Chapter 15 Harrison
HARRISON
Even if I’m making progress, I need to get some space. A drive off the estate is what I need. Wind in my hair will help cleanse my energy. It’s also becoming hard with her around.
I am burning too much energy not taking her, and not doing what I feel like I need to do.
And claiming her as mine.
I need her, but I cannot afford the distraction. It is either her or the world’s biggest media, entertainment and advertising conglomerate.
I have wasted half my twenties bedding women and making them come for me.
Enough is enough.
Pulling on a grey suit and coat to hack my frustrated and angry mood, I walk down the marble steps, hands deep in my pockets.
I had breakfast in my private apartment, and it is time to get out of Dodge.
As I walk into the lobby, I hear her voice. “Where you going?”
“Out,” is all I say.
I turn, and she is leaning against the marble staircase in her denim mini and another cute top.
“Can I come?”
“No, you may not.”
“Why?”
“Look, I need to think, and to get something.”
“And you can’t think with me around?”
I am about to say, “No, I fucking can’t,” when my cell rings. I walk outside the chateau and pause at the old convertible Jaguar.
As I listen to the voice on my phone, Samantha walks out. The bridge construction workers take a sudden interest in her. Several look over, raise peaked caps, and smile.
She looks hot in the skirt. Her scruffy long hair is also an issue.
As she crosses her arms and waits for me, I listen. I then rub my neck, finally giving in.
“Sure, tomorrow, what time?”
I end the call, and I look back at the construction workers, then Samantha. “Change of plans, get in.”
“What?”
“Get in,” I command. I do not want her around those thugs working on the bridge, and I do not want them inside her. No way in hell.
As I go to open Samantha’s door, she yells and races inside.
Walking around, I start the cold engine. I pull on my Ray-Bans and slide on fine black leather racing gloves.
It is a clear day, but I like to drive fast on the old country back roads.
Also, because the bridges are being fixed, we will need to take an old internal estate road through the main forest. Then, find the old road to get onto the main public road system. It is a complex way to get off the estate and really just for emergencies.
I see her damaged sedan in the distance. It is under a tree and still needs to be fixed. Making a mental note to ask William to get someone on it, I check my watch.
Samantha races out the front door and slides in the pebbles.
The crazy woman then climbs over the low door, her long, hot legs near my face. “Yikes, sorry,” she says, swaying in the old Jag while standing.
She grabs my shoulder, and then she drops down next to me in the old race-styled seats.
Her hot butt slams down, like it should be slamming down on my cock.
“Hold on,” I command.
Pebbles fly as we do a one-eighty. I then gun the old engine, and Sam squeals with delight. Too much delight and too much emotion.
Ten minutes later, as the two horses charge alongside, we head deeper into the forest.
“Not going to bury me out here, are you?”
“What?” I yell into the wind, unable to hear.
“Not going to kill me?”
“Likely, but not today.”
We share a look, then she smiles and grabs me, excited to have wind in her hair. I shake my head as we blast through piles of leaves. The alone drive is not playing out how I expected. In saying that, whatever is happening, I feel relaxed, and that was the goal.
For once, I seem to be going where I need to be.
But not alone.
As we get closer, and another mile into the woods, I feel serious. I don’t know what to say, so without saying anything, I pull over and get out. She will work it out.
Like always, and like my sister Amanda did for our grandparents when we were young, I walk to the wildflowers near the lake. I then use the old scissors, the same we had always used. They are antique silver ones that likely have their own story.
After cutting an armful of flowers, enough for the entire family, I walk over to the graves.
Samantha is now out of the car, keeping her distance. She watches respectfully in silence, likely now understanding.
It has been three years since the plane crash. The small plane crash that claimed the lives of my father, my mother, and my young, sweet, sweet sister. And three years since my life ended.
As I try to split the armful of wildflowers into suitable bunches, and while awkwardly using one hand to hold the old scissors, I feel a hand pull the scissors away.
Samantha then backs away and returns to lean on the front of the Jaguar as she watches.
For some reason, I don’t mind her being here. Maybe because we’re becoming friends, and she respects space, some of the time. Other times, WTF!
She also seems to understand when I’m down and need to be alone.
Kneeling at my sister Amanda’s grave, I say a few words. I then do the same with my mother’s and father’s.
After, I walk past my grandparents, and several uncles and aunts. It is a large group, and I am the last in the family.
All this here, the family… Will end with me.
As I inhale and try to clear my mind, I walk back along the tree line to the Jaguar. That is when I see Samantha with a few wildflowers. She is kneeling at Amanda’s stone with her eyes closed.
Keeping her head down, she mumbles away, likely telling her about Charlie. It shocks me at first, and I anger.
I then find calm. It feels nice to see someone else share energy here.
Amanda was always a pure and beautiful girl, far too young to die, and like me, extremely private.
She chose to have few friends, like me, and few have come to say a word.
As Samantha finishes talking to my sister, she stands and shivers. Without thinking, I remove my long overcoat and wrap it around her. I do not want to discuss the action or smile, so I walk away.
I am also feeling it more than ever.
The darkness.
Being the last of the family and having the ability to have children but not doing so, weighs on me. There is another thing. I liked it when she put wildflowers on my little sister’s gravestone, and I liked it too much.
To hide the fact, I’m touched and to keep my emotions from Samantha, and the world, I walk away from the Jag.
I walk up to the old fashioned three-seater under the oaks.
The stunning view looks across the estate.
It also looks across the flat, calm lake.
I think about life, how I am so messed up, and if there is anything to it.
Maybe I should be more social, maybe I should join every club going.
Force myself to talk about sports and weather, things I do not care about. At all.
Maybe I should force myself to be the happiest guy around.
The thing is I am not. I only enjoy deep conversations, and I’ve never learned to love. The fact is I’m afraid of falling in love.
I also know, for whatever reason, I am broken. I am not at all the perfect guy.
I am far, far from it.
As I walk back towards the sports car, I think about the last time I saw my family.
Then, with the back of my black leather glove, I wipe my cheek. No one can see that I cry. No one in the fucking world.
I’m close to the old Jaguar convertible when I notice her in the driver’s seat. She looks up, and we share a moment. “Get in.”
For once, I do as I’m told. I sit in silence and hand her my warm black leather gloves. She reluctantly takes them, realizing her hands will be exposed to the winds. Mine can be hidden in my pockets.
As she drives us around the forest and towards the small town, we look about in silence.
Finally, as we take a wide bend, and she opens the sports car up, she pats my shoulder. It’s nice, and I have so little human touch, it stands out. It means a lot.
We start to talk about the wildlife, the area, and its beauty.
Samantha tells me it must have been great to have grown up here.
“It was,” I explain as I remember back, “but then, my sister and I were sent to boarding schools around the country. It all changed. We stayed close, but growing up here, around nature, had a simplicity and a purity to it. It was perfect, fun, and life was different.”
We drive in silence, then Samantha looks over. “Tell me about Amanda, Harry. What was she like?”
“She was the best, and she was the purest. And much smarter than me. She sacrificed for others, and she used to save wild animals on the estate. Small birds. Ducklings. Even wounded deer. She was also a wise, old soul.”
“And you’re not?” she asks, turning to me, her scarf flying in the wind.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I really have no idea who I am anymore.”
There is nothing to say as we drive past a water wheel on a corner.
“That’s bullshit,” Samantha says, looking over. I give her a look, but my face is flat.
“You’re far stronger than you know. And far more capable.”
“You don’t know much about me,” I say, “but, thanks, I appreciate the kind words.”
Samantha drives into another corner fast. As she powers out of the corner, she pushes the old sports car hard.
She really can drive, and she knows the limits of the old beast.
“I know you’re a good person to William and the other staff,” she says. “You run a complex family, whatever you want to call it. The staff believe in you. They all love you.”
I breathe deep. Maybe she has a point.
“You seem to be successful with work, and I’m sure your parents and Amanda would be proud.”
I let the cool wind blow my heavy energy away, and I sniff behind my dark glasses. What can I say to that?
“Thanks. That is kind of you.”
We share a look, then I point to the right. Sam takes the fork, and we power on past oaks and ducks flying above.
“So, what about you, Miss Samantha?”
Samantha inhales long and slow. “Now, that is a complex one, Master Harry.”
I laugh. “Try me. What is good for the goose is good for the gander.”
Sam laughs loudly and pushes my car hard. That I like. Her skill and confidence are hot.
Like her.
We finally pull over at the old restaurant, and we have hot chocolates fireside. Samantha relaxes, and eventually, she sighs, willing to open up.
“Well, my family moved around a lot when we were kids. Dad did construction contracts for energy companies, and every two years, we seemed to be uprooted.”
I watch her as her fingers move on the cup. They do not settle.
“We never wanted for anything, but I guess money was tight. Mom and Dad seemed to argue more and more, and finally, they split. Dad went back to Texas to work, and Mom, my brother, and I moved to LA. Mom taught piano, and well, we continued in school.”
Listening, I put more wood on the fire. The owner walks past and smiles. She had known my parents, and she is a kind older woman.
“So, where did you study cuisine?” I ask, sitting back at Sam’s side.
“I flipped burgers as a teen to make money and help financially. Then I left school and worked in a kitchen. Each year, I kind of changed restaurants. I ended up working under a hot French chef in LA, and he pushed me hard. I did that for three years, then he sent me to Paris for a year. After that, I started to get job offers. Good offers.”
As I put my feet up, the fire crackles loudly. “So, why would you of all people come to work in a remote place and for some old, grumpy bastard?”
Samantha laughs, and I relax. She really is uncomplicated. “You’re not that old.”
I smile. She really does have sass.
“Well, I was offered jobs back in London. Also in Paris, but I’m over it. I don’t know. I was considering the affordable meal nutrition model and figured time away from cities may help. I was also seeing some A-hole, and I wanted… no, I needed, to get away from him.”
We share a look, and I don’t like it, or him.
“In any kind of trouble?”
“Yes, no! Not now.”
She avoids my eyes, and I lean in close. “Here’s a bit of history you don’t often hear. Fires in ancient times were used to torture people. To get the truth out. I’m just saying.”
“What the actual fuck?” she asks, turning.
We both laugh freely, and it feels good. Really good. “Thanks,” I say.
“For what?”
“I don’t know, this, talking, driving. I guess I needed some company.”
Samantha nods and inhales. “Me too, I guess.”
We then catch each other’s eyes, and both look away.
“Come on,” I say, standing. “Let’s get you home.”
“Home?”
I pause. “I mean back.”