by Ryan, Alison
The plane taxied in, and before long we were disembarking. The pilot carried my bags down the stairs onto the tarmac. I took one last look at the interior of the plane, not sure what awaited me outside it. But somehow I knew nothing was ever going to be the same.
Outside the jet was yet another black SUV and a driver in a crisp suit, large and imposing. He nodded to me and took the bags from the pilot, placing them in the back of the car. The pilot opened the back passenger side door for me.
“Miss Hunt, I am truly sorry for your loss,” he said. “I hope your stay here in Tahoe is as pleasant as possible under these circumstances.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate that.”
The large Secret Service looking dude climbed into the driver’s side and slowly drove us off the tarmac and toward wherever our final destination would be.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked. “I thought I was supposed to meet Nolan Weston.”
“Mr. Weston is waiting for you at your father’s home,” the driver said. “Which is where I am taking you. Do you need to stop for anything on our way?”
I shook my head, “No. Thank you for asking.”
The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror, “I’m sorry too, Miss Hunt. My name is Michael by the way. I will be your driver while you’re here in Tahoe. Mr. Weston can provide you with my contact information should you need me for anything. A pretty big storm is coming through in the next couple of days so it may be hard to get in and out. They’re expecting a couple feet of snow out where Mr. Hunt’s home is.”
Great, I thought. Just what I needed.
I nodded and quietly stared out the window into the night. It was dark out here in South Lake Tahoe, but I could see the shadows of the Sierra Nevada looming over us as we glided toward my destiny, something that I wanted no part of.
********
I knew my father was wealthy. It was part of my life, his money, and I’d never been in the dark about that. Even though I barely saw him, I’d wanted for nothing. My mother and I had lived in a large house in Virginia before her death, paid for by him. Obviously he’d taken me on the very expensive trip to Austria for my 16th birthday. He’d also sent me to expensive camps every summer in places like upstate New York where I sweated in cabins with other rich kid types. I went to Choate Rosemary Hall, one of the most expensive boarding schools in the country. I’d taken equestrian classes and piano lessons. Before Choate I’d had tutors come to my mother’s home to teach me Latin, the Classics, French, and Trigonometry. I was well educated, well bred, and definitely the daughter of a rich man. I was no stranger to large homes, expensive cars, and rich people’s kids. I’d been surrounded by wealth and opulence my entire life.
But my father’s home in Tahoe was something that stunned even me.
It was expansive, for one thing. It sat on top of a mountain, one the driver had to drive slowly up in order for us to even get to the imposing gate that stopped any approaching vehicles before they could even glimpse the house. The property overlooked the tranquil Lake Tahoe and was surrounded by pines, but not hidden by them. It couldn’t be. The home was much too large for such a thing.
As we pulled up the long drive and around the final bend that brought everything into view, I stared, awestruck. This had to be my father’s main home. I’d visited him at his Manhattan apartment, his house in Newport, Rhode Island, which was very grand, and his beach house in West Palm Beach. But Tahoe was something completely different.
He’d never even told me about it. So this would be the first secret revealed.
Michael pulled up next to the entrance, which was an enormous paneled door made out of what was probably wood from a Sequoia. It looked like the perfect sort of door for this impenetrable fortress of a house. This wasn’t a house. It was a compound.
Why had my father needed a place like this?
Michael came around to open my door, but I was already halfway out of the car, my Burberry duffel bag over my shoulder. I took in the entirety of the house, not knowing what to expect. The mountain air had a sharpness to it, and I inhaled deeply, feeling a cold freshness down deep in my lungs.
My father had lived and died here. And now I was here to clean up the mess, while also dealing with my own grief. I inhaled again and then exhaled slowly. This would be the hardest thing I might ever do. But he’d want me to be strong. He believed in me.
“Mr. Weston is inside,” Michael said. “I’ll grab your luggage, Miss Hunt. The door should be unlocked.”
It was weird to walk through a door without knocking, but I guessed this was my house now, legally speaking. So it was silly to knock. But it still felt… odd.
The foyer of the home was as impressive as the exterior. It led to an open living room decorated in rich, rustic colors and décor. Very mountain-esque. The windows to the living room were floor to ceiling, and the ceiling was two levels above my head, affording an impressive view of the lake. Outside, I could see the ground sloped down to a pool (which was covered for the winter) and a hot tub, which was not.
“Jesus, Dad,” I said to myself. “You really outdid yourself.”
I could see the moon’s reflection in the great Lake Tahoe, and a billion stars shown over it, not dimmed a bit by the casinos and hotels on the far side of the lake. I was in my own world on this side. Another planet practically.
I dropped my bag to the floor and walked over to the plush sectional couch of the living room, collapsing on it.
“I see you made it okay,” a deep voice said from behind me. I recognized it immediately. It was Nolan Weston.
I didn’t bother turning around, “You sound disappointed.”
“Of course not,” he said. “I just know it was a sudden trip to be taking after getting the worst kind of news a person can get. So it’s good to see you made it here safely and can now take a moment for yourself.”
I rolled my eyes, “Did you rehearse that?”
He sighed, “No. I meant it. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now.”
I turned around to ask him what he could imagine, and I gasped.
This trip was truly full of surprises.
Nolan Weston stood behind me in a cable knit sweater and dark denim jeans. He was tall, with dark slicked back hair, and a rugged face. He looked like something straight out of a Brooks Brothers catalog. He had the slightest graying at his temples but that didn’t matter. I immediately recognized him.
Nolan Weston was not just any of my father’s attorneys. He was the new guy from years ago. The one we’d met in Salzburg. Or the one my father had met in Salzburg and I had spied on.
I wasn’t sure what to say next. All I knew is that things had just gotten a hell of a lot more interesting.
Five
“You’re Nolan Weston?” I asked. My palms were sweating now, one of my nervous habits since forever. I tried to nonchalantly wipe them across the throw pillow next to me.
“I am,” he said, taking a step down into the sunken living room to join me on the couch. His gait was so confident, his demeanor so relaxed. Nolan Weston probably didn’t get worked up about anything. Even his boss dying.
“You worked for my father,” I said. “I saw you once.”
Maybe I imagined it, but suddenly Nolan’s eyes narrowed and the tip of his tongue appeared between his lips. But he quickly gained his composure.
“You did?” he asked. “When was that?”
“When I was sixteen,” I said. “You met with my father in Salzburg. At the Mozart Museum. I was inside, but I saw you talking to him.”
Nolan’s face suddenly relaxed, “Oh, yes. I hadn’t thought about that in a long time. It was my first time meeting him. I hadn’t realized you were there.”
I looked down at my shoes. Nolan Weston was hard to look at. He was… gorgeous. It made me a little shy, to be honest. That kind of attractiveness could be intimidating.
“Yeah, he took me there as a surprise for my birthday,” I said, feeling
tears well up in my eyes. “I remember everything about that trip.”
Nolan sat across from me now, his expression blank for the moment. Something about him really frustrated me. I couldn’t read him at all.
“Anyway,” I said. “How did this happen? My father had a stroke?”
Nolan nodded, “Yes. In the middle of the night, it seems. He was alone here but that morning he was supposed to meet some of the other partners and I at a breakfast meeting in town. He never showed, which isn’t like him. When he didn’t answer his text messages, I became concerned. So I came here…” His sentence trailed off. It seemed like his voice might crack, but when he looked back up at me his eyes were cool and whatever emotion had grabbed him was gone. No expression.
“I came here,” he continued, “And found him in his closet. He’d been possibly looking for his bathrobe, or something else. We’ll never know for sure.”
“How do you know it was a stroke?” I asked. “Surely an autopsy hasn’t been performed already?”
“It has,” Nolan said, looking down. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your father has actually been gone for over a week.”
“What?” I yelled, standing up. Michael had walked into the house by then, carrying all of my luggage. He dropped everything he was carrying at the sound of my voice being raised. He looked at Nolan, sternly.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Nothing, Michael,” Nolan said, holding up a hand to keep him from coming further into the house. “You may go now.”
Michael opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. Instead he turned around and walked out, leaving me alone with the asshole who had apparently been keeping the death of my father a secret from me for a week.
“How could I not be informed?” I yelled, still standing, glaring at Nolan. I could feel my face burning hot with rage and I knew my cheeks must be flushed pink the way they get when I’m angry. Part of me wondered if I got that from my father, but I’d never seen him heated. Especially not as heated as I was right now.
“This is fucked up. My father has been dead a week and no one told me? Where is he now?”
“He’s been cremated,” Nolan replied. “I have his ashes here with me.”
“What the fuck?” I screamed. “You cremated him without me? Was there a funeral or anything?”
“Camilla,” he said. “This was what your father wanted. This is exactly how he wanted it to be handled. Richard valued his privacy. He had no desire for a funeral. He was very clear about that.”
I was sobbing now, so angry I couldn’t see.
“Did he hate me so much,” I asked, “That he didn’t want me to know when he died? Or to allow me to pay my respects? Or tell him…” I was crying so hard now I couldn’t speak.
Nolan was next to me now, but he didn’t touch me.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I found him. Your father was a man of a certain… dignity. He wouldn’t have wanted to be seen by anyone, especially you, in the condition in which the stroke left him. I don’t know what else to say.”
I looked up at him and I could see a hint of compassion in his eyes. But it didn’t matter. He had ruined my life.
“Fuck you,” I said, pushing him away with both hands. His chest felt like granite, and the steps he took away from me seemed to have more to do with him allowing me space than my efforts actually moving him. “Fuck you for not calling me as soon as it happened. And fuck my father. Why am I even here?” I walked over to the window, staring out at the lake.
“All of this,” Nolan said, “is yours. The firm. This house. His entire estate, which is quite large. It belongs to you, Camilla. Your father didn’t hate you. Not even close. He had his own way of doing things, sometimes for reasons that would be hard for you to understand. But there was a method to it and it was all in your best interest. And when I say he left you everything, he left you everything.” Nolan was directly behind me now. I could almost feel the heat of him on me.
“I don’t care,” I whispered, my arms crossed. Tears slid down my face as I looked out onto snow covered peaks. “I don’t want any of it. I want him to be here. To explain everything himself.”
“That I can’t give you,” Nolan said. “I wish I could.”
I turned to him and could see a sadness in his face.
“You were close to him?” I asked.
“As close as one can be to their boss, I guess,” Nolan replied, the sadness gone, replaced by the cold expression again. What was it with this guy?
“He was just your boss?” I said.
“And a friend,” Nolan replied, looking over my shoulder at the lake. “Although friends are a rare and sometimes expensive luxury in our business. He was my mentor in many ways. He taught me all I know. So the loss of him weighs heavy on me, and the firm as well. We’re in a difficult position.” He paused. “Not the kind of position you’re in, of course. I didn’t mean to compare.”
I sighed, “I just don’t understand anything. My father had a separate life from me. He never let me in. And even in death, he still didn’t let me in. And now I just… I don’t know what to do from here. I don’t want his estate, his homes, and certainly not his firm. In 3 months I graduate, and the last thing I want is to be tied to anything. So do with it what you want. Sell it all, don’t sell it, run it yourselves. I’m not interested.” I turned back to the window. “I would like to be alone.”
Nolan didn’t say anything for a long moment; so long that I thought he’d walked away until I heard his voice again, closer to me now, making me jump.
“We can talk about details over the next couple days,” he said. His voice gave me goose bumps. “I’m staying here tonight, if it’s alright with you. I have meetings with the firm tomorrow and your father usually allowed me to stay here when I was in Tahoe. If that’s okay with you, of course. You won’t be bothered; I stay in a suite on the other side of the property from your room.”
I shrugged, “I don’t care. Besides, if I’m in charge now I can just fire you if you continue to piss me off, right?”
I heard him make a sound as if to speak and then footsteps walking away. I kept staring outside, waiting for the stars to fall on this house, catch it on fire, allow it to burn to the ground with me inside it.
When I turned around this time, Nolan was gone. And now I was truly alone.
Six
Once he was gone, I walked over to my suitcases that were sitting on the floor in the foyer. Both were packed full. Out of laziness and exhaustion, I grabbed just the one with my pajamas and toiletries in it. I’d deal with the rest tomorrow.
No one had bothered to tell me where my room was, and I certainly didn’t want to sleep in my father’s room where he’d had his stroke. As a matter of fact, just knowing I was in the house where he died was making me feel ill. I wished I’d just had Michael drive me to a hotel.
I wandered upstairs and, fortunately, one of the guest bedrooms was right near the top of the steps. It had the same rustic feel as the rest of the house, a large king-sized bed and views of the lake. The bathroom was enormous, with marble everything, and included a huge soaking tub. The walk-in closet was as big as most people’s bedrooms. And this wasn’t even the master bedroom. I would have been impressed if I wasn’t so sleepy.
While brushing my teeth I stared at my reflection in the gilded mirror above the sink. My hair was wild and my eyes had dark circles around them.
I look like shit, I thought.
I thought about the revelation Nolan had hit me with. My father had been dead a week. And no one had called me when it happened. Because it was what he wanted? He’d made the conscious decision to hide his own death from me? Did he not care how I would feel about this? Did I matter to him at all? Or was I just this loose end from a previous life that he always had to make sure was tied up and out of the way?
I was so angry at him for all of this. I’d only been in Tahoe a few hours, and seen little of it, but it sure seemed like a pla
ce I could have been happy growing up. Or at least spent summers. But none of that fit into my father’s plan.
I rinsed my mouth and stared at myself again. I knew I should shower. But it just seemed like too much work at the moment.
Instead I pulled on a t-shirt and yoga pants, crawled into bed, and was asleep in less than a minute.
********
I woke up early the next morning. I was still on east coast time. At first I wasn’t sure where I was, until the previous day’s memories came flooding back and I realized it had all been true. No physical pinch required. The emotional anguish was very real. Not a dream.
I stretched my arms as my eyes wandered over to the window that overlooked Tahoe.
I could barely even see the lake, the snow was falling so hard and thick, large, fluffy flakes and the air foggy with precipitation. I remembered what Michael had said, that we were about to get hit by a snow storm. Well, that storm was here. I’d never seen anything like it. I vaguely recalled channel surfing and winding up watching part of a documentary about the Donner Party in high school. That whole nightmare took place not far from Tahoe, if memory served.
“Well, shit,” I said to myself. “Does that mean I’m stuck here?”
My stomach rumbled. God, I hoped the kitchen was stocked. I needed to eat, and I didn’t want to have to go all Donner on Nolan. Although if I had to eat somebody, I figured he might be pretty tasty… I allowed myself a morbid chuckle. Laughter really was the best medicine, and it put an extra spring in my step as I descended the stairs to look for the kitchen.
I walked through the living room, then through a fitness room, a study, and finally the kitchen, which was as large as I expected it to be. There was an enormous island in the middle of it with granite counter tops. Every appliance known to man was on the counters bordering the room along with not one, but two refrigerators, four ovens, and two stoves. Why my father had needed this kind of kitchen, I would never know. It was impersonal, more suited to a family of ten than a single man with no family at all.
