I know that when this town hears that name, people praise how grateful they are for my family and the lodge. It’s a namethat alone brings tourists year-round, providing additional income for every local business.
To the world, the lodge is a lovely, family-owned venue with true integrity and strong family values. What they don’t know is that even the most well-respected families have their secrets.
And ours has a big fucking fat one.
I lean back in my chair and let out a sigh, pinching the bridge between my eyes.
If anyone ever found out what my father has done, it would ruin us.
All right, maybe not ruin us, but our image would be tainted and my family … torn apart.
My email pings, and I open it eagerly.
As soon as I read through it, I pick up the land phone and press one to call my sister’s office.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she answers.
“I need you to call the bakery and confirm the dates and cake flavors for the Carmichael rehearsal and reception,” I cut right to the point. The couple decided they didn't need a taste test for the bakery; they are confident it will all be perfect.
“Oh, hey, sis, can you help me with a favor?” she teases.
“Please,” I add.
“Why don’t you just call Brooke?”
I sigh. “She doesn’t want to discuss it on the phone because she doesn't trust me. Email is fine if she were efficient at it, but she’s not.”
Grace laughs.
“Bummer. Look, I helped you all summer with these kinds of things. It’s time you figured it out.”
And I can, with everything in this business except the bakery.
“I do have things figured out. I just can’t handle …”
“Brooke,” my sister finishes for me.
“Exactly.”
“I only need?—”
“Call your sister and brother and tell them to meet us in my office.” Henry barely steps into my office long enough to make his demand.
I open my mouth to relay the message, but Grace says, “I heard him.”
Within the next five minutes, Grace and Gavin are sitting across from Henry’s mahogany desk, while I stand behind them.
Henry Richford’s office looks exactly like what you'd expect from a nineties’ movie. Oak and mahogany everything. Built-in bookshelves behind it. Dark colors throughout the room.
The faint smell of a cigar from a meeting he might have had days or even a week ago.
Once upon a time, I'm sure it displayed authority. Now it just shows a man who can’t seem to adapt to the times.
A good reason, among many, why he needs to retire.
I cross my arms and wait for him to address us.
He’s taking his time, of course, to build the suspense, I'm sure. He’s always been one for theatrics.
