professional ones of him in a suit.
"Cameron? We work together."
"Are you kidding? Why have you never told me about him? He’s a hottie."
"Right now isn't the best time to reflect on how hot the dead people's child is, Kase."
"There are stories here about him being the next in line to take over the company," she said. Were they already publishing those? Oh my god, did he even know yet? Imagine, I thought, finding out your parents were dead because Anderson Cooper called you to get your official statement.
"That's the plan," I said. Brett and I had been talking about that when we had heard. A few years ‘til his ascension had turned into a few days in the blink of an eye.
"Apparently he's been lined up to take over from his father since before he even graduated college."
"That's how these things work," I stated simply.
"Like the way Prince William gets to be king when his dad dies? Can you imagine getting news like that? I wouldn't even know what to do. Hey, Kasey, your dad is dead, but good news: you get everything."
Cameron. From what I had heard from his dad and Brett, he had been, well, reluctant about the new position waiting for him at the head of Porter Holdings. There was no time for that now. No ten-day trial run with Brett at his side and his dad a few time zones away. No few years to prepare him for the task that lay ahead. I won't even have to speak to him anymore, I realized with a mixture of sadness and relief. Sadness because of the circumstances but relief because truly, I had had nothing useful to say to him. I had even less than that now.
Losing your parents and simultaneously being given the reins to a billion-dollar company, employing hundreds to run alone—I couldn't imagine what that felt like. No matter what I thought about Cameron, he didn't deserve this. Nobody did.
Chapter Five
Cameron
"I couldn't believe the news when I heard. I called Harris immediately to make sure I wasn't seeing things."
"It was definitely a shock—to all of us."
"And you," Mrs. Mattern said, cupping my face as she said it. She had known me and my parents since I had been in diapers, which was the only way she was getting away with it.
"I'm coping, Mrs. Mattern."
"Oh," she said sadly, tilting her head a little, the way people did when they were looking at puppies. "It is just you, isn't it?" I wanted her to stop, but my parents’ funeral wasn't the right place to explode into a fit of rage, no matter how much I wanted to. If I did, it would just be to get these motherfuckers off of me and away from my parents, so I could go the fuck home.
It was Tuesday. Four days since the accident had happened. Allegedly happened, for all I knew, I was probably asleep, dreaming or dead too. There is no way, I kept thinking. But then another person would come up to me and say they were so sorry that something so bad had happened to someone who they didn't think deserved it. Me. I didn't know how to feel hearing that. If other people were saying it, that had to mean I hadn't dreamt the whole thing. My parents were dead, and today was their funeral.
If it was true though, why didn't they just shut the fuck up about it already? I knew they were gone. All that had been retrieved of their remains were in the two rose-covered caskets that were about to be interred. Because I, like Mrs. Mattern had pointed out, was all alone now. I had made the funeral arrangements. I wanted everything to be done with as soon as possible. Brett had suggested two separate wakes, one private and one open to people who had worked with my parents, people from their respective companies and acquaintances. The thought of going through this twice made my stomach turn.
Everyone who wanted to pay their respects was doing it now, or they were never doing it. The McKenna Funeral Home was big so the volume of people that had come through over the course of the afternoon hadn't been overwhelming. The room we were in was large, like a hall. The tall double doors were open to the lawn outside. The funeral itself, which was happening in the next hour, was going to be private. Me, Brett, and close family—the aunts, uncles and couple cousins that had shown up—in the home's cemetery.
"Yup, just me," I said heavily. She and Mr. Mattern had had four children, maybe so that when this happened to them, none of their children would be in the same position that I was.
"They were great people. Fantastic," her husband said at her side.
"You aren't alone, son. Remember that," Mrs. Mattern said. I knew what she meant, but I had heard that about a hundred times already, and it no longer had any meaning. Especially for people like the Matterns whom I had seen once every three years for the last ten. Had there been a time that I would have believed them? Sure, but not now. And she was wrong anyway. I was alone, as far as family went and as far as everything else too. I'd chew off my own arm before I called the Matterns to cry about my dead parents.
I got away from them but was waylaid by yet another person offering condolences. I went through the motions, thanking them for being sorry for me, agreeing with all the great things they thought about my parents and putting on a brave face for them, playing my part as the mourning son. Some people rushed through the condolences and got straight to business, asking me about the company. As much as I hated the false sympathy from the people who didn't mean it, I hated that even more. My fucking parents had just died; they couldn't wait until I was at least back in the office before they started trying to talk business with me?
Fuck politeness. I didn't care just then. If they had spent the last several days making sure all the people who had worked for my parents still had jobs and the ones who wanted to leave got references, then I'd feel sorry for them. When they had had to sit through will readings and organize a funeral for the charred remains of the two people they loved most in the world, I'd be sympathetic. ‘Til then, they could kiss my ass.
"Cameron?"
I looked up. It was Brett. Finally, someone I actually wanted to talk to.
"Hey," I said.
"I was worried these past couple days. I couldn't reach you." I nodded. With the flood of condolence messages and calls from media people trying to get interviews, I had ignored communication almost completely.