by Alexa Riley
“Yes. Sure. How can I help you?”
“Mr. Schwartz would like to schedule a time to meet with you to discuss Mr. Stone’s estate. Would you be able to come in to our office tomorrow?”
Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, the word rolls in my mind multiple times. Will I be able to meet him? Can I handle it? I’m scared of what he will tell me. But I don’t have a choice. I have to say yes.
“Yes, I can meet Mr. Schwartz tomorrow.”
“What time would be convenient for you, Miss. Hamilton?”
“I can be there around noon. Would that work?” The sound of fingers tapping a keyboard can be heard through the phone.
“Yes, Mr. Schwartz can see you then.”
Pamela proceeds to rattle off the address, and once done, I hang up the phone, already dreading what tomorrow will bring.
WITH SLEEP-BLURRED EYES, I wake. The nightmares last night were the same as all the previous nights. I need to get help, but I’m scared. Sweat coats my upper lip and I find myself chewing on the inside of my cheek. My stomach clenches that I have to meet with Richard’s lawyer soon. A strange feeling of dread gnaws at me, as if ice is crawling through my veins. I try my best to plaster on a fake smile, to pretend I’m okay. Instead, I let the smile fall off my lips.
You can’t lie to yourself.
An hour later when I finally walk through the door to his office, I meet with an elderly man. He looks to be about sixty and he’s dressed in a crisp navy suit with a matching tie.
“Hello, Ms. Hamilton. Please come in. Can I have my assistant Pamela get you something to drink? A coffee perhaps?” He smiles. It’s a fatherly smile and reminds me of Richard.
“Hello, Mr. Schwartz. Please call me Eve, and yes, a cup of coffee would be lovely.” I’m exhausted from a rough night and my muscles are so tight that I’d welcome anything right now to keep my mind busy. I’m hoping a warm cup of coffee will do the trick.
“Okay, please take a seat and I’ll be right with you.” He motions to the chair, and I sit down across the desk from him. After he hangs up the phone with his assistant, he pulls out a file from his desk.
While he sorts through the papers, his assistant enters the room and places a steaming hot mug in front of me. The warm fluid coats my throat and evokes heat to flow through my body. It helps to calm my nerves that are strung so tight I fear I might snap.
“Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me today. I wanted to discuss Mr. Stone’s estate. Normally, I wouldn’t discuss this in absence of the rest of the beneficiaries, but when Richard drew up his will years ago, he gave me the authority to discuss all matters of the estate—including the company—with you first, especially since this concerns you.”
“I’m not sure why the company would concern me.”
“From my understanding, you are aware that The Stone Agency, although primarily owned and run by Mr. Stone, also had a silent investor.”
“And this concerns me because?”
“The silent investor is Laura Hamilton.” I almost drop my coffee cup as my hand shakes from the news.
“My mother?” I straighten my spine, trying to compose myself in front of this virtual stranger. It doesn’t help. Instead, my knee bounces with nerves.
“Yes, when your father passed, your mother invested some of his life insurance money in the business. It’s been quite a lucrative investment. You can find comfort that although your mother won’t work at the company, she and her medical bills will be taken care of for the rest of her life. There is a stipulation in the will, however, barring your mother’s mental condition. The will states that Michael Durand is to be left in charge of the company.”
“Okay. That makes sense. Is there anything else I should know about?” Finding out my mom owns the company I work for is a bombshell. I wonder if there are any other big secrets lurking in those papers. The whole thought makes me break into a cold sweat.
“Yes.” He pulls out a paper from the pile on his desk and hands it to me. It’s a deed. “The real reason I wanted to see you today is that you inherited Mr. Stone’s apartment.” My mouth drops open and I brace myself in my chair.
“I got his apartment?”
“Yes, he said that you were like a daughter to him. He talked about you very fondly.”
“I can’t live there,” I blurt out, already feeling my chest muscles tightening at the thought of living in the same building as my mom. “I have to sell it.”
“Are you sure?” he asks and I lift my hands to cover my face.
“God, I don’t know.”
“How about you think about it? If you choose to sell, I can find you a real estate firm to list it with.”
“Thank you for all your help, Mr. Schwartz. I have a lot to think about and I’ll have a talk to my mom regarding the business, too.”
“I’ll be at the office finalizing some paperwork with Michael in the next few weeks, so we can touch base then. If you need anything in the meantime, here’s my card. Please feel free to call me with any questions, or if your mother needs anything.”
“Thank you.” I stand and make my way to the door. In a daze, I walk the streets back to my apartment. The city passes in a rush of movement, but nothing is in focus.
When would it get easier?
CHAPTER FOUR
EVE
THE EARLY MORNING sun beams in through the drapes. It casts a shimmery light into my eyes, forcing me to wake. Checking the clock, I see it’s only seven in the morning. A part of me wants to close my eyes and hide for the whole day, but with going back to work tomorrow, I have a bunch of errands to run. I need to grab some groceries for myself, and some for Mom as well.
The idea of dragging Sydney along is tempting, but in the end as I quietly pad down the hall to freshen up, I decide to let her sleep. I’m sure she’ll slumber the day away. She hasn’t been herself since the funeral, either. I feel as though it’s my fault. She also lost someone. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for her to want to grieve but feel she can’t because of me. I’ll let her sleep. Let her have her space to feel what she needs to feel.
After a long shower to wash away my restless night, I grab a bite to eat and then head out for the day. First I hit the supermarket down the block from my apartment, stopping back home afterward to put my food away. Then, with Mom’s groceries in hand, I hop in a cab and head uptown to her place. The architecture and people rush by in a sea of color, and I get lost in my own thoughts of the impending conversation I intend to have with her. Today I need to confront my mom about her investment in The Stone Agency.
I’m a little scared of what I will find today. There is never a certainty of the mood or ailment one will encounter when entering Laura Hamilton’s home. Nervously, my hands start to run through my hair, pulling gently at the roots as I enter her home and make my way into the kitchen.
It’s a disaster. The pristine marble island has medicine sprawled across it. Pill bottles are open and spilled haphazardly across the surface. It doesn’t look like I’ll be getting any answers from her today. Throwing the bags of food down, I make haste to find my mom.
The wind is knocked out of me when I find my mom. She’s thrown over the toilet dry heaving. Her whole body wracks with sobs as tears stream down her face. Kneeling down, I try to comfort her but it’s no use. Through hysterics, she mumbles words I can’t understand. It sounds like “my fault,” but I can’t be sure.
“What happened?” I ask as she finally silences and takes a giant gulp of air.
“Dying,” she mutters as my fingers run down her back, comforting and soothing her.
“You’re not actually dying, Mom. But if you keep overmedicating, you just might.”
“I am. I really am.” She’s not, but in her state of mind, she will never understand that. She shivers violently as I pull her to standing and lead her to her bed. She rocks back and forth.
BY THE TIME six p.m. rolls around, I’m officially and utterly exhausted. Spending the afternoon taking
care of my mom has me on edge. I want to go to bed, crawl under my covers and hide from the world. When she’s sick, she sucks the life out of me.
As much as my bed beckons to me, the idea of another restless night has me itching for a nightcap. I’m not much of a drinker, but an anxious feeling lurks in my mind. The thoughts tell me my racing heart is having a heart attack, and I’m going crazy with my own impending doom. I’m becoming my mother.
With a shaking hand I apply a fresh coat of lipstick and run a brush through my hair. I’m not necessarily feeling up to this, but the knowledge that it will drown out the fear lurking inside is enough to will myself to head out the door to grab a drink.
The Corner Bar is located on the corner of Thirty-Third and Third, hence the name. It also happens to be right underneath our apartment building, which has been extremely convenient when trying to quiet the nightmares.
I enter and take in the mixture of suits and college kids. The surroundings and ambiance are what I love most about this neighborhood. The healthy mix. I have lived here for a little over two years, and it has everything a recent college grad could want. Plus, when I moved here, I was leaving the bad memories behind. I instantly felt lighter being away from my mom’s latest ailment hanging above my head.
After taking care of her for so long, I remember the excitement of having my first apartment like it was yesterday.
“YOU’RE HERE.” I walked into the apartment—my new apartment—and Sydney squealed. “I’m so excited. Here, let me show you your room. Then we can go grab some food.”
“Lead the way.” I smiled broadly. I wanted to jump up and down too, but feared she’d think I was a nutcase. Together we walked a few steps through the living room and she pushed open a door. The room was completely vacant except for a bed sitting adjacent to a large window. “I know it’s small and the closet space sucks, but—” I stopped listening.
“It’s perfect.” It didn’t matter how small the room was. This was my place.
“Really?”
“It’s more than perfect,” I exclaimed, and this time I allowed myself to be excited, too.
“Yeah! Isn’t it great?”
“The best.”
IT’S funny how fast things have changed in the last few years. Back then, I welcomed the night and sleeping in my new bed. Now, I fear what that sleep will bring. The irony isn’t lost on me. All the things I hate about my mom are starting to plague me as well. With a shake of my head, I follow the path of men in perfect three-piece suits to the bar. This will take the edge off.
Drown the fear.
Allow me peace.
After spying an empty seat at the bar, I sit down. My phone vibrates in my purse, so I pull it out and see that a new text has come through.
Sydney: Where are you?
Me: Having a drink at The Corner Bar
Sydney: I’ll be there in five.
A cute bartender in his mid-twenties with shaggy blond hair gives me a wicked smirk. “What can I get for you, sweetheart?” he asks with a southern twang that’s just as cute as his appearance.
“Shot of Patron,” I shout back over the loud music filling the air. A few seconds later, I’m snapped out of my wandering thoughts as a small glass hits the wood.
“Twenty bucks.”
I snap my gaze up to him. Did he just say twenty bucks? “For a shot of tequila?” His face splits into a wicked smile. “Yep.”
“Better be the best damn tequila I’ve ever had.”
With that he laughs. “Oh, it will be.” He smirks as I lift the glass to my mouth. I wink and swallow the fiery liquid. Cutie gives me a smile as he lifts his eyebrow.
“Another?”
“Keep them coming.” I smirk and a few seconds later, I’m lifting my second shot to my mouth. This one burns less than the first and makes my stomach feel warm.
“Hey there, killer. Take it easy with the shots. How many have you had?” I peer over my shoulder to see Sydney standing behind me. Her brow is furrowed and her mouth is in a tight line.
“Only two, but who’s counting?”
“You should be. Tomorrow you’re going back to work, or did you forget that?”
“I wish I could.” I wave my hand to get the attention of the bartender. “One more.”
“Eve, you need to take it easy.” She steps in closer, placing her hand on my arm to try to usher me up.
“I don’t want to,” I huff.
“What’s going on with you?”
Turning my head, I lift an eyebrow at her. “What do you mean? Can’t a girl go to a bar and grab a drink?”
“I have known you for two and a half years, lived with you pretty much just as long, and you’ve never been a big drinker. Sure, you have a cocktail here and there after work, but to go to the bar and throw back shots before bed—on a night when you have to work the next day, too? Well, that’s not like you at all. I mean, I get it, but still.”
I close my eyes and a strangled moan escapes. “I just want to sleep, Syd. I went to see my mom again, and it was bad. She was really bad. On top of that, the idea of another sleepless night, or worse . . .” I stop myself from telling her I’m trying to drown out the voices and silence the dreams. She wouldn’t understand.
She reaches out and takes my hand in hers. Her eyes are soft as if she hears the words I haven’t spoken. “Drinking won’t make the nightmares go away, babe. I think it’s time you reach out to someone.”
“Maybe,” I whisper. I search out the bartender and lift my hand to signal I want another.
MY BODY FEELS LOOSE. There’s no tension anywhere. With each shot I take, the cute bartender becomes the “hot bartender.” Apparently, his name is Austin and his jokes get funnier and funnier until I’m hunched over into a fit of laughter.
“Are you ready to come home?” Sydney asks from beside me.
“Nope.” I giggle, eliciting a laugh from Austin.
“I can’t just leave you here.” Her eyes narrow and I wink at her.
“I’ll be fine. Austin will take care of me.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
I laugh and Austin smirks.
Sydney moves closer to me and whispers in my ear, “Are you sure?”
“Totally. I’ll be fine. Go to bed.”
WHERE THE FUCK AM I?
The aching in my scull feels like a jackhammer is drilling away. My mouth is dry and my lips stick together as I pull them apart. It’s as though I’m choking on chalk. A grimy film coats my throat. Gross. I try to rub the sleep away, but instead come up with a handful of what’s collected on my chin.
Maybe the tequila wasn’t such a great idea.
However, it did work. With the booze seeping into my bloodstream, I passed out, even if it wasn’t in my own bed. It’s the first time in weeks I got a full night’s sleep.
Sitting up, I survey myself. I’m fully dressed and alone in the bed. Thank God. This could have been bad. Not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed a night in the sack with Austin, but I’d hate to be so drunk that I didn’t remember it.
Stepping out of the room, I take a peek around his apartment. There he is, curled up on the couch, snoring away. I don’t even bother to say good-bye. It’s awkward enough without me calling attention to the fact I was a drunk lush last night. Shit, I hope I didn’t say anything dumb, or worse, make an ass of myself. Sydney and I might need to find another bar.
Still sleeping, he grunts as if he’s about to wake. I take that as my cue to make a beeline out the door.
New York is quite peaceful at six a.m., albeit still dark. The only sound is the soft hum of passing taxis. It reminds me of a sound machine you listen to at night. As I walk back to my apartment, my hangover starts to pass. The sounds and architecture distract me. Looking at the intricate nature of each building I pass is fascinating. Like fingerprints, no building is the same. Each is unique and beautiful in its own way.
As I approach my street, I pick up my pace. Work isn’t for a few hours, and
I don’t need to be there until nine, but I still need to shower and get ready.
An hour later, I’m ready to go. Since I’ve missed so much work, I decide to go in early and get a jump on the day. I’ve fallen so far behind, I find myself running there to beat the morning rush. With labored breath, I swing the revolving door, and then dash to the elevator. It opens almost instantly.
Everything inside me feels as if it’s begun to seize. Muscles twitch, eyes water, shoulders slump forward, I brace my shaking hands on the cold metal surface of the wall. I have to face my fears. Going back to a place that reminds me so much of my loss feels as if somebody picked and reopened a scab on my heart. I try to will the emotions away as I plaster a smile on my face and enter the suite. But my smile is an imposter. It lies. It says I’m okay. But I’m not. Every smile is a plea. Every smile is a prayer that they don’t see my pain. That they don’t see how much I’m hurting since Richard’s death.
My heartbeat quickens. I’m okay. I’ll be okay . . .
It’s odd being here. Everything is wrong. The soul of the company is gone, and while the people around me have moved on, I can’t ignore his absence. Richard wasn’t only a boss, he was for all intents and purposes the life of this company. Now with him gone, this place feels like a shell of what it used to be. It’s as if I need a road map to figure it out. Nothing has changed, per se, but everything is different.
I make my way farther into the office space. A haze of sadness lingers over the few employees already here for the day. From the corner of my eye I notice them staring, scrutinizing, judging. They whisper and wonder where I’ve been. I want to crawl in a hole and hide. Instead, I square my shoulders and walk with purpose. I say good morning to them as I make my way to my desk, and hope they don’t see through my façade.
For the next few hours, I get caught up on all the emails I’ve missed these past two weeks while I was on leave. Thankfully, Sydney stepped in and took some of my workload while I was away. Without her, I would never have made it this far after the funeral.
