The Price of Inheritance Read online

  “You’re leaving with this guy, Carolyn?” said Carter, laughing. “Why don’t you just stay right here.”

  “I’m sure he had a very good reason to try to hit Mike,” I said quietly.

  “Yeah, like he’s some crazy military guy who had too much to fucking drink and likes to fight; that’s a great reason. He’s going to punch you in the face next. Stay in the house, Carolyn. Don’t be a fucking groupie.”

  I looked at Tyler, desperate for him to explain what happened to Hannah, but all he said was, “Why don’t you ask Mike? He knows well and good why I should destroy him and then do it again every day of his life. You just ask him.”

  He turned from me to Jane and said, “I’m sorry. I know how rude I’m being. I apologize.”

  He grabbed my hand and led me to his car. I waited until the door was closed to say, “You better tell me exactly what happened that night or I swear to God I will get out of this car right now and never talk to you again. Never. You embarrassed me! In front of my best friends.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” said Tyler, driving out of the gate and onto Bellevue so fast that his tires moaned on the turn.

  “I don’t live this way,” I said, looking at the locked door.

  He threw the gear into fourth and drove fifty-five around the turn. He drove expertly, away from Bellevue to Ocean Avenue past the new mansions, past the Foggs’ two houses, and parked his car just past the beach club, by the national park. He rolled down his window and ran his hand against his short hair.

  “I promised Hannah that I would never tell anyone what happened to her and I’m good on a promise, so I’m not going to say anything more about it. All I can say is, I would have killed that guy with my own hands for what happened to her and if anything like that happens to you, I will kill him.”

  My mind raced through scenarios but kept falling back on the same one.

  “How well do you know that guy Mike?” asked Tyler, his hand gripping the steering wheel.

  “I know him. He went to the same school as me,” I said, thinking about the way Mike Fogg used to own St. George’s when he was a senior there.

  “I don’t want you to ever be around him alone. Swear to me.”

  “I promise,” I said, repeating it twice.

  “Let’s walk to the water. I can’t breathe in here,” said Tyler, opening the door and grabbing a blanket from the back. I heard him slam his door and scream and I didn’t say anything. I wanted him to talk about Hannah. I needed to know everything. Who she was, where she was from, how long they were dating, how good she was at pottery, and how she was involved with the bowl that was tucked away in my house.

  I looked out at the cold black water and shook my head. “I don’t think so, Tyler. The rocks, they’re so slippery and you’re upset. We’re upset. It’s not the right time.” Newport didn’t have beaches the way Cape Cod or the Hamptons did. There were more rocks than sand and the water was dark and choppy, especially in the winter.

  “I’ll carry you,” said Tyler, reaching down for me when we crossed the road.

  We stayed at the beach for an hour, shivering in the night air. He told me a little bit about Hannah but he never mentioned where she was now or that she’d been an art teacher at St. George’s. All he said was that she had been independent. Smart. And then everything had gone wrong.

  I looked at my phone. I had three missed calls from Jane and one from Carter, but I didn’t call them back. Right now I just wanted this; I wanted him. When he parked his 4Runner outside my apartment, I let myself out the door, even though I knew he was coming to my side to let me out. I met him halfway and said, “I really want you to come inside.”

  He looked at me with his signature expression, one that let absolutely no one figure out what he was thinking, and followed me in. I grabbed us two beers from my fridge and sat down next to him on the edge of my bed. “I’m sorry about Carter and Jane. I’ll talk to them. It’s just that Mike is a friend of theirs, a good friend. But I’ll explain everything to them. They’ll come around and Jane will apologize for Carter.”

  “I don’t need an apology,” said Tyler. “I need to kick that guy’s ass until he’s barely breathing. He doesn’t come to Newport anymore, does he. I would know if he did.”

  “Mike Fogg only comes to Newport in the summer.”

  “Then I’ll kill him this summer.”

  “Please don’t do it around me.”

  “Seriously, Carolyn?” he said when he saw my face.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” I said apologetically. “I’m just a little shaken. That was the first time I’ve ever walked out of the Dalbys’ house mad. It feels strange.”

  “You worship those people a little too much,” said Tyler. “It’s weird.”

  “Trust me, you would worship them, too, if you knew them. You met Jane for an hour. I’ve spent most of my life with her. I graduated top of my class at St. George’s, but I worked my ass off to be there. I pretended I didn’t. I snuck out of my dorm, went down to the beach, and drank just like everyone else. But most of the time I would spill the beer out of the can, because I knew that if I wanted to get the grades, I would have to keep working instead of passing out. My first year, I would study in the bathroom so my roommate wouldn’t know how hard it was for me. Jane graduated top of her class, too, but she didn’t try at all. Because everything is easy for her.”

  “Why don’t you stop trying so hard for a while,” he said, compassion starting to creep in between his criticism. I thought of myself standing up on my folding chair and cheering on Jane’s graduation day as she walked elegantly in front of her St. George’s class as valedictorian, like it was always meant to be for her.

  “Life might be easier for you, too, if you just let it happen instead of trying to push and pull it in all these different directions,” said Tyler, moving his face closer to mine. “I haven’t known you very long, and I know I don’t know you like that. I know you’re pretty. I know I like you. And now I know a little more. Like how you’re willing to suck up what you want to make other people happy. On our first date in that restaurant, I’m sure, now, that you didn’t want to be on Thames Street in a place you used to go to as a kid. But you told me you liked it. And you had a good time, where some girls wouldn’t be able to have a good time because everything wasn’t going according to their premeditated plan. I know that you’re the kind of girl who likes to be kissed for a long time and one who can look past someone’s flaws. All you heard about me were terrible things, but you went out with me anyway. There have been girls I’ve been interested in who have been too afraid to go on a date with Tyler Ford. The womanizer. The guy who sent his only girlfriend to the ER. But you did. And you let me into your house and into your life and I hope you don’t regret it. I doubt one of those stuck-up Dalby girls would have done that.”

  “You haven’t met Brittan.”

  “I saw her.”

  He inched even closer to me and held my hand, not in a demeaning way, just in a way that meant he understood what it was like to be sick of your own personality. Maybe he was tired of being Tyler Ford, just like I was struggling with where I belonged in a part of the world dominated by women like Jane.

  “So you grew up with those girls? Right on that property?”

  “Yeah. In that smaller house we passed on the way in. Not like in a pup tent in their backyard. I was always thankful. I liked growing up in Newport. It was small and comfortable. Sometimes I look at that house and I’m surprised I got to live there. I’m still in shock.”

  “It’s good to be in shock. Keeps you feeling alive. I never thought I would be an officer. I’m still in shock about that. I enlisted when I was eighteen. That’s not the road to becoming an officer. But I was in Iraq so many times. I did decently. I got promoted to chief warrant officer, then limited duty officer, which made me a captain. Commissioned guys love rem
inding me that I’m still an enlisted piece of shit, but I’m pretty good at getting them to shut up. And I cared. You know some guys see the military as something to do. Don’t know what to do with my life, I’ll join the military. Can’t go to college, I’ll join the military. I guess that’s why I’m still here. No one expected that. Over ten years as a marine now when everyone expected me to get thrown out or blown up.”

  “You’re more than people think you are. Greg LaPorte told me you speak Arabic.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s Greg LaPorte, your bosom friend?”

  “No, just my regular friend. Do you really speak Arabic?”

  “A little, just enough to buy liquor and porn. I was in Iraq four times.”

  “You’re disgusting,” I said, trying not to laugh. I was dead certain that Tyler spoke enough Arabic to buy much more than liquor and porn.

  “So what do people in Wheatland think of you now?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t gone back in years. I’ve gotten pretty good at living here.”

  “So how good are you?” I asked, changing the pace of our conversation.

  “How good am I? How good am I in bed? Oh, I’m really good,” he said, laughing. “Haven’t you heard the rumors?”

  “Sure, but you told me not to believe the rumors. I bet you’re lousy.”

  “Lousy!” he said, lunging my way and pushing me onto the bed.

  “When you say the word, or even just half the word, hell, you can pantomime the word if you want, then you’ll see how lousy I am.”

  “And what if I said the word right now?” I asked, sitting up. I pulled my shirt and sweater over my head and let them fall on the bed.

  Tyler’s face completely changed. I thought he would immediately rip off his clothes, but that wasn’t his style. He pulled my half-naked body toward him so my head was in his lap, pulled my hair down, and started running his fingers through it. The long strands fell over my face and he picked me up in his arms, walked me to the other side of the bed, and laid me down, immediately getting on top of me. He put his hands on mine and put them inside his button-down shirt. He leaned into my ear and whispered, “You have no idea how much I want this.”

  I took my hands out from under his shirt and started to unbutton it. When I had done the first three, he propped himself on one arm, pulled it off over his head, and lay back on top of me, spreading my legs with his knee.

  “Are you sure?” he asked as he unbuttoned the top of my skirt and lowered it down.

  I nodded, unable to say anything, and he ran his hands over my skin, stopping at my nipples, listening to me moan. He relaxed his grip a little, leaned into me, and willed me to open my mouth a little wider. As I relaxed, he kept one hand on my breasts and moved the other one between my legs. He reached inside of me again, moving his fingers expertly, rhythmically until I was almost climaxing, and then he stopped.

  “Not yet,” he whispered, propping himself up again and telling me to take off his clothes. I undid his brown leather belt, his jeans, his gray boxer briefs. I looked at him hovering over me, almost a one-handed push-up, totally naked. I tried to move down the bed, to kiss his body, reach for him, put my mouth all over him, but he held both my hands down on the bed with one of his.

  “I don’t need that,” he said. “I need to make you need me.”

  “I do need you,” I said, moving my hips on the bed. I couldn’t move my hands, but I could move my body closer to him. “I can’t figure out why I need you, but I know I do. I feel like I’m begging you to love me.”

  He reached over to his jeans, pulled out a condom, and rolled it on. I looked at his body, huge over mine, and thought about what number I was. What number was I for Tyler Ford. Did it start with a one and end badly?

  He leaned down over me again and whispered, “You’re different, Carolyn. I swear to you. You are.”

  He let my hands go, told me to wrap them around his neck, and pushed himself into me. I let out a deep sigh, because it hurt, in the best way possible. I hadn’t had sex in months and as soon as he started sliding inside me, his entire body against me, rubbing against my skin and then turning me over, I knew I had never had sex like that. I held on to his back, to the strong body that so many other girls had held on to, and I didn’t care anymore. I let him push farther into me, run his hands hard down my arms, and then, much later, fall against me, resting on top of me.

  The next morning, I extended my lease for another month.

  CHAPTER 10

  On Monday morning I called William and told him I was going to be a couple of hours late.

  “Playing hooky with your new boyfriend? I don’t blame you,” he said. “But you know I’ll make you work late.”

  “I know. And you should. I’ll stay as late as you want me to.”

  It was 8 A.M. and I now didn’t need to be at the store until one. I put on the most nondescript outfit I could come up with—light blue jeans and a black cotton crewneck sweater with a gray peacoat—and got in my car. I pulled my hair back, wishing the color was a little less memorable. I hadn’t washed it in two days and had added a few dabs of gel to try to darken the roots. I fixed my rearview mirror and started driving west on 138, over two bridges toward Ten Rod Road. When the road curved through a state park, I looked out at the cool, placid lake but put my eyes back on the road in time to see the sign for Hartford.

  I had spoken to an operator at the art school on Sunday and told her I was a student who needed to finish a project with Hannah Lloyd. Hannah, she informed me, was not there on Sundays but would be firing pieces all day on Monday. I thanked her, declined to leave a message, and deleted the number from the memory on my phone.

  The Hartford Art School was on the southern side of the university’s campus, near the Hartford Golf Club. I first checked in on the main campus, showed them an old Christie’s ID, and said I was there to do research. The bored student attendant gave me a visitor’s pass that I was supposed to wear, but I dropped it in my bag as backup in case anyone asked. I got back in my car and drove to the Art School. I was ready to be nervous. When you’re nervous all the time, you know which situations will bring on that flush of adrenaline, but it didn’t happen. I walked into the Art School calmly and asked at reception for Hannah Lloyd.

  “She’s in the pottery studio,” a pretty girl said. She had a pleasant accent that I couldn’t place. “Do you know where that is?” she asked. I told her I did and headed to the second floor. I had studied a map of the campus the night before and knew exactly where to turn. I took five steps to the right when I got up the stairs, passing a few students holding blank canvases, and then through a double set of doors. The pottery studio was supposed to be the first door on my left, which it was. When I walked in, there was a woman at a desk in messy clothes, but she looked too young to be Hannah. I had no idea what Hannah looked like, but I knew she was old enough to work at a university. This couldn’t be her.

  “Excuse me,” I said, doing my best to sound pleasant. “I’m looking for Hannah Lloyd.”

  The woman looked up from what she was doing and smiled at me. “You’re looking for Hannah? She’s firing right now. But I can get her for you. Is she expecting you?”

  “I don’t think so. Someone recommended I speak to her.”

  “No problem, I’ll get her.”

  I relaxed my shoulders and tried to make my posture, my entire demeanor, look as calm as possible. A few moments later, the younger student walked out with a woman who looked a few years older than me. Maybe thirty-one, thirty-two. She had on an old pair of jeans covered in clay and a fitted white T-shirt, which wasn’t much better off. She was taller than me, a little heavier than I was, and very pretty. Her hair was long and dark and held back by just a few bobby pins. It curled in certain places and was straight in others, which somehow worked out to be very striking on her. As pretty as she was, it was hard not to notice a thin
scar that ran around the bottom of her chin.

  “Are you looking for me?” she said with a smile. “I’m Hannah Lloyd. I’m sorry, I’d shake your hand but I’m a total mess. Are you a student here?”

  “No,” I replied, smiling. “A friend of mine recommended that I see you.”

  “Oh, well, I’m afraid if you’re not a student you can’t use the kiln. Is that what you’re here for? Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “It’s Katie; my name is Katie. But I’m not a student here.” I didn’t know what had possessed me to use Tyler’s dead sister’s name but it just came out and I couldn’t take it back now.

  “I work in an antique store in Newport, Rhode Island, and while this doesn’t happen very often, we got a commission for a ceramic piece. It’s a historical piece and we’ve been on a hunt for it and we absolutely can’t find it. We thought it was in Boston but we came up empty-handed. The buyer is happy to have a copy instead, so we want to commission it for him, but we didn’t know the right person to talk to. I started doing research and I came across this department and thought you might be interested.”

  I could tell Hannah was trying to keep smiling, but her lips had dropped slightly. Maybe she could feel my lie. Or maybe my commission was making her think about something else.

  “What sort of piece is it?” she asked flatly.

  “It’s hard to describe. It’s a glazed bowl from the Middle East fashioned after Chinese porcelain, I think. It’s not too big, just about a foot across. I meant to bring a picture with me, but I stupidly forgot it. If it’s something you’re interested in, I could come back later this week with the photo and you could let me know if you think you’d be able to copy it. Our buyer is willing to pay generously. The piece is something that he’s very sentimental about.”

  I had stayed up for hours the night before deciding if I should say that the buyer was a man or a woman and had decided that I wanted to make Hannah squirm. So I said “him,” and I could tell that just the pronoun had made her uncomfortable.