Begin with You

by Claudia Burgoa

  “The lodge?” She frowned, looking at Dad.

  “What if we decided to visit her and there aren’t any vacancies?” I instigated.

  “He’s right, Will. We have to find her a place where we can visit whenever we want,” she decreed.

  Mom warned Abby on her birthday. Later that week she found a house, came to set it up, and mailed Sterling and Abbs a set of keys.

  “This is a little too much, don’t you think?” she sighs walking toward the door to the backyard, carrying the snacks.

  The Ahern wealth makes Abby uncomfortable. I wasn’t born with it, but I was too young when I arrived at my parents’ doorstep to remember living without. After twenty-one years, I’m used to it. It became natural to live with luxuries that not many get to enjoy, like living in a big house with a swimming pool and an ice rink. Abby on the other hand describes everything as too much—and unnecessary.

  “I love it, but it’s too much. We could feed a small town with the money they spent on my car,” she confided when my parents gave her the keys to her Land Rover.

  Thankfully, she accepts their generosity with a wide smile. She might be uncomfortable when they gift her something, but she’s always grateful and polite.

  I grab the bottle of Zinfandel, my glass of wine, and follow right behind her.

  “At least admit that you love the house.” I say, sitting in the lounge chair, next to her.

  She turns slightly toward me and smiles. “What’s not to love? I have the best view in the world.”

  I’d have paid for this house with my own money just to see that face. It’s been four years since she came to us distraught and broken. I’ll never forget the first months at my house. She barely spoke, and she cried every night.

  “Keep your parties to a minimum,” I warn her with a grin.

  “Ahern, if I choose to have a party, you’ll never know,” she says openly. “How often are you planning to come by?”

  “Every weekend,” I inform her of my plans.

  If possible, I’d try to stay around for weeks at a time. I can work remotely and be with her. Every day is getting harder and harder to be away from her. I’ve been working on a few prototypes and developing some billing software. If everything works out the way I plan, I’ll be quitting Ahern Inc. soon and opening my own company—closer to her.

  6

  Wes

  Abby Age Twenty-Two

  In the blink of an eye, I turned twenty-eight. Ten years ago, I promised myself that even though I was following my father’s advice, I’d be my own person. Two years ago, I wrote a business plan. A couple of months ago I was in San Jose searching for an office where I could start my own company. Today, I’m sitting in on a meeting where my father talks about his decision to take Ahern Inc. public.

  He plans on keeping 51% of the company, giving Sterling and me 25%, and hiring a board that will hold five percent. The rest will be sold to the public through the New York Stock Exchange. This is his new dream and the next step in solidifying his career as a businessman.

  “I want you to be the CFO,” he says with pride.

  “Dad,” I clear my throat. “Are you sure about this?”

  My heart beats slowly as I continue reading the documents he handed me when I walked into his office. He said he was going to retire, that he wanted to travel around the world with Mom. This isn’t a retirement plan. I was about to suggest to him that we should sell the company. Cash out while we’re on top of the game. Sterling and I don’t need the money, we’re set.

  In a few months, I’m moving to the Bay area. He’s going to need me, and I just can’t keep going.

  “Son, this is my dream.”

  He said that only six months ago when we bought a small telecommunications company down in Dallas. He absorbed all the technology, offered positions to a few of the employees and a severance package to the rest. I wasn’t happy with his strategy, but he said it made sense. We’ve never done something as drastic as that. His business practices are beginning to shift to a place where I don’t want to continue. And now he wants to go public.

  Does he understand what it means?

  “Of course,” he continues. “I’ve never been so sure about something in my entire life.”

  I exhale, looking at the numbers and reading the list of potential board members. Some of them are unknown to me, and the rest are old neighbors who’ve already retired.

  See Dad, this is what you should be doing, retiring.

  “What does Mom think about it?”

  “Well, I haven’t talked to her yet,” he says. “I need to discuss this with Sterling too. If he would stop playing with clay and start taking life seriously. This company will be yours.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “While he goes to college and starts to understand our world, I’ll continue as the CEO. Once he’s ready, you take over the company, and he’ll be the CFO.”

  I frown as I process what he just said.

  “Dad, Sterling lives in Italy,” I remind him. “His career is taking off. He isn’t coming back.”

  He chuckles. “That’s nonsense.” He waves his hand, disregarding what I just said. “Next week I’m assembling the board. You can’t say anything to your mother. At least, not until I’ve spoken with Sterling.”

  “What if I decide not to continue with the company?”

  “Weston.” He slams his hand on the desk. “Your life is this company. I’ve been working my entire life to leave this to you. Ahern Inc. is your legacy, and you will continue with it. Understood?”

  A knot the size of an orange is stuck in my throat. The air around me is so thick, I can’t breathe. This isn’t the place where I want to be, nor the future I want for myself. But how do I tell him that? This man has given me everything from the moment I arrived at his house. There’s no way I can turn my back on him.

  “Sir,” his secretary knocks a couple of times before opening. “You have a call on line three. Mr. Davalos says it’s urgent.”

  “I bet it’s about that company I want to buy down in Argentina,” Dad says with satisfaction.

  He’s about to close another deal. Leave a few thousand more workers without employment while he increases his net worth.

  “I have a plane to catch, Dad,” I check my watch.

  The jet is scheduled to leave in about an hour.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Away for the weekend. We’ll discuss this when I’m back.” I tap the papers but don’t take them with me.

  As soon as I’m in the car, I call Sterling giving him the news.

  “You have to quit,” he says.

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Repeat after me: ‘Dad, I quit,’” he enunciates the last three words. “See how easy it is?”

  I grasp the wheel tightly, changing gears and lanes. Sterling does whatever he wants with his life, without thinking about others. Just like our father. If I don’t take on more responsibilities, Dad’s never going to retire. What’s going to happen with Mom? She wants to enjoy their life, their marriage. Every night when I visit them, she’s showing him new pictures of the places she wants to travel to with him.

  “Mom is coming over in a couple of weeks,” my brother announces. “I might tell her to leave his ass. I bet he’ll sell that hellhole once she stops taking shit from him.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Do you think Abby is going to take that kind of shit from you?”

  “Abby and I aren’t together?”

  “Where are you going?” His annoying voice booms inside the car.

  “It’s none of your fucking business.”

  “Little Abby and I were just on the phone, talking about Mom’s trip. She’s in Tahoe,” he pauses, and I swear, I know the asshole is smirking. “She’s waiting for you—because it’s her birthday weekend.”

  “We’re not together. I’m just visiting her because I couldn’t last Monday.”

  “Yeah, w
hat’s up with that?” His tone is serious. “You didn’t go to visit her on her birthday—because of work. That’s not a way to treat your girl.”

  “She’s not my girl,” I groan.

  I don’t explain to him why I skipped her birthday. I wanted to celebrate that day just with her. When Mom announced that they were visiting her I changed my plans. I don’t tell him any of that—it’ll solidify his theory. I’m not ready to discuss my relationship with Abby with him.

  “Not yet,” he corrects. “You’re in love with her, and one day you’ll make a move. The question is, what kind of relationship are you planning on having? The one where you can’t live without her or the one where you live for Dad and his fucking money?”

  I hit the wheel. The traffic isn’t moving. The Denver Tech Center is a fucking nightmare at noon, even worse than downtown. A fifteen-minute drive is taking an eternity. Longer than this call.

  “Live your life; believe in your future. I know you think I’m a selfish bastard for doing what I love, but I’m not,” he pauses. “You only have this life. It’s not a rehearsal, it’s happening as we speak. Mom always tells you that. You should listen to her, not to the man who doesn’t know how to live—or love.”

  I know that he’s right about living my own fucking life. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to be like Dad. Or have a relationship like the one my parents have. Mom says she’s happy, but my heart breaks every time her face falls because Dad puts work before her. I hate to admit it, but my little brother is right. If I continue on this path, no one is going to be happy—not even our father. At this point, I have no fucking idea how to please him. Nothing I do is enough, he always needs just a little more.

  “What are you going to tell Dad when he calls?” I retake the conversation. This is why I called him, not to talk about my life.

  “To go to hell,” he says with pride. “I don’t need his money, and I’ve never had his love.”

  “He loves you.”

  “Stop defending him, Wes. The guy only loves money.” He huffs. “Hey, I have to go but call me tomorrow. Abby and I have to shake some sense into you.”

  Sterling hangs up before I can tell him more. The call leaves me with a bitter taste. If I can’t change Dad’s mind, I’m going to be stuck doing something I hate. Leaving him isn’t an option. Mom deserves better. Maybe this is the last thing on his to-do list before retiring. If not, I can just take over the company for him. But the question is: will he trust me with it?

  Actually, I don’t care if he trusts me with it. I’d rather have his approval when I tell him that I want to start my own company than bother with his. What I really want is to be my own person.

  7

  Abby

  I gasp and open my eyes when I hear the doorbell. Grabbing my phone and my glasses, I walk toward the entrance.

  “Who is it?”

  “Wes,” I hear his voice.

  “Wes?” I unlock the door and swing it open.

  His eyes are red, soulless, and his shoulders sagging.

  “What happened?”

  “Dad,” he whispers.

  “Are you still fighting?”

  I have no idea what happened between them. Two weeks ago, Wes and I met in Tahoe to celebrate my birthday. Something was bothering him, but he didn’t want to talk about it. At least not until he thought of a solution. Three days ago, he called telling me that he fought with Will. They weren’t talking. And now ...

  “He’s your dad,” I cup his handsome face with both hands. “No matter what you do, he’s never going to stop loving you.”

  “He’s dead,” he mumbles and breaks down crying.

  “No,” I sob, covering my mouth before I take him in my arms.

  “I need you,” he says, pressing me against him. “Tomorrow I’ll go back to deal with everything—today, let me lean on you.”

  “Come inside, Wes. Let me take care of you. We’ll get through this, I promise.”

  8

  Abby

  Abby Age Twenty-Three

  Every day since I left, I’ve been fighting to stay away from Denver, but sometimes even the best intentions just aren’t enough.

  Each step I take from the moment I walked off the plane feels heavier than the last, as if my feet weighed a ton. When the train’s arrival to the main terminal is announced, I swear I feel like it might as well say you’ve arrived at your final destination—hell.

  As I come off the escalators toward the waiting area, my stomach tightens and nausea hits the back of my throat. My heart rate kicks up a notch. If I want to make it through the door, I’m going to need Wes and one of those tight, warm hugs only he knows how to give. Champagne gummy bears are a plus. I turn on my cellphone to text him. If he’s not here already, he can still run to the store to buy me some candy. I doubt he thought of the gummy bears. Though, a bottle of red wine or a pot brownie would also work to numb me during the drive.

  Wes: Sorry, Abbs. I can’t make it.

  I bite the inside of my cheek while sadness and anger mix in my blood. Where is Wes when I fucking need him? Angrily, my fingers move across the screen firing him a text.

  Abby: You made me come back to fucking Denver and you—

  But I stop myself and delete the words before I send it. It’s a weekday, and it’s only seven o’clock in the evening. Without a doubt, he’s at the office trying to take over a few more companies before dinner. That’s his life: work, more work, and during his spare time he adds in a few meetings. I thought this was a phase after Will died. But it’s been more than a year since his father’s death. It seems like this is his life.

  I sigh as I walk toward the people waiting with signs, flowers, and big smiles. My heart shrinks a little more. He didn’t have to bring me flowers, but it would have been nice to see him. I just needed a hug. Will I even get to see him today? If I’m lucky maybe on the weekend.

  As I walk toward the baggage area, I find a tall man wearing a dark suit. He holds a sign with my name. Abigail Lyons.

  “Hi, that’s me,” I say, touching the sign.

  “I’m Aaron Green. Mr. Ahern’s driver,” he explains, taking my carry-on luggage.

  “Thank you for picking me up,” I say calmly, but beneath that calm lies a storm of fury and frustration.

  We walk to the baggage claim area. While we wait for the bags, I send a text to Wes.

  Abby: Thank you for the driver. I could’ve taken an Uber.

  Wes: You know how I feel about Uber. Your car arrives Friday. Until then, Aaron is available for you.

  Abby: Thank you, boss!

  It’s not about the driver, it’s about him. I needed him here, waiting for me with open arms when I arrived from the longest, hardest flight I’ve ever endured in my life. Wes knows this isn’t easy for me. I sigh. There’s no point in having this conversation with him. He won’t understand, and I’ll just get all worked up. I put away my phone before fetching my bags. Once we have the bags, Aaron takes them, and I follow him toward the parking lot. He loads the black Escalade, opening the door and watching me too closely. Someone should’ve told him that I hate it when people stare at me. He must be wondering who the hell I am.

  Weston’s flavor of the month, a long lost relative … I look nothing like an Ahern. I’m just the girl who crashed with them for about a year before I went away to college. Plain-old Abigail Lyons. There’s nothing special about me, but everyone’s speculated about my identity ever since I came to live with the Aherns.

  As the car pulls away from the airport’s parking lot, my lungs begin to constrict. I close my eyes for several minutes, concentrating on my breathing. In and out, in and out. I miss Berkeley. There’s something about the California air that numbs my memories and keeps me sane. When I lived there, I felt lighter.

  Free.

  The Colorado heat doesn’t seem to agree with me. I should’ve come last May while it was still cool. As the minutes pass, I feel as if the ghosts of my past are chasing me. If I let them, they
’ll trap me again and hold me hostage. Perhaps this time I won’t escape. If only I had listened to my instincts and searched for a job in San Francisco. Instead, I’m back in hell. The place where the memories become vivid and the monsters can easily find me.

  I open my eyes as we drive west, toward the mountains. My grandmother used to say that the snowcapped peaks guarded us from bad spirits. I wish she were alive, so I could explain to her that not everyone is good, and evil lurks at every turn. The scenery is beautiful, peaceful. For the past five years the ocean breeze washed away my sorrows when the weight became too much.

  Forget about them, Abigail. You’re not that kid anymore.

  I watch the late summer sun setting. As the darkness traps the city, my chest heaves. The pain and fear squeeze my lungs tightly. I breathe and tug on my bracelet, counting the crystals as many times as possible. Why did I come back?

  Because of him. Weston Ahern. The man who took me in along with his parents a few years ago, and not only offered me shelter, but a beautiful friendship as well. He’s kept me sane and safe since the moment we met almost six years ago. Wes is the one person I can trust. When I was about to graduate from college, he said it was up to me what I wanted to do. My options were limitless. The world was my playground.

  “But I’d love to have you back home to Colorado,” he said.

  I couldn’t disappoint him and jeopardize our friendship. After all these years, I wouldn’t be able to function without having him by my side. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to stay sane living in Denver. Although we know each other so well, he still doesn’t know anything about my past. It’s ridiculous that after so many years, I haven’t said a word. It’s too scary and complicated to share.

  That’s exactly why I don’t ask about his origins. I’m fine to only know my Wes. He’s gentle, understanding, a little volatile, and uncommunicative with everyone—but me. We get each other. That’s what best friends are for. Who knew that despite our age difference we would become so indispensable in each other’s lives.