and while I tried to investigate,
I was working a full-time job and taking care of Riley. I didn't have the
energy to launch a search.
"I'm not mad
at my mom," Riley said as she pulled my arm up so she could snuggle in
next to me. "I just miss her."
"I know,
kiddo," I said leaning down to kiss the top of her head. She smelled like
apple shampoo, and I smiled. "I miss your mom, too."
"Do you think
she's ever coming back, Leah?" Riley asked as she picked a thread on one
sleeve.
"I don't
know, honey," I said. "I don't know where she went or if she knows
how to get back."
"You're not
leaving, are you?" she asked as she tipped her head and looked up at me
through her bangs.
"No, I'm not
leaving you, Riley," I said as I kissed her head again. "I'm staying
right here. You don't need to worry about that."
"Okay,
good," she nodded as she popped up off the couch and headed toward her
bedroom. "If you're going to stay, then I'm going to go do my homework."
"I think
that's an excellent choice," I nodded as I watched her long, lanky form
move down the hallway. I murmured, "I'll be right here if you need
me."
CHAPTER
THREE
I
pulled my
sunglasses out of the front pocket of my sport coat as I scanned the terminal
for the chauffeur who was supposed to take me to my father's funeral. When I
didn't immediately see him, I pulled out my phone to dial the car service. On
the screen was a message that read, "Car waiting at the end of the
International Terminal. Luggage has been sent to the house."
"Well, I'll
be damned," I muttered as I put the glasses on and quickly walked toward
the end of the terminal. There I found Jimmy, my dad's driver, waiting next to
the Lincoln. I called, "Hey, Jimmy!"
The man turned and
nodded as he opened the car door. "Mr. Jackson, good to see you."
"How are you
holding up, Jimmy?" I asked as I looked at him. Jimmy Branson had been my
father's driver for almost twenty years. He'd started driving for my father
just after he'd turned eighteen, and my father had treated him well. Jimmy
called all of us by our courtesy titles and our given first names. Everyone,
that was, except my father. Jimmy had never called his employer anything but
Mr. Yates.
"I'm fine,
Mr. Jackson," he nodded. The corners of his mouth and eyes were pulled
downward, and the dark shadows under his eyes told me he hadn't slept much
since my father died.
"Seriously,
are you sure you're okay to drive?" I asked as my mind raced ahead to the
funeral home. I was going to have to bolster my courage if I was going to spend
the rest of the evening with my mother and brother.
"I'm fine,
Mr. Jackson," Jimmy repeated as he held the door open and waited for me to
climb inside. I shrugged and slid into the car. Jimmy closed the door quietly.
He went around to the driver's side where he slid in and put the car into
drive.
As we glided away
from the terminal, I poured myself a scotch, sipping it as I looked out the
window. I watched as Jimmy skirted Brooklyn and headed into Manhattan, and I
tried to imagine the scene I was going to walk into.
My father, Bernard
Yates, had been a formidable businessman who'd worked his way up, starting as a
boy who'd opened a small diaper service in Brooklyn and moving on to owning and
running Baby Steps, one of the most successful baby supply companies in the
country. He'd built each rung of the business with great care and attention,
and as a result, he'd been beloved by his employees and customers.
This funeral was
going to be difficult for many reasons, not the least of which was that I had
not seen my family for almost a decade. I'd been busy building my business, and
once I'd sold it, I took off sailing. As much as I could be, I was on the
yachts I'd bought with the money from the sale of my company. I spent it before
my father could convince me to buy a large portion of stock with the money. I'd
been fortunate to enter the market at the beginning of the start-up boom and to
have gotten out of it before the market crashed.
While my father
and I had had many disagreements over how I should live my life, the one area
we’d always seen eye-to-eye on was money. When I’d made my fortune, he’d
suggested that I put the majority of it into a family trust that would pay out
a substantial allowance every month. I’d agreed because I could see how the
investment would benefit me, and after having my lawyer look it over, I agreed
to the set up.
"Jimmy, do
you remember the last time you picked me up at the airport?" I asked as I
poured myself another scotch and leaned back in the leather seat.
"That would
have been April 4, 2006, Mr. Jackson," Jimmy replied without taking his
eyes off the road. "You were home after you graduated. I took you back to
the airport the next day."
"Mmm-hmm,"
I nodded as I looked out the window, recalling the trip that had ended after my
father and I had disagreed about my post-graduate path. I'd told him that I
wasn't going to follow in his footsteps and join the family business, and he'd
told me that I was ungrateful—that I could have a year to travel and sow my
wild oats, but that if I didn't come back and join the company after that, I
would no longer be welcome in his home.
At breakfast the
next morning, I'd told him there was no way I was going to be tied to a
business that had no corporate vision and that refused to come into the
twenty-first century. He had ordered me to leave. My mother had stood by as I
packed my things and waved goodbye as Jimmy drove me to the airport to catch my
flight back to Barcelona.
I wondered if
Jimmy remembered the way that visit had ended. I thought about asking, but as I
swallowed the last of my drink, feeling it burn its way down my throat, I
decided that I really didn't want to know.
I leaned forward
to pour myself a third drink.
Jimmy's
eyes flicked up to look at me in the rearview mirror.
"You might
not want to do that, Mr. Jackson," he said quietly, staring forward.
"Your mother is going to need you to be on top of things today."
"Good point,
Jimmy," I said, feeling the shame rising in my chest. It was like my
father was reaching out from the grave to remind me of all the ways I was still
failing him. I grabbed the bottle and poured a third drink muttering,
"Fuck it. It's not my funeral."
I felt the alcohol
work its magic. It loosened my limbs and relaxed me as it bolstered my courage.
I'd go to the funeral, pay my respects, say goodbye to my mother, and then get
the hell out of the city and never look back.