Lane
Four years later
Fuck, it was cold up in the mountains. The damp air hung all around me, its cold moistness winding its way through my suit jacket and seeping into my bones. Either I was a pussy or my blood had drastically thinned after only a few years of living in Florida. Growing up in this shit up north, I thought I’d be prepared—at least physically—for a quick business trip close to home in the fall weather.
Mentally, I still despised what the weather represented, but this was going to be an in-and-out straightforward meeting with a medium-sized account.
I can do it.
After landing at Pittsburgh International Airport, I rented a car and went straight to the cemetery. Being the responsible grandson, I made a quick visit to my grandparents’ graves before hightailing it out of the city to my destination.
No, I didn’t bother to see my brother. He was up to his usual shenanigans, sleeping with countless women, searching for something that didn’t exist, fucking up in his business over and over again, and hiding behind being the poor little boy who grew up without a mommy and daddy.
Unlike me, he wore his mixed emotions proudly, flaunting his highs and lows, and his ambivalence to the meaning of life. I kept mine cloaked in a facade of success and purposefulness.
As I pulled up to my hotel and stepped out of the car, the temperature felt like it dropped twenty degrees since leaving the city. Running my hand through my thick hair, I took in the palatial edifice looming over me, a crown jewel in the middle of cow country with enormous cathedral towers.
They will make me a pretty penny.
Pretending not to be affected by the cutting wind, I stood tall, motioning for the valet. Taking my keys, he asked, “Checking in or just here for dinner?”
My hair blew in the breeze, and I was forced to push it back once again with my cold fingers.
I wanted to reply to the stupid valet,No, I’m checking out and heading back to my big house in sunny Florida, complete with a revolving door of plastic women, but that would have been out of character for the revered Lane Wrigley—if you believed my reputation in this business.
Keeping my cynical thoughts to myself, I simply said, “Checking in,” and headed to the front desk.
At reception, I didn’t have to announce myself. They were waiting with bated breath for me, fully expecting the man who was reportedly changing the hotel industry with an advanced software tracking system for guests, supplies, payroll, and purchase orders. My software package was a “hotel manager’s best friend and a hospitality franchise’s knight in shining armor,” according to the latest review in the hospitality industry rags.
I wondered why the valet hadn’t been put on alert, but realized he probably expected me to arrive in a limo rather than a rented SUV.
Once I entered the business world, I kept my personal life to myself and rarely revealed anything about my past to my clients. I never saw a reason to drop clues as to where I grew up—either before or after my parents died. They were almost one and the same, both with their gray, downright depressing climate and nature. And both were in the past.
I didn’t need anyone’s sympathy or pity. I’d moved on, learned to live with my regret and sins by omission, but not with the changing weather. It was and always would be a trigger for my depression and guilt, and just admitting that stole my man card from me.
The lanky blonde with a big smile at the front desk yanked me out of my reverie when she greeted me by name. “Good evening, Mr. Wrigley. Welcome to the WildFlower,” she said as she pulled her shoulders back, practically shoving her oversized tits in my face.
All I gave her back was a curt, “Thanks,” while maintaining my distance.
“We have the Sunflower Suite all ready for you, sir.” She’d continued to smile, but it dimmed somewhat as she processed that I wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
“Sounds good. Can I still order dinner at this time of night?” I inquired politely like the gentleman I’d been raised to be.
“You sure can.” More pearly white teeth were displayed, along with a small flip of her hair added for good measure. Just in case I wasn’t getting the message.
So not going there.
I took the key card from her hand and once again said, “Thanks.”
“My pleasure. Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked, leaning forward slightly to give me a better view of her tits.
Oh, dear God.
“No, thanks. Good evening.”
I refused any help with my bags and headed to the Sunflower Suite for what was sure to be anything but a bright and sunny evening. Not only did memories of my childhood plague me, but every time I came back north, I thought abouther. The brunette, gorgeous from a distance, but toxic to herself and the world around her. The girl I could have,should havestayed and helped, but deserted in a fog of fear. After all, who was she to me? Nobody.
Bess—that was her name.
