Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall) (28 page)

Dre lying to me was one thing. Dre being homeless “by choice” was another. But his family being multi-billionaires was something completely different, and quite honestly, hard to swallow. I didn’t exactly grow up in squalor, but Dre’s upbringing, social, and financial status were intimidating and overwhelming. From what I’ve witnessed, I’m pretty positive that I never want to step foot in New Hampshire again, and most definitely do not want to come face-to-face with any member of the O’Donnell clan again after this trip—excluding Dre that is.

Over the years, I’d always prided myself on how well I judge people and their characters. Still, I don’t think I’m wrong about Dre. Understandably, I’m a little leery and hurt by all the lies he fabricated and how he couldn’t trust me, as well as
my
character, enough to disclose all of his secrets. I’m not going to sugarcoat it; I felt isolated and betrayed when all the half-truths and even the whole truths started spewing forth.

Honestly though, I’m glad they’re out in the open now. It feels as if a vice wrapped around my lungs has been released, allowing me to breathe. Truthfully, it also feels like a weight has been removed from my heart too, encouraging me to feel what I’ve felt all along for Dre. I’m in love with him. Destitute or affluent, penniless or wealthy, Dre has my heart and I have his, making me feel like the richest woman on the planet.

After calling Sydney and even phoning my mother, I’m soaring, floating, happier than I’ve felt in a long time. Both Syd and my mom agreed with me, despite all the deception and weird, wicked lies. Dre’s still “a keeper,” according to them. Sydney’s excited that we’re dating guys who are friends—she’ll always be a middle school girl at heart. My mother’s elated that she’ll get to see Dre more; she really is schoolgirl-crushing on him.

I also called Leif, my slimy, two-timing, megalomaniac boss at Seaside to tell him that I wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week. I explained that I was “working at home.” Leif knows that I know too much and don’t approve of his “extra-curricular” activities. Therefore, he won’t give me any crap about my absences. Some lies and deceit are just unforgivable and unacceptable. We’ve just agreed to work together, understanding that we don’t see eye-to-eye on common morality.

Putting in a call to Jose, explaining why I can’t make it again, actually puts me in a chipper mood. Jose is the sweetest little kid. Granted, he’s a senior in high school, but his outlook on life, his open-minded and accepting nature make him one of the greatest guys I’ve ever met. When I first met him at Seaside after agreeing via email to let him pitch me his manuscript, I couldn’t believe he was only in high school. Jose’s mature, insightful, and nearly brilliant. I think initially he was crushing on me, but we got over that pesky obstacle. Now he views me as a superior, someone who can make or break his writing career. I really am quite blessed with the hand I’ve been dealt in life and with the people who’ve come into my life. I just wish Dre had a bit of my luck.

I decide that I’m going to pick up a few things to brighten Piper’s room, and maybe even some of the O’Donnell family spirits. Typically, I know that ICU rooms aren’t allowed to display flowers, balloons, and other cheery “get well” paraphernalia. But something tells me that the hospital would make an exception for Piper O’Donnell, Chet O’Donnell’s baby girl.

Walking down the corridor to the ICU waiting room, I overhear Dre’s voice in one of the private conference rooms. Then, I hear the unmistakable contempt in his father’s overbearing tone. Knowing I should continue down the hallway to the waiting room, I begin walking away. But the words that come next stop me abruptly, piquing my fear and curiosity.

“You’re already dead to me—don’t force to make it official,” Chet O’Donnell threatens. “I know people Dre. People who don’t give a flying fuck whether you’re dead alive.”

“Shut the fuck up, Dad. You don’t fucking scare me anymore. I’m over the days you control everything. This is bigger than you—that’s why you’re grasping at straws to shut me up,” Dre retorts.

“Listen here pretty boy—”

“No, you listen here. I can destroy you—all of you. And I will … if you force my hand,” Dre seethes, raising his whispered voice. “Just leave us the Hell alone. Leave me alone. Kathryn alone … and fucking leave Piper alone … when she wakes up.”

“You don’t scare us, you little fuck,” Chet hisses.

“I don’t? Are you sure I don’t Dad? Seems to me you’re pretty fucking scared that I’m gonna squeal, ruining all that you’ve ever worked … or shall I say cheated and lied for,” Dre says, smugly.

“How much, Dre? What’s it gonna take to make you get over this?” Dre’s mom asks, her voice bitingly bitter.

“God, do you fucking people ever listen? This is not about money. I could give two shits about your goddamn corrupt money,” Dre bellows, storming out the door, running straight into me, knocking the vase of flowers right out of my hand. He and I stare silently as it shatters to the floor, spraying glass, water, and cheery hues of yellow and orange everywhere.

Dre shakes his head, closes his eyes, and continues down the hallway. Putting the balloons and stuffed piggy on the nearest table, I run after him just as he enters the elevator. “Dre wait!” I beg. “Are you okay?”

“No Kathryn, I’m fucking awful. This … all of this … just sucks the fucking life out of me. I gotta get out of here,” he states, breathing deeply.

“Baby, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. That was pretty intense in there,” I say, rubbing my hands up and down his arms. “Let’s go check in to a hotel. We’ll use my credit card and just hold each other. You can tell me everything.”

“Alright Pebbles,” he acquiesces, solemnly. “It’s time you knew the whole truth.”

All along, I had a sneaky suspicion that Kathryn was open-minded and non-judgmental enough to look past my “homeless” status. Ever since I watched her selflessly fill parking meters and tap her chipped, un-manicured nails on the hood of her rusty Volkswagen Bug, I knew she wasn’t an uppity, socialite, ladder-climbing bitch. Hell, she carries a knockoff purse, willingly eats hot dogs and noodles, and uses gift cards and coupons. If those weren’t clues enough, the whole wearing lost and found clothes should’ve tipped me off. I could tell that whenever she discovered the truth about my living situation that she’d find it admirable and respectable. Kathryn would never consider herself “too good” or even “above” others for the possessions they had or didn’t have. At least, I hoped. I was just too damn chicken-shit to tell her.

It’s the story that’s she waiting on now that fills me with dread, could quite easily redefine how she feels about me. Kathryn has a bleeding, sympathetic heart like I do. This reality may put her over the edge. Truthfully, it makes me question my character, and even my overall goodness. Basically, I stopped looking in the mirror, caring about my family, my future, anything when I agreed to shut my mouth and look the other away. Plain and simple, I’m a coward, nothing more, nothing less.

Guiltily, I must admit that I was very much like my family until everything went down. I basked in the lifestyle money and recognition brought forth. Summer excursions in Europe, spring breaks in Palm Springs, Christmases in London or skiing in Vale were all a part of my childhood, a childhood I never questioned, but enjoyed and flaunted at each and every opportunity I could. I’m not proud of this, but it’s ultimately who I am—who I was—who I’m so desperately trying to forget. Adrian O’Donnell’s shell is one I’m more than willing to shed.

Settling on the bed, surrounded by pizza, breadsticks, and wings, Kathryn groans, closing her little Weight Watchers app. “Again, I’m over my points.” She puffs her lips out, pouting like a child. “I hope you’re into the fluffier woman, because I’m on the verge of getting there.”

“Oh Hell,” I say, staring at her body, “don’t you see how gorgeous you are?”

I will never understand women. They’re never satisfied with their bodies. I wouldn’t be head-over-heels fucking whipped over this chick if I weren’t stupidly attracted to her. When I look at her, I go dumb, losing all intelligence, because she’s so damn sexy.

“Uh no, I don’t. I know each and every one of my imperfections, and each one is far from gorgeous, but thanks for the compliment. Does make me feel better,” she says, smiling bashfully.

Taking my hand in hers, she says, “Alright, enough stalling Dre, dish the goods. Tell me the story that you think will scare the crap out of me.”

“Or … check this out … we could have hot, crazy, mind-blowing sex and forget everything,” I offer, stalling longer. Looking at Kathryn, I just don’t want to let her go, and I’m afraid this saga is going to seal the deal and make her hightail it home without a second look or thought.

“Oh we’re gonna do that … positively. I believe we left off at a pretty crucial moment last night. But first … first … I want full disclosure,” she confirms. Smiling, with a cute little wink, she adds, “Then, you’ll get full exposure.”

Conjuring up the image of her naked ass in the air last night, and Kathryn on her hands and knees, offering herself to me makes me instantly hard. Adjusting myself groaning, I relent, “Alright Pebbles … just prepare yourself. What you’re about to hear isn’t pretty … it’s not pretty at all.”

A little over a year and half ago, my father started molding Tristan to be the second-in-command at O’Donnell Industries. They spent a great deal of time together, and Tristan was really proving to be quite the businessman. Clients trusted him, confided in him, and relied on him. My father was in his glory, because his eldest son, his pride and joy, was following quickly and successfully in his well-formed and highly acclaimed footsteps. At this point, my parents had already given up on me; the idealistic son who “wanted to heal the world.” Tristan loved the limelight, devoured it and reveled in it, really.

My father had to have an emergency surgery due to an infected gall bladder. The operation couldn’t wait, because he was in excruciating pain. However, he was needed in Chicago for a major business meeting with a large corporation; both sides were pining for a merger. The merger would change the lives of many employees and make more millions for O’Donnell Industries. Feeling optimistic, my father sent Tristan to handle the merger.

Tristan wined and dined the clients, charming the pants off of everyone involved. Tristan finally rose to the golden-boy status he’d always coveted. I was no longer his competition; he was my father’s exclusive right-hand man. Tristan sat proudly at the top, paramount over all other employees.

Months went by and more and more people were enthralled and impressed by Tristan’s business mind. It was as if he had the Midas touch. He could do no wrong. Until he did.

One night, after a long business dinner, wine and champagne flowing freely, Tristan left the expensive restaurant and decided to hit an old, local dive bar that we frequented in our early 20s, playing pool and throwing darts with our buddies. After a few shots of Jack, and a couple of Jack and Cokes on the rocks, Tristan started chatting up the cocktail waitress, Leah Franchetti, a former schoolmate of mine.

After sharing a few laughs and a lot of drinks, Tristan invited Leah to spend the night with him. She declined, but he was persistent—just as he always is. Tristan offered to take her to the most expensive and swanky hotel in town, figuring she’d never been someplace so elaborate before. Leah caved, falling prey to my overly aggressive and bombastic brother.

At the hotel, there was more alcohol and plentiful flirting and foreplay. Sometime in the evening, Tristan became argumentative and volatile—just as he always is. Leah decided she’d made a horrible mistake and attempted to leave his room. Apparently, he lost his cool, punching her in the face and violently raping and abusing her.

Tristan remembers none of it, claims Leah’s full of shit. No part of him would own up to his crime, or “indiscretion” as my parents refer to it. Leah stopped to see him one night at our house, explaining that she was going to go to the cops and the news channels if he didn’t compensate her for her pain and suffering. Throwing her out on her ass, Leah did what she had to do. When my family least expected it, she pounced. Confronting my father in the parking garage, Leah retold the whole sordid affair, explicitly describing the violent and unforgivable behavior of my disgusting brother. Leah had the bruises to prove it.

My father wouldn’t hear of it, begging her to quiet down. With each urgent denial from my father, Leah’s voice grew louder and louder. Finally, my father took her into his limo, exchanged threats and ultimatums. After driving around for over an hour, Leah Franchetti was $300,000.00 richer and gagged with a promise of “skipping town.” Three days later, Leah showed up again, wanting more money. My father refused, ordering her own of town. The ball was in her court, and he knew it.

Leah took my dad for another 20 grand, signed a confidentiality contract, and left. Nobody’s heard from her since. My brother committed a heinous, despicable, and completely unforgivable crime, and my parents used their money and power to make it go away, saving my brother from a future of imprisonment, as well as saving themselves from public ridicule and embarrassment.