Finding Reese (Tremont Lodge Series Book 1) Page 15

  “Summer fling,” I say.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s right.”

  “You liked her a lot?” I ask, not sure I really want to know the answer.

  “I did, and I thought she liked me, too, until I found out she slept with Lawson the night before she was to go back home.”

  “That’s horrible. How did you find out?”

  “He texted me a picture of her naked body in bed with him.”

  “No! Who does that?”

  “She denied the whole thing, said she’d been set up, but she was bullshitting me. I know what I saw.”

  “Do you still hear from her?”

  “No. Last I heard she was getting married to some guy from school back in Texas. I should thank Lawson, actually.”

  “Why?”

  “Because maybe the time wouldn’t have been right to meet you.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me closer again. “Do you think we can be done talking about Lawson for a while?” he asks. I answer with my hands, wrapping them around his neck and straddling his waist with my legs. I know that no matter what happens tomorrow, tonight will have been the most alive, the most Reese, I’ve ever felt in my life because I no longer have to hide behind my secrets.

  Chapter 16:

  A light knock on the door at 6:30 in the morning sets the rest of my plan into motion. I’m towel drying my hair while Finn opens the door for Bree.

  “Was there any problem getting it?” I ask, reaching for the bag that Bree is holding.

  “Nobody saw a thing,” she says. I take out the picture frame that used to hang in the old restaurant on the mountain. In the picture I no longer see my father with a stranger, but I see Lawson’s mother being too familiar with my married father while my mother tended to her baby in the hotel room below the mountain. I wonder if Lawson and I played together that week at the lodge, if our meeting was a risk our parents were willing to take for their tryst.

  “Thanks so much, Bree—for everything you’ve done for me.” Bree reaches out for a hug and whistles in my ear.

  “Keep that tune in your head if you need it today,” she says, and I smile, thinking I’ll need the lyrics of Brave to run on automatic replay all day long. I promise to text her later as she hurries off to work.

  Finn is staring at me staring at the picture in my hands. He doesn’t have to say anything for me to know how worried he is. “I’ll be fine,” I say. “Lawson’s sleeping at this hour…guaranteed. He’s most likely hungover from partying with his friends. Helen told me that Mr. Oakley would meet with me if I said I was a guest, which isn’t totally a lie since I once was, after all.”

  “What do you expect to do with the answers he gives you about what happened in 1998? And what if he refuses to answer you?”

  “He can’t, Finn. It’s my last chance. And I don’t know how I will react to his answers until I hear them. Anything is possible, I guess.”

  “Why don’t you see if Helen will tell you? Try again.”

  I shake my head no. “She needs this job. She’s already told me more than she had to, and I’m not going to ask again. Plus, I’m not sure she has all the answers anyway.” Finn pulls me close to his chest. His hands wrap around my waist as he rests his chin on my head.

  “Be careful, Reese. I’ll be mowing on the grounds today. My phone will be on vibrate.”

  “Are you sure you can handle that much excitement in your pants?” I ask. He doesn’t even laugh but tips up my chin and kisses me softly on the lips.

  “Remember to breathe. Be confident.”

  “I’ll be in touch.” I sling my purse over my shoulder and turn up my phone’s volume before slipping it into my purse. I’ll be recording the conversation with Mr. Oakley, maybe for my safety, maybe so that what he has to say can be listened to again later if it doesn’t have time to sink in the first time I hear it. Plus, it gives me a shot of courage that I need. I’m whistling Sara Bareilles’ lyrics as I walk out of Finn’s room with him behind me.

  “Wait, Reese. There’s something I need to tell you.” His brow wrinkles with concern, and his dimples disappear.

  “Tell me later,” I say smiling. A final kiss and I set off across the lawn, confident and sure of my intent.

  The quickest route to Mr. Oakley’s office in the lodge was mapped out last night with some late night web browsing on Finn’s computer. Oddly, the administration offices are located on the third floor with a view of the air conditioning units and garbage dumpsters. From personal experience, there is no way to make a view of a garbage dumpster something to write home about. I take the stairs to the third floor and find his secretaries’ desk in the middle of the main hallway near the elevator bay. She seems surprised to see someone coming from the direction of the stairs. She’s way too beautiful a young woman to be wasting her time catering to the needs of the Oakley men, and I wonder if that is, in fact, a requirement for the job.

  “May I help you?” she asks, way too sweetly.

  “Yes, I am sorry to inconvenience you, but I’m a guest in the lodge, and I have a concern I’d like to share with Mr. Oakley if he’s in. I understand from his website that Tremont Lodge prides itself in personal service. How much more personal can you get than to share your concern with the boss himself?” I laugh nervously and take a deep breath.

  “Certainly,” she says. “May I have your name and room number please?”

  “Um, yes. My name is Paula Pincoski, Room 901.” Thank you, Helen, for providing me that gem of information. Paula should be knee-deep in her mud bath at the spa right about now. The secretary, who’s wearing a nametag that says Georgia, picks up her phone to speak with Mr. Oakley. I survey the hallway. Large pictures of the outside of the lodge line the walls on both sides. There has to be pride in being a part of this empire, its rich history bringing so much joy to so many people. How ironic that such a place could also bring such heartache.

  “Mr. Oakley will see you in just a moment, Paula. His nephew will be leaving shortly.”

  “WHAT?” Panic seers through my body.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You did mean that you wanted to meet with Mr. Ted Oakley, right? Because if you’d rather meet with Lawson, I’ll just let him know. Either one is really fine for fielding concerns.”

  “NO! I mean, yes, Mr. Ted Oakley is fine. Excuse me, but I need to use the bathroom. Can you direct me there—quickly?”

  “Certainly. The bathroom is the first door on the right down this hall.” She points in the direction from which I came from the stairs. “When you are done, Mr. Oakley’s office is the next room. I’ll tell him you’ll be right with him.”

  “Please do,” I say, trying to compose myself before running to the bathroom. I pull the door shut behind me and turn the deadbolt. Then I press my ear to the door. It doesn’t take long before I can hear Lawson, plain as day on the other side.

  “Dammit, Ted, I’m doing the best I can. Cut me some slack. It was a late night.”

  “If you don’t start taking this job more seriously—.”

  “Enough! I hear you. You don’t need to repeat yourself.” He stomps toward the elevators. I wait until I hear the ding of the door before I open the bathroom door. That was too close.

  I turn the handle of Mr. Oakley’s door. “Excuse me, sir?”

  “Oh, Paula, please come in. Have a seat.”

  “Thanks,” I say, surveying the room before I sit down. Just like his suite on the penthouse floor, his office is sparsely decorated with only one picture on his desk—Lawson’s mother. I clear my throat because I’m not sure how I’m supposed to start the whole, And by the way, can you tell me what happened to my parents in 1998 since this is the last place they were both seen alive? conversation. I reach into my purse and turn on the video feature to record our conversation. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  “Can I get you something—coffee or water?”

  “I’ll take some water, please.” He pours each of us a cold glass of water from a pitcher that is nearly overflowing from too
many ice cubes.

  “You look vaguely familiar. Have we met before?” he asks.

  “Uh, no,” I lie. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “What is it that concerns you today, miss? Georgia said you had an issue you wanted to share with me.” He smiles and sits on the top of his desk, going for the, I’m the casual, cool, but very much in charge owner look. It’s now or never. It’s the chance I’ve been waiting for my whole life.

  “I’m not really sure how to say what I have to say, sir, but I think you have some information I need to get on with my life.”

  “I don’t understand.” He folds his arms in a defensive motion, perhaps preparing for battle, but he doesn’t look much like a general. In fact, he’s trying very hard to keep his left hand from shaking by clasping it with his right hand.

  “In the summer of 1998 I was a guest at Tremont Lodge.” His face drops, the color draining right before my eyes. I continue. “I was five, and from what I’ve gathered working here this summer under the college staff program—.”

  “You’re not a guest?”

  “Not this time. From what I know, my family vacation may not have been what it appeared to be. It seems my father may have been seeing another woman behind my mother’s back, and something bad happened to that woman—.”

  “Oh my God. You’re the girl from the library.” Mr. Oakley looks white as a ghost right now. Both hands are clearly shaking.

  “Yes, we met in the library.”

  “What do you want?” His eyes narrow into slits as he bores a hole though me.

  “I think you might have known that other woman.” I point to the picture of Lawson’s mother on his desk and hand him the picture from the old restaurant at the top of the mountain. “That woman is in this picture, too. And my father is sitting next to her. The little girl dancing is me.” A hush falls over the room as Mr. Oakley studies the picture. I watch his face contort in a battle to remain composed. Then he drops the picture, frame and all, into the trash beside his desk. As much as I hate what I think may be happening in that picture, I feel like another piece to my past has been discarded—and I am angry. “Tell me what happened to that woman and what happened to my dad and why my parents abandoned my brother and me. I need answers, Mr. Oakley, and I think you’re the only one who can give them to me. I deserve to know the truth.” He moves slowly to the other side of his desk and sits down, dropping his head into his hands. “Please, Mr. Oakley. I was only a child. It wasn’t my fault whatever happened.”

  “Reese.” My name rolls off his lips like he’s spoken it before. The hair stands up on my arms.

  “How do you know my real name?”

  “It’s complicated—so complicated. Did your father send you? Are you wanting more money?” I shake my head, confused.

  “I don’t want money. I only want the truth. And what do you mean about my father? Do you know my father? Is…is my father…is he alive?”

  “As far as I know. Why wouldn’t you know that?”

  “Mr. Oakley, I was abandoned at Tremont Lodge in 1998. I never saw my parents again.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” he says. “He actually took the money and ran,” he mutters under his breath.

  I try to stop the tears from coming, but the more confused I get, the harder it is to breathe, and the harder it is to breathe, the more my eyes sting with tears. “Do you have…a paper bag?” I whisper. He looks alarmed and starts opening his desk drawers and rummaging through papers. He finally dumps out a Jimmy John’s sandwich bag from on top of his desk and hands it to me. I take deep breaths until my head isn’t spinning anymore.

  “This isn’t good news, Reese. There’s nothing good about any of it except…” He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “I promised myself I’d never talk about that night again. But how can I go to my grave with this secret when you’re here?” He’s talking to himself, wrestling with something so buried and so personal, I begin to wonder if I am, in fact, not brave enough to hear his words. Brave. I close my eyes and hear the melody in my mind. “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Trying to calm my nerves. It’s…therapy.”

  “Is that where this is all coming from—therapy?” I think of Helen and my promise not to reveal her as the source to much of my knowledge. I shake my head yes. His eyes narrow into slits as he stares at me, locking eyes with me. I blink and look away. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I just can’t believe you’re standing here—in front of me. You’re…you’re really here.”

  “I don’t understand, Mr. Oakley. Please tell me what I need to know.” I take a deep breath.

  “Do you know that I am a sick man, Reese?” I shake my head no. “Cancer is a son-of-a-bitch.” I take another drink of water. “Maybe the timing of your visit is exactly what the Good Doctor above is ordering. My eyes beg him to stop talking in circles and tell me what I’ve come to hear. “I paid your dad a lot of money to take a dirty secret with him. I guess some people do keep their word, especially when motivated by the mighty dollar.”

  “What secret?” I ask. Mr. Oakley sighs.

  “In the summer of 1998 I was involved with a woman named Nadia. She was the love of my life.” He looks wistfully at the picture on his desk. “At least I thought she was, but it seems she’d been having relations with other men, your father being one of them. But truth be told, I would have forgiven her. I’m not so sure your father wasn’t more interested in getting back at his wife—your—than he was in sleeping with Nadia.” I take a sip of water and grasp the edges of my chair. “Reese, you must know what it’s like to lose something you loved so deeply that you’d do anything to make it right?”

  “Yes. I’d give anything to have my family back the way I imagine it once was.”

  “Your mother—.”

  “Frannie,” I say, clutching the letter F charm on my necklace. He watches me carefully.

  “You have the necklace?”

  “What?” He walks over to my chair and bends down in front of me, touching the necklace. It makes me uncomfortable.

  “Sorry. I gave that necklace to Frannie years ago, many years ago now. We…it’s so complicated.”

  “Please,” I beg.

  He pours himself another glass of water. “Frannie and I dated when she was seventeen and still a senior in high school. I met her at a summer camp for the performing arts. I was a counselor. Yes, for one brief summer I threatened my father that the last thing I wanted was to run this old lodge, that I was going to go to Hollywood and be a movie star.” He laughs. “That all changed when your mom got pregnant—with you.” I think I’m going to be sick. I grab the Jimmy John’s bag and put it over my mouth. Breathe in. Breathe out. “I know it’s a shock. Believe me, when you’re a 28-year-old guy who gets a 17-year-old girl pregnant and your father’s the owner of a multi-million dollar empire, as far as Northern Michigan goes, well, you understand the problem I was having. My parents paid her hush money to never contact me again, and I went back to my life sentence at the lodge. I heard that she got married to her old boyfriend a few months later, but I’m sure he thought he was the father.” He stares out the window to the dumpsters below, where things not nearly as dirty and discarded are being dumped compared to the words falling from his mouth to my ears. But I fill in the blanks.

  “And she brought me to meet you the summer of 1998—when I was five.”

  “Yes, and when Nadia found out I’d had a child out of wedlock she was furious. Of course she had Lawson already…do you know him?”

  “Yes. He’s your nephew.”

  “Not really. It’s easier to have him refer to me as uncle, but I’m not biologically related to him. Still, he’s like a son. Nadia wanted Lawson groomed to be the heir of Tremont Lodge since I didn’t have any children—that she knew of. She was angry with me for being deceitful and your father was angry when he found out the real reason for the trip to the lodge as he assumed all along that he was your father. It was easy to understand why they gravitated
toward each other. I guess they met during ballroom dance lessons at the old restaurant up on the mountain. That’s one of the reasons I shut that damn restaurant down years ago. Frannie and Nadia had a big fight the night when Frannie caught your father and Nadia being too cozy.” He points to the discarded picture in the trash can. “Anyway, somehow the two women ended up on the chair lift together. Frannie swore it was an accident.” Mr. Oakley shakes his head from side to side, “but I don’t know….” He picks up the picture of Nadia on his desk.

  My lips are trembling as I formulate my next question. “Did you kill my mother?”

  “Oh, Reese, heavens no. I didn’t kill her. I never had any ill will against her. I just didn’t want…I couldn’t have you in my life—not after all this time. My father would never have forgiven me, and at the time I was still considered a desirable bachelor.” He laughs again. “I suppose my reputation as a curmudgeonly, bitter man started the day my dear Nadia died. So, I promised myself I’d honor her in death by caring for Lawson as if he were my own, and someday he’d take over Tremont Lodge. Only—I’m not so sure I’ve done a good job.”

  “Then what happened to my mother?”

  “What do you remember about that day?” Though no revelations have been revealed in my mind, I recount Helen’s story of that moment when she found Blake and I alone in the room. He shakes his head in agreement after I tell him the story I’d been told. “As your father told me, he had his doubts about Nadia’s death, too. And that particular day he’d been mulling those thoughts over with alcohol, a lot of alcohol I’ve been told by insiders who saw him at a local bar in town, not to mention the beer bottles that were littered around the room after—. Anyway, as a lot of people did back then, your father carried a gun. He said he held out the gun to Frannie and told her to call the police and tell them that she’d pushed Nadia to her death. There’d been a struggle. The gun went off. She died.”