I sigh as I wring my gloved hands in my lap. It’s warm today, so they’re sweating. My whole body is hot and slick under my black lace dress and my matching hat. It feels like punishment for some reason.
It’s not the money that bothers me. I’m not sure I remember what it’s like to live on a budget, I was so young when Randall appeared. But I’m smart and I can adjust. I can figure it out. So it’s not the money. It’s the feeling I get about the whole situation. The lies about his illness. The last-minute changes to the will. It’s like he left me behind. Like he took it with him, after all. He took everything with him and left me here all alone.
My mind wanders to Fletcher. I think about him constantly. His home up in those mountains. His family. How happy he looked when he was there. A different kind of happy than when I saw him at the hotel. Why does he keep them secret? Why does he cheat? Why does he do anything?
I can’t stop thinking about him.
It’s like he switched places with Cole, who I have barely thought about at all in the past week. I can’t stand to look at Cole, to be honest. Even now, his name starts to make my stomach sick.
A man clears his throat behind me. “Do you need anything, Miss Preston?”
I don’t turn. I just shake my head.
“You can stay as long as you want. Do you need a ride home?”
I’ve been here for more than an hour, just staring at the grave. Contrary to movies, they don’t just fill the grave in after people leave. Cemeteries, it seems, run on a schedule just like anyone else. So the shiny black coffin in the hole in front of me only has those few symbolic handfuls of dirt on it. I can hear the machinery off in another part of the cemetery as it works to cover another recently deceased’s grave. I might be fucking up their schedule, come to think of it.
But who cares? I guess if there is a moment in life when you can be a little bit selfish about taking up other people’s time, it’s when you’re sitting at a cemetery.
“No, thank you,” I finally say. “I have my car.”
Everybody disappeared after they found out about the will. It’s not official yet, these things take time. But the writing is on the wall. Tiffy Preston was cut out. She owns one struggling luxury hotel in Nevada, and I’m sure they think I’m gonna get nowhere with that, since the whole place is in flux after Fletcher left and Chandler took the job in Vegas that Cole offered him.
Cole. I can’t even.
I can’t even with that hotel either. I just feel… defeated.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
I turn my head a little at the woman’s voice behind me, but not enough to see who it is.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
Clothing rustles as she makes her way up to the row of chairs in front of the grave where I sit alone. She takes a seat two chairs down and places a black leather attaché case on the red velvet cushion.
I stare at it, then glance up at her face and frown. It’s the woman who was having lunch with Cole last Sunday. “Can I help you with something?”
She smiles. And she’s very pretty with her blue eyes and blonde hair, her perfect face with her perfect makeup. No bloodshot eyes for her. No tearstains on her cheeks. Her hair is swept up in a professional do that is sophisticated and sexy at the same time.
“I’m a friend of Fletcher’s.”
I shake my head and look down. But I say nothing. I just haven’t got the energy.
“And he was going to show you this last weekend, but he…” She pauses, maybe trying to find the right words for what happened last weekend. “But he didn’t have time.”
“I’m not interested.” It comes out flat. Devoid of emotion.
“Maybe not.” She sighs. “But he thinks you should at least know.” She pats the case and stands. “When you’re ready.”
I have nothing for that. I don’t even have a slight curiosity about what that case might contain. A letter of apology? That makes me snort and the woman halts her retreat mid-stride, to see if I have anything to say.
No, more likely it’s more lies.
“He’s sorry,” she says.
“I bet he is.”
She sighs, letting out a long stream of frustration into air that is so damp from humidity, it probably clings to her breath. “He really is sorry.”
“For what?” I ask, finally looking up again. “What exactly is he sorry for?”
The woman gives me a little gesture with her hands. Something akin to, I’m not sure.
That makes two of us.
“If you have any questions, you can call me.” Those are her final words. She turns and walks off.
I stare at the case, then turn around in my seat and watch her retreat. The man in charge here is waiting a little ways off, his hands clasped together behind his back, like he’s standing guard.
I look back at the case, pick it up by the handle, and then stand. I peer over into the deep hole that holds the only father I ever knew and feel the sting of sadness as a final tear streaks its way down my cheek. “Goodbye, Dad.” My chin trembles. “I just want you to know, I love you. And I don’t care about the money. If you feel I don’t deserve anything, then there’s a reason for that. I’ll be OK.”
And that’s it. That’s all there is to say about it. He made his decision and I’m going to live with it.
I walk off, the heels of my shoes sticking into the soil underneath the deep grass with each step. I get my car, place the black case on the passenger seat beside me, and then start it up and drive away.
Chapter Thirty-One
At home, in my Preston Resorts-owned condo in Pacific Heights—how soon will they take this away, I wonder for a brief second—I lie in my bed. The AC is on, and the small one-bedroom condo I’ve called home for the past two years has allowed me the luxury of hiding under the covers, pretending reality is a dream and the dream is reality.
The phone rings, but I ignore it. It’s been ringing all day. There are at least ten messages on there.
The machine picks up and Cole’s voice meanders into my bedroom. “Tiffy, we need to talk. I know you’re upset about—”
He has no idea what I’m upset about. I barely know what I’m upset about. It’s more than the death. It’s everything that happened last week end all rolled up into one giant WTF.
“—but I have investors interested in the Landslide. I hadn’t had time to talk about the financial situation—”
“No,” I say bitterly, “you were too busy using it as your fuck palace to have a frank conversation with me about the hotel.”
“—they made a decent offer. So if you need the capital to…” He hesitates here, maybe choosing his words carefully. “… to clear up some financial obligations…”
Wow. That was tactful.
“… I can arrange for the sale. Just let me know.”
The message ends. The machine beeps. And then the apartment goes silent with nothing but the sound of the air-conditioning coming out of the vents.
I go back to sleep.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
When I wake the light streaming through the sheer white curtains of my bedroom tells me it’s late afternoon. But I don’t turn to see the time. The phone is ringing again. I listen to a strange voice claiming she is from the probate lawyers telling me that we have a meeting tomorrow.
I won’t be going, so I turn over and fall back asleep.
The next time the phone rings, the sunlight has that new-day brightness to it. This time it’s Claudio.
My eyes close and I pine for my mom.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
“Tiffy?”
Claudio has found his way into my apartment. I open my eyes and wait for him to find me.
“Tiffy,” he says, walking through my bedroom door. “Oh my God. Jesus Christ, girlfriend. I thought you were dead. Some dramatic suicide—”