7. Orson
7
Orson
It’s been a rough week.
Stubbornness runs in our family, and it didn’t skip a generation when it got to me. Lily had given me an out. But I just couldn’t do it.
It’s more than stubbornness. It’s also pride. The moment she saw my reaction to her suggestion, I battled against any sympathy or understanding she tried to show me. I’m a Donovan, and Donovans don’t back down.
The decision to speak in front of the entire town didn’t come without its challenges, but talking to a friend helped. A really good friend, actually. A guy who has been my friend for a long time.
“Hey man, it’s been months,” Jake Capaldi said when he answered the phone. “What are you up to?”
“Same old, same old, Jake. Have you got some time? I could use your advice.”
It is, in my view, a twist of irony that Jake became a psychologist. All the way through high school, we had each other’s backs. He was as much an outcast as I was, and we were an unlikely pair at first glance.
My family was stinking rich, and his father sold cars. His mom was a cleaner, and mine went to the nail salon, hairdresser, and spa every week. Our backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. But as kids, we didn’t see that. We saw friendship first, and an ally in each other second.
Smart as a whip, Jake graduated from college and then went on to do what he had always talked about doing: helping people who had suffered, just like him.
Now, he has a very successful practice in the city. Maybe Willow Creek did us both a favor. Maybe their hatred motivated us to make it.
When we met for coffee, we threw our arms around each other in a manly hug. Jake is shorter than me, but he works out and fills his suit with solid muscle.
“How’s business?” I asked.
He gave me a beaming smile, his teeth white against his swarthy skin. “Better than ever. I’m doing speaking events now.”
“Huh,” I said, sounding impressed. “Then you’re exactly the man I need to speak to.”
He cocked an eyebrow, pouring cream into his coffee. “I hardly think the great Orson Donovan needs my advice.”
“Oh, well, then you’re going to love what I have to tell you,” I said conspiratorially.
I wish I had videoed his face because he must have used every expression known to man as I told him what I was doing. There was shock, amazement, confusion—but more than all the other emotions, disbelief was the one he expressed the most.
When I finished, he heaved a sigh. “Maybe I can arrange for your grandfather to have a little accident,” he joked. Being Italian, Jake always fantasized about his family having some connections to the mafia.
I smiled and shook my head. “Knowing the old goat, he’d survive just to spite me.”
Jake burst into laughter, and I joined him.
He took a sip of his coffee and looked at me over the rim of his cup. “So, you’re going through with it. You’re going to speak to the whole town?”
“I am,” I said, not feeling quite as confident as I sounded.
“Good.”
I was surprised by his reply and showed it.
“I think it will be cathartic for you, Orson. You never had anything to prove back then, just like you don’t now. But maybe your grandfather has a point.”
“You think I’m a coward, too?” I blurted.
He shook his head. “Not at all. I do think you have unfinished business, though. That town gave your family a really hard time, and if I’m honest, I’m surprised you’re as put together as you are.”
“It’s all a mask,” I joked.
Jake didn’t laugh. In fact, he looked at me like I’d just hit a nail on the head with a hammer I didn’t even realize I was wielding.
“You think I’m faking it?” I gasped.
“We’re all faking it, Orson. Look around you.” Jake made a wide gesture. “No one has it all together. No one. Not me, not you, not even Lily Harper. What’s she like now, by the way?”
I struggled to come up with an answer right away, and then Jake grinned at me. “That cute, huh? Well, she always was a pretty girl.”
“She’s one of my clients,” I said, defending an argument that had not yet been made.
“No. Willow Creek is your client,” Jake countered, that knowing smile dancing at the side of his mouth.
“We’re going off the subject. What do you mean, cathartic?”
When we finished our coffee, I was a little wiser than when we started. Jake talked about the psychological effect of what we’d both experienced and how that presented in our lives. For us, it drove us forward to succeed. Other people who had suffered the same were not so lucky.
Then he hit me with forgiveness. Something I balked at immediately.
“It’s not for them, Orson. It’s for you,” he had said. “Carrying this anger around at people who’ve done you harm is like drinking poison and thinking the other person will die. You’re only hurting yourself.”
I know he had a point, but I don’t know how ready I am for that yet. He did say it wasn’t easy. Now there’s a shock.
When I walked into the gym at my old school where ghosts of my past still lingered, I was armed with a little more knowledge than before, and undoubtedly, it helped. I’m not a man who lacks confidence; I couldn’t have gotten this far without it. But Jake was right. We all wear masks.
Lily watched me warily from the back of the gym. I smiled at her once or twice. She worries too much. If she isn’t careful, she’s going to get premature wrinkles on that pretty forehead of hers.
Two days later, I’m sitting in my office, going through the numbers, when my phone rings. I look at the caller ID and roll my eyes. I could ignore it, but he’ll just keep calling. Begrudgingly, I press the green icon.
“Hello, Pops.”
“Orson,” he replies. “I need to see you at the house.”
The idea of the two-hour drive drains me just thinking about it. “Can’t we discuss it over the phone?”
“I’ll see you when you get here,” he says before hanging up.
I stare at the phone. “I take it that’s a no, then?”
As usual, I have to drop everything. My grandfather is not a patient man, and whether it has to do with running the business or not, he expects me to rearrange my schedule for him.
After buzzing through to Gloria, my personal assistant, and telling her to hold all calls and rearrange my two o’clock appointment, I make a call. There’s no way I’m making the two-hour drive again. I’ll take the helicopter and be at the estate in less than twenty minutes.
The helipad is on the roof of Donovan Enterprise's building, and once I’m strapped in with my headset on, the pilot takes off. I stare down at the city streets, like multicolored streams with thousands of cars trickling through them. Buildings of all heights and shapes pass beneath us, and soon enough, we’re leaving the bustling metropolis behind and heading across the country.
“You made good time,” Pops says when I enter his office.
“I drove really, really fast.”
Pops smirks before waving me over. “Come and sit down. And don’t give me that garbage about you driving for two hours. The whole estate heard you landing.”
Reluctantly, I sit. I can’t be bothered with arguing, and besides, I want him to get on with whatever reason he’s dragged me up here.
“How’s the project going?”
I know he knows the answer already. He’s kept in the loop with everything that goes on in the business, but more than that, I know that he’ll have a more vested interest in what I’m doing.
“Everything is on track. All the investors are on board with the finalized plans, and the contracts are all signed.”
The old man looks at me inquisitively. “And Willow Creek?”
I shrug. “What about it?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t play the fool with me, Orson. Tell me how things are going down there.”
I know exactly what he’s asking, but I purposefully and stubbornly refuse to satisfy his curiosity. “Great. The town is excited. There’s a sense of relief at getting the help they need.”
“And?” he presses.
“That’s it really,” I reply indifferently
“Really?”
“Really.”
Pops gives me a long look, and then, leaning back in his chair, he says, “Very well.”
I’m surprised he’s giving up so easily. It makes me feel uneasy. He always has something up his sleeve, and this time will be no different.
“So, they are all accepting the proposals? No exceptions?”
“None that I know of. It’s only been a few weeks, though. There’s still time for someone to protest.”
“Well, all that is good news.”
He better not have brought me all the way up here just for this simple conversation. This could have been discussed on the phone, and I could have made my two o’clock appointment.
“And what of the other stipulation?” he says.
I’ll be honest; I’ve been so caught up with my emotions about returning to Willow Creek, and what it’s taken out of me, that I haven’t given the stupid idea of getting married another thought. Pops will not want to hear that, though.
“I’ve been a little busy.”
“Too busy to consider your inheritance? Your future hangs in the balance, son. I would have thought that fact would be sitting at the forefront of your mind.”
Like I don’t know that already. It’s like he’s testing me to my limits. Sending me back to the place he knows will rile me and throwing me a curveball just to keep things interesting. Maybe he’s just bored and being highly entertained by my misery.
“I’ll get right on it once I’ve finished saving the world,” I spit.
Pops smirks derisively. “The clock is ticking, Orson. This venture will continue well past the deadline. I suggest you become adept at juggling both problems at the same time.”
“Are we done?” I say, pushing myself from the chair. “Is this all you brought me up to talk about?”
Pops smiles amicably. “Pretty much.”
“Unbelievable,” I huff. “You talk about clocks ticking, and you have me wasting my time with a conversation that we could have had over the phone,”
“Yes, but then I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye and see what is really going on.”
This comment angers me even more, and without another word, I turn on my heels and storm across the room. When I get to the door, I spin around and glare at him.
“There’s this new technology, Pops. It’s called Zoom. If you left your mausoleum once in a while”—I nod my head at his office—“you might find the times have changed.”
I spin to leave, but I halt at the sound of his voice. With my back to him, he says, “It’s not the same as being in the room with a man, Orson,” he growls. “And your inheritance is no small thing. Time is running out. I suggest you start doing something about your little dilemma.”
On the flight back to the city, I’m livid. What does he expect me to do? Pick a woman off the street? But then a crazy idea hits me. It’s completely nuts, but I’m desperate. And besides, it might kill two birds with one stone.
Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I text Lily Harper.