5. Jake
Jake
Then I realize the mortifying truth, not only of where I am but who was with me.
I fell asleep.
I. Fell. Asleep.
With Mackenzie Rhodes giving me a massage, her long legs wrapped around my waist and her elegant hands working magic on me.
I fell asleep.
It would be funny if it happened to anyone else.
It’s not funny because it happened to me. I roll to my back, stare at the ceiling, and swear with the enthusiasm I share for special moments like this one. The woman who has been haunting my dreams came back for another round and I fell asleep.
I’ll never forgive myself for this.
Chances are pretty good Mackenzie won’t either.
She’s gone, of course. The wine is recorked and in the fridge.
The glasses are washed and put away. Once again, it’s like she was never here.
Although I can live with delusions like this, especially the part before I pass out, I’d much rather wake up in bed spooned around her back with her hair in my face.
No, that’s never happened. She’s always gone when I wake up.
No doubt about it. I am losing my edge.
I put on the coffee, then shower and shave again. It’s day two of Operation Executor and I have so much work to do. That’s enough to give me purpose. My boss gave me the standard three days off, with reluctance, and I’m not dumb enough to push my luck on this.
Just with Mackenzie.
I could roar with frustration at myself, but instead, I knot my tie and head out.
First stop, Richard Bradshaw’s office.
I like Richard Bradshaw.
It’s not because he was probably the closest thing to a friend that my father had, that’s for sure.
It’s not because he’s well-groomed and well-mannered, polite to a fault even.
It’s not even because he’s good at what he does, or admits when he has to double check on some unfamiliar detail – or even that he always follows through.
No, it’s because he’s organized. I have nothing but respect for anyone who can run a meeting, stick to the point and/or keep projects on track. Survive one year in any job when you have way too much responsibility for however many hours in a day you work, and you will come to share my appreciation.
An estate the size of my father’s is never going to be quick to settle.
Being his executor is, in fact, a second job and one I don’t have time for.
On the other hand, I didn’t want anyone else to muck it up and I am best qualified for the task of all my siblings.
My father chose well in that, at least. I’ve planned a strategy based on my initial review of the files and I share it this morning with Richard.
He tactfully tweaks my plan, adjusting for the urgency of some items.
On a notepad, he makes a list of what he’ll need for the next component of my plan. I’ve been in his office for fifteen minutes and am pretty much ready to go. I know that’s because of Richard’s efficiency.
I like him.
I also appreciate him making time to review the big plan with me now, when I’m in town.
I’m packing up my files when I realize Richard is watching me. I glance up and he takes that as the invitation it is.
“He was proud of you, you know,” he says quietly. “I doubt Patrick ever told you as much, but he was.”
This is too much. “You don’t have to add storytelling to your services, Richard, but thanks for the thought.”
“He was.”
I look him in the eye because I cannot stand when people feel compelled to pretend the dead were better people than they were.
“No, he wasn’t.” There isn’t a shred of doubt in my mind.
“He was never proud of any of us, because none of us measured up, in his view, and he never tired of telling us so. It’s no accident that most of us put as many miles as possible between ourselves and Empire as soon as we could. ”
“It’s also no accident that you’re the most ambitious group of siblings I’ve ever known.”
“I suppose that’s the polite spin to put on it.” I hear the bitterness in my own voice. I usually hide it better, but I’m not going to stand by – much less salute – as dearly beloved Patrick is celebrated as a fine father.
He was an asshole.
I learned from the best.
“Is it so wrong for a father to want his children to strive?” Richard asks mildly and I know he doesn’t have the first understanding of what it was like to grow up under my father’s influence.
I’m glad he doesn’t know that. I don’t think anyone should experience what we did.
“Of course not.” Even though I’ve agreed, Richard waits and despite myself, I continue.
“I could argue that it is wrong, though, for a father to find fault with every single achievement, no matter how large or how small. I could argue that it scars a child to be criticized constantly, to be berated and belittled and mocked for his failures every single day of his life.” Oh, clearly, I’m annoyed by the very suggestion that my father was a good man.
“Surely it wasn’t that bad.”
“Surely you have no idea.”
He invites me with a gesture, and such is my state of frustration with myself, the universe and everything that I break my silence.
“Any one of us could bring home a test with a 99% grade and he would demand to know what we had screwed up this time. There was always a sigh of forbearance. We always knew that we were great trials to him, and possessed of none of his brilliance.”
“And a perfect score?”
I quote with my fingers. “It’s about time you made an effort.” I shake my head. “No, there was no winning with him. No one ever had a success worth celebrating. No one ever was told that he or she had done well, or was praised in any way. It was hell growing up in that house.”
“But you moved out almost twenty years ago.”
“Of course. Who wouldn’t? But it didn’t change anything with him.
I could win the Nobel Prize for literature, make the Top 30 Under 30 List, be the first astronaut to visit Saturn, be the richest entrepreneur in Canada and have five adorable kids, and he would ask when I was going to stop wasting my time.
” I give him a hard look. “No one could win.”
Our gazes hold for a long moment and I think he sees my conviction of this truth.
“I wondered,” Richard says finally, putting his file away. He glances at me and his expression has changed. He looks curious. “And what’s different now?”
“He’s dead.” I say this with more vehemence than it deserves, but we’ve moved beyond polite chit-chat and social platitudes at this point.
“But is his influence gone?”
I almost laugh. “My father hasn’t had any influence over me for a long time.”
“Really? When was the last time you congratulated yourself on an achievement? When was the last time you celebrated your own successes?”
I want to say something quick and dismissive, but I can’t – because Richard is right.
I might have left Empire and my father behind, but his whisper has lived on in my thoughts, insisting that nothing is enough, that nothing will ever be good enough, that the only way forward is to earn more, achieve more, stretch harder for the brass ring.
That would be the one that keeps moving further away.
The one that will always keep moving beyond my reach.
I stop in shock, then turn to consider the mild-mannered man who has shaken my universe hard. Richard smiles – a sad smile – and nods just a bit. My reaction has proven him right.
How did I not see this sooner? How could I have missed my father’s fingerprints all over my life?
The joke is that I thought I’d gotten away.
I might have left, but I took him with me.
I have to sit down for a second to process this. I do.
And Richard, possibly the kindest and most gracious man of my acquaintance, waits until I raise my head again.
“Patrick was a demanding man,” he says, still speaking in that quiet way. “And a very private one. He would never have told anyone how he felt about anything, unless he was enraged, and I think that cost him a great deal. He was very alone by the end.”
“I thought you were his friend.”
Richard shrugs. “I might have thought so once, but he did and said things that made that impossible. He paid me well. I think I was more of a consultant than anything else.”
I never thought of Patrick as alone, much less of him being lonely. It’s astonishing to think of him having any shortfalls – because he would never have admitted to any. “What about Candace?”
“I don’t know. Patrick spent a lot of time at the country club in recent years. I can’t imagine their marriage was what it might once have been, but then, I am known to have very little imagination.” His smile is self-deprecating now.
I almost laugh.
He clears his throat. “Coffee?”
“No, thank you. I should go.” I wave my folder. “On to the next mountain, then back to the city tomorrow.”
Richard nods and gets up to open the office door for me. “Think about it, Jake,” he says as I draw alongside him. “You know what you have now, but what do you really want? When are you going to reach for your dream, whatever it is?”
“Things would have to change,” I say without meaning to confess anything.
It’s not going to be possible to work sixty hours a week plus be my father’s executor and do anything else other than sleep.
Never mind that I’m pushing a little harder at work in the hope of scoring that promotion in the fall.
“What’s the name of Merrie’s bistro?” Richard asks.
“The Carpe Diem Café.” It’s a trick question, I realize as soon as I answer.
“Yes. Seize the day. It’s a good reminder. There is no time like the present to follow your heart, Jake. That’s one lesson your father never learned, but you can do better.”
“Learn from his example, even if it’s what not to do,” I say and Richard chuckles.
“You’re a smart, conscientious young man, Jake.” He leans closer, his gaze bright. “You didn’t deserve to be convinced that you’re unworthy of your dreams.”
Unworthy.
And just like that, Richard Bradshaw stabs a dagger right into my heart, then gives it a twist.
“Forget that bit,” he continues, “even if you remember everything else.”
I spin out of his office, outrage mingled with a sense of being exposed. I fling myself into my car and just sit there for a minute, seething.
How dare Richard be right? I barely know him and yet he’s put his finger right on a truth I’ve been evading all my life.
I’ve evaded it well, too.
The thing with constant criticism is that it does make you reach higher – but at the same time, it gives you the conviction that you are not enough.
Worse, you’ll never be enough. Worse again, no matter how many accolades and triumphs you pile up, you’ll always be a failure – and you’ll know it in your heart, just the way your perceptive father does.
How the fuck did Patrick worm his way so deeply into my mind?
More importantly, what can I do to evict him forever?