“Mr. Aldridge, it’s Edmund Smith. I’m calling to remind you that you are scheduled to bring in your Lykan Hypersport tomorrow for service. We’ll have a loaner car ready for you when you drop it off.”
I sigh because I barely use that car. Maybe I should sell it and donate the money to some cause that might help make the world better, instead of having it in the garage with the rest of my cars. Mom might be onto something; my life is empty, and no amount of surgeries or hours spent in the emergency room teaching residents can help me fill the void inside me.
Since I have nothing better to do, I check the rest of my unheard messages, deleting each one as I listen and scribbling notes if they’re important. Then there’s one that freezes my blood. I check the time stamp on the screen, indicating that they called yesterday at nine in the morning.
How did I miss it?
I play it again.
“This message is for Hayes Aldridge. This is Jerome Parrish. I’m part of the legal team that handles the estate for William Tower Aldridge. Your father is requesting your presence. He has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and his doctor just recommended at home hospice care. Due to your father’s condition, your father is requesting your presence. Please call me at this number at your earliest convenience.”
It’s been years since the last time I saw William. Hospice care. He’s dying. I can’t believe it. We weren’t close, but … I’m confused as to what or how to feel. Am I supposed to visit him and make peace with him?
I think about Carter and how I ignored his illness, until it was too late. My relationship with my father is different; still, I don’t want to regret not seeing him for the last time.
Two
Hayes
I only knew my father by his absence. He was an entrepreneur. The Aldridge name is synonymous with businessman.
Back in the 1800s, the Aldridge family was part of the Gold Rush. At some point, they settled in Oregon, close to Mt. Hood. They founded a small town called Baker’s Creek where they—now he—own most of the town. I’m not familiar with the entire Aldridge history, but the sum of everything is that they’re filthy rich.
William Aldridge always wanted to be number one. His dedication to his businesses is impressive. If only he had tried to do the same as a father and a husband. If the man tells me that he owns the world, I wouldn’t be surprised. Still, when I arrive at his penthouse, I’m blown away by its extravagance.
I’m not sure what I expected to find, but this luxurious penthouse, in the heart of Manhattan, is impressive. The place sits atop a small, private, and highly coveted, white glove, pre-war building. As the doors of the elevator slide wide open, I step into a room perched high above the city, the floor-to-ceiling window providing a view of Central Park and the Hudson river. There are dramatic high ceilings and an impressive staircase that goes up five floors.
Too busy admiring the magnificence of this place, I don’t notice the man standing in front of me. He’s a half foot shorter than me, with salt and peppered hair and a slim frame.
“Welcome, Mr. Aldridge,” a man greets me. “I’m Jerome Parrish.”
“My father’s lawyer,” I confirm. He nods. “I’m Hayes. How is he doing?”
He lowers and shakes his head. “The nurse called me about an hour ago, when he died.”
I close my eyes as the confusion remains. My stomach feels inside out, and it’s not because of the loss of William Aldridge, but the lack of reaction.
Shouldn’t I be sad and grieving?
In my private practice, I’ve never lost anyone. I just set bones and perform ambulant surgeries for the most part. The days I work in the emergency room is when I have to deal with death. I don’t do it often, but when a patient dies I have to tell their loved ones that we did everything possible, but we lost them. I can feel their sadness and pain seeping through their pores.
Right now, I’m … not even numbed.
For fuck’s sake, my father died. I should be sad. But, how can I? I barely spent any time with him while growing up, because he was busy running his empire—and having other children. I’ve held too much resentment to even let him into my life—not that he ever tried to reach out to me.
Anger, that’s something I can handle. Sadly, this isn’t the first time someone related to me has died and I’m mad. In this case, it must be because my father never cared, and yet, here I am, having to deal with him one more time.
“Did you call his other children?”
“I’ve been trying to reach all of you,” he answers, walking toward a different elevator. “I only heard back from you. If you could please follow me.”
Of course, none of them gave a fuck either.
Why am I here?
I should leave, but before I do, I ask, “Does he have a wife or some other child who we might not know about?” I’m trying to find a way out of this situation.
“He only had one wife—Cassandra Huerta. That’s your mother, right?” He answers. “Technically, I could call her.”
“No, don’t bother her,” I bellowed, my voice echoing through the penthouse. “We will take care of him.”
As I follow Mr. Parrish, I dial Henry’s number—hoping he hasn’t changed it. The last time I spoke to him was when Carter died. We’ve never been close, but since he lives here, I think it’d be best if he steps up and oversees my father’s estate and funeral.
“Aldridge here,” he answers on the first ring.
“Do you know our father died?”
“Fuck, it’s you,” he says on a loud exhale.
Well, I’m not happy to hear your voice either, but we have shit to deal with, fucker.
“Where are you?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation civil.
“None of your damn business. What do you want, Hayes?”
“Our father died,” I repeat.
“I heard he is … I mean was sick,” he says casually.
“Shouldn’t you be looking after him?”
“I asked him the same question on my birthday each year while growing up. At least, you had him for a few years,” he says bitterly.
“The grass wasn’t greener on my side,” I tell him.
There’s a long silence, and I wonder if he feels like me. Our father doesn’t deserve us, but we always tried so hard to get his attention. We should be sad, but this situation brings up the resentment we’ve carried since we were young.
Finally, he speaks, “Ultimately, I don’t give a fuck if he’s alive or not.”
“Well, he died,” I say, in a monotone voice. “We’re his only living relatives, and you live in the same city as he does. Would you mind dragging your ass by his penthouse, now?”
The doors of the elevator open on the third floor to a big library. It’s an open floor with wall to wall bookcases and large windows facing the park. It might be an office because there’s a desk in the middle.
“You’re in town?” he asks in a surprised voice.
I walk to the window, staring at the park. Mom, Carter, and I didn’t visit Dad often when he used to stay for work, but he lived in a different building. The place was on Park Avenue, and it faced another building.