He shook his head at himself. He was emotionally closer to Wren, but given the state of his relationship with her, she had no right to question him about Macy. He also knew that he needed to keep Macy out of his decision about his father’s estate. He was fairly sure doing so would scream he didn’t have serious intentions about her, but the fact was, he hadn’t spent more than a couple of minutes ever contemplating more than “fun-for-the-moment” with Macy. Maybe he could be ready for more in the future, but this thing with Wren had to be dealt with first.
“Ugh!” he groaned, wishing his head would shut the fuck up. “What a cluster fuck!”
He glanced down at the screen of his phone again and after another second’s pause; Caleb sent the text, praying to God Macy would get it in time to stop her from getting on a plane.
Afterward, he got up to start stripping off his clothes. He needed a shower, and maybe he’d try to take a nap. God knew; he was tired. His eyes were burning and he was in desperate need of a reprieve from his overactive brain.
The white envelope containing his father’s letter glared at him from atop the two other larger, manila ones; conspicuously sitting there, sucking at him like a black hole he had no hope of escaping.
Caleb pushed it from his thoughts. He got up off the bed and crossed his strong arms, curling his fingers around the hem of his T-shirt, he started to pull it over his head with both hands. His belt was barely unbuckled, and he was kicking off his shoes when his phone started ringing. He knew without looking that it was Macy. Reluctantly, he reached for the phone, which was still on the bed where he left it.
“Yeah?”
“Babe, you don’t want me to come?” Her voice held a slight whine.
Caleb winced slightly at the endearment. He’d never thought about it before, but now it seemed awkward and uncomfortable. He closed his eyes at the same time he began to rub them both with his thumb and index finger of the hand not holding the phone.
“Well,” Caleb began; searching for the words that would accomplish the two things he wanted; to keep her from showing up and keep from hurting her feelings. “There’s just a lot of mundane paperwork to deal with that will take longer than I expected, and I see no point in you wasting a week of your time, too.”
“Caleb,” she sounded bored and annoyed, now. “We knew you’d have the will and properties to deal with, besides the funeral. So, why are you changing your mind now? I want to be there for you.”
He finished pushing his jeans down with one hand, and then kicked out of them, awkwardly, while still keeping hold on the phone. “I’m not changing my mind. I told you that you didn’t need to come in the first place, remember?”
“But you shouldn’t be there alone.”
Caleb’s instincts told him to tell her he wasn’t going to be alone, but he clamped his mouth shut, not ready to get into a “Wren” discussion. He felt irritated that Macy didn’t listen to what he needed from her. She was just another thing weighing him down at a time when he had too much other shit to handle.
Macy continued when he didn’t speak. “I can help you, and besides, I’m already on my way to the airport. I’ll get in late tonight.”
Well, that’s that, he thought cynically. Great.
He’d met Macy in a bar not long after his failed trip to New York for Wren’s birthday, and you could say she’d been a useful diversion for a while. They went out a few times, and he genuinely liked her; she was smart, sexy, and in San Francisco. Macy worked for a venture capitalist, so it wasn’t long before Caleb had spilled all of his dreams of starting the automotive firm, and then, Macy was plotting how she could help him. But, Caleb didn’t just want to design cars, he wanted to build and sell them; that would take a lot of green, as in millions or billions of dollars, and he would need some major investors to partner with him. It seemed like fate that he’d met her.
That changed after Macy found out that Caleb was sole heir to Lux Cosmetics. She wanted to stop working on the business plan they were putting together for the pitch to her firm, thinking it would be a piece of cake for Caleb to simply ask dear-old dad for the cash.
She hadn’t liked his answer. Caleb wouldn’t consider crawling back and asking Edison for that kind of money. He’d rather saw off his right arm.
Caleb never planned on asking his father for one red cent, preferring to work his ass off, and Macy was a little late to the party to change his trajectory. He put in long hours at a private design firm that outsourced for several global OEM automotive manufacturers, and also offered luxury interior conversions for individuals, the healthcare industry, or various government agencies. His work ethic and creativity had gotten him promoted quickly. He made a good living and he’d acquired a lot of valuable experience, but his dream was still to start his own company. Caleb acknowledged that his drive probably came from his dad, but he did so, begrudgingly.
Caleb sighed, putting the phone on speaker and walking into the bathroom. It was huge, with a separate, glass enclosed shower, a big, jetted tub, and Italian marble from floor to ceiling. “Alright.”
“Don’t sound so enthused. I’m just trying to offer support.”
Caleb reached in and turned on the shower. “I know. I appreciate it. What are friends for?” He interjected, knowing it would probably make her mad. The fact was, he’d rather she not come and if pissing her off worked to that end, so be it. He could mend that fence later.
Normally, he would welcome Macy’s input, but he was aware she’d see his father’s untimely death as a way to finance the company. And, if Wren wasn’t a factor, he’d probably be on board, but Wren was involved, and Caleb didn’t need, or want, any input from Macy on this decision. She couldn’t be objective, even if she tried, and the stakes were too high. “Listen, I’m gonna hop in the shower, eat, and try to crash for a few hours. We can talk more when you get here.”
“Okay. Bye, friend.” Macy sarcastically emphasized the word then abruptly ended the call.
Caleb proceeded with his shower, letting the hot water beat away the stress from the back of his neck and shoulders, then quickly soaped down his body and shampooed his hair. The fresh scent and heat relaxed him slightly; the soapy water running down the hard muscles of his torso and strong legs.
He decided to forgo shaving until the following morning, and wrapped a large white towel around his waist, taking another, and attempting to rub as much water out of his hair as possible. Leaving the towel hanging over his shoulder, he turned on the lamp on the nightstand near his bed then went to his dresser and picked up his father’s letter.
The bed was big and took the weight of Caleb’s muscled frame easily as he flopped down on it. It was plush and expensive, like everything in his father’s house, and his exhaustion made him thankful for its comfort.
He ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter, staring at it with a sense of dread. The folded sheet of paper was wrapped around another smaller, sealed envelope that fell out onto Caleb’s lap.
He scooted up higher on the bed and piled one luxurious pillow on top of another before leaning back, and setting the second envelope aside, unfolding the main piece of paper. The words were handwritten in his father’s measured hand, upon the fine linen stationery of Lux Cosmetics that matched the envelope. Caleb ran a hand over his face, before beginning to read.
Dear Caleb,
I know you and I haven’t had the best relationship since your mother died, and for that I am deeply sorry. I realized that I forced you into situations and to do things you didn’t particularly want, and it is my wish to make amends; even at this late date.
It’s too late for you and I, Caleb, but it’s not too late for you and Wren. Obviously, I knew how you felt about Wren, or I wouldn’t have been able to leverage her so succinctly. Again, I’m sorry, but at the time, I thought I was doing what was in your best interest and what your mother would have wanted; ensuring you received the best education money could buy.
As you know, Lux is publicall
y traded, however, I own the majority share. It’s important to keep the majority so that the board can’t oust the family in a hostile takeover, so keep that in mind. Jonathan will be able to offer valuable guidance should you need it.
There are two versions of the will; one gives all of my shares in Lux, and the three properties to you in full. The other splits everything equally with Wren. This puts the fate of the company, as well as your future with Wren, completely in your hands, son.
I’m hoping giving you this last, admittedly major and albeit late, choice, will somehow let you define your own future. Choose wisely.
The other envelope is an overdue explanation. You deserve one, though you may not want it. That’s another choice only you can make. I’ll understand if you’d rather burn it than read it.
I am proud to call you my son.
With Love,
Dad
Caleb let the letter drift to the top of the rich silk of the burgundy comforter, huffing out his breath in angry retort, his throat thickening in protest to the emotions welling up inside his chest. He’d be damned if he’d shed tears for a man who would wait until it was impossible to make amends, to even fucking try. Was this some sort of sick joke?
Way to be a prick till the end, Pop, Caleb thought wryly. Thanks.
He was somewhat relieved that whatever was in the other envelope wasn’t glaring off this same page; but the letter he’d just read was wholly unnecessary since Jonathan had already laid it all out in their earlier conversation. Caleb had a brilliant mind and it didn’t take a brain surgeon to realize that the crux of it all was in the other envelope. It would hold the hammer to the proverbial nail.
At least, he didn’t have to read it if he didn’t want to.
His phone began to ring and he reached for it, glancing down: it was a number he didn’t recognize.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Caleb, darling, I’m so sorry to hear about your father.”
Caleb visibly cringed. He was shocked by the voice on the other end of the phone, though he shouldn’t have been. Veronica didn’t come off any less bitchy or annoying despite the pseudo attempt at a sympathetic tone.
“Ah! Step-monster! I wondered how long it would take you to start sniffing around like the vulture you are. You certainly don’t disappoint,” he retorted sarcastically. He could almost hear her claws come out through the open phone line.
Veronica laughed nervously, ignoring his sarcasm. “Now is that any way to be, given the circumstances? I just wanted to offer my condolences to you and to—,” she stumbled a bit before she continued. “Um, Wren. I know she and Edison were close over the past few years.”
Obviously the bitch was fishing and Caleb realized that his stepmother had absolutely no idea whether Wren was in Denver or not. He almost laughed out loud. His disdain for the woman was barely contained when he spoke; his tone harsh. “Fishing is for seagulls, not vultures, Veronica. You get nothing about Wren from me, and no, you don’t get any of the money, either. Buh-bye, now.” He hung up on her without filling in the blanks then glanced down at his smart phone. “No Caller ID” was the only identifier, making it impossible to block the number. “Bitch.”
He threw on some old flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt he found in one of the drawers and meandered upstairs in search of the delicious aroma coming from the main level of the house. His stomach was rumbling and he realized he hadn’t eaten since that morning.
When he found the kitchen, Mrs. Jones was at the stove frying something, and the counter was lined with pies and breads.
“Hey, Jonesy,” Caleb murmured and the old woman turned, a sad smile flashing across her face.
“Oh, Caleb!” She put down what she was doing and rushed around to hug him. His arms wound around the plump older woman to return her embrace. “Are you hungry?” Jonesy pushed back to look up into Caleb’s face.
“Starving.” Caleb nodded, letting her go and then went to the refrigerator and pulled it open. The shelves were lined with trays of salads, fruit and vegetable trays and more desserts.
“Wow. Look at this spread. Are you expecting everyone within the Denver city limits to come to the wake? I didn’t think dear-old dad was that popular.” Caleb knew he sounded scornful, but he felt little need to put on a façade for the housekeeper, a woman who’d seen him grow up and knew every nuance of what went on in this house.
Jonesy turned, pulling up the front of the apron that was tied around her waist and used it as a towel to wipe off her hands. “You know me, dear. I like to be busy. And your father was very respected, Caleb. There will be a lot of people coming to his funeral. We have to—”
Caleb interrupted her. “Put on a show?” His face twisted and he shook his head, leaning into the refrigerator in search of a beer or something else to drink. “No beer,” he huffed. “How could I forget beer was beneath Edison Luxon?” He lowered his voice mockingly. “Single malt scotch and Dom Perignon all the way.”
Jonesy pulled the skillet off of the hot burner and shut off the heat angrily. “Caleb.” Her tone was stern. “Your father may have been less than he should have been to you, and no one can make you respect him, but the man is dead. He built an empire for you.”
Mrs. Jones wasn’t just an employee of his father’s estate; she’d been a fixture in the house for Caleb’s entire life, and so she wasn’t overstepping her place in her tone. She and Jonathan were the closest thing to family he had left.
Caleb found a bottle of water and let the door of the refrigerator shut. He shrugged, looking at the woman. “I don’t want it. Do you think money and mansions can justify everything he did?” His brow dropped into a frown as he began to unscrew the lid off the plastic bottle, and shook his head. “It wasn’t for me. All it did was assuage his guilt, and he deserved to keep every last shred of it for how he turned his back on Mom, Jonesy.”
The old woman sighed and started to pile food from one of the containers on the counter onto a plate. She turned and put it in the microwave, and pushed the button to make it start. As it whirred into operation, Caleb lifted the lid on one of the other containers and fished out a thick piece of buttered French bread, taking a giant bite.
When Jonesy sat the plate piled with steaming lasagna and a smaller one with a fresh Caesar salad on the table, Caleb, still munching on the bread, took a seat behind it, set his water bottle down and picked up the fork she provided. It looked and smelled delicious. Macy never cooked, and it had been years since he had home-cooked meals.
Jonesy looked hard at Caleb for a few seconds; as if she were having a mental conversation with herself then pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. “He made sure you were educated; that should mean something. He was good to Wren after you left. He’s responsible for her career.”
Jonesy knew the pain that Edison suffered after the loss of his wife, and though it was no excuse for abandoning his young son, she understood that kind of pain. Her own husband and baby girl had died in a car crash when she was a young bride, and no pain had ever compared to it. Caleb had suffered too, but he would surely suffer more if he couldn’t find forgiveness in his heart.
The food was good, but something inside Caleb didn’t want to hear anything good about his father. Especially, when it came to Wren. He stopped eating and put his fork down on the plate with a clang.
“She was responsible for her career, not him. He kept me away from—” Caleb stopped at the shocked look on Jonesy’s weathered face. She had to be in her mid-seventies by now, and he felt regret at his tone. “I’m sorry.”
The old woman reached wrinkled hands across the table, both of them taking one of Caleb’s. He felt claustrophobic and wanted to pull his hand away but resisted out of respect.
“I know you don’t want to see any good in your father, dear, but it was there. He was a man filled with pain, Caleb. When he lost your mother, it broke him.”
Caleb’s throat tightened against his will and it was all he could do not to scr
eam at Jonesy not to plead Edison’s case, and that it was a lost cause, though if he were honest, as a grown man, he could understand that. His piercing blue eyes met older ones. “I lost her, too. I was twelve years old, and I lost my father, even before she died. We both lost him, and she didn’t deserve that, Jonesy.” Caleb’s throat tightened and tears blurred his vision. He didn’t like showing weakness. He blinked twice and cleared his throat. “Even if I could forgive him for abandoning me, I can’t when it comes to Mom.”
Jonesy patted Caleb’s hand, and he pulled it away as gently as he could manage.
“I know, honey. It was wrong of Edison to do things the way he did, and I don’t agree with most of it. He did realize after a time, Caleb, and he tried to make amends but by then, you were on a rampage. You didn’t make it easy on your father. I know he had regrets and he tried to make up for it in the only way he knew how.”
“How was that? By making a shit ton of money and forgetting I existed? By bringing that plastic whore into my mother’s house?” Caleb’s anger returned and he resented anyone trying to make his father look like a white knight; about anything.
Jonesy sighed and shook her head sadly, sitting back in her chair. “No. By making sure you got a damn good education and by building up the company for you like your mother would have wanted. Caleb, you’re so bitter. Edison married Veronica because he thought it would be best for you to have a mother, not because he loved her. He couldn’t love anyone after Celine.”
“I thought you knew everything, Jonesy! I never wanted to leave Denver; Dad blackmailed me to go to MIT. He made me leave Wren in the clutches of that psychotic, evil witch, and I couldn’t even tell her why. Do you know how hard that was?”
“Caleb, Wren was taken care of. Your father made sure she had everything she needed and she was safe. He even got her into Juilliard.”
Caleb stood and picked up the plate with the lasagna, shoved the water bottle under his arm and reached for the salad plate.