Special Fiction: Divergent Paths

This Christmas story dives into legacy and what matters most.

By Vince Wetzel

Copyright Vince Wetzel and OT Press

The clink of the ice of an empty bourbon is the loneliest sound, thought Trevor. Either that or a hotel bar when you’re alone, and there’s some other gala or even going around you.

Trevor knew. He’d been around plenty of both over the years, always on the road, sipping his old friend Elijah Craig and staying in suites at top-brand hotels. It was a luxury Trevor had earned and could afford. Sometimes, he’d share that suite with a companion – either a fellow guest or from some number he’d call. But when Trevor and Elijah had to share the bar with revelers attending a gala, conference, or party, his loneliness and resulting surliness only grew, a stark contrast to the camaraderie and shared triumphs of his college days. Especially at Christmas.

From what he gathered from the signs in the lobby and the halls, tonight’s event was a holiday party gala and benefit. Even better, Trevor thought sarcastically. More back-slapping and navel-gazing than he could stomach. He motioned to the bartender to give him another three-finger pour. That should be sufficient to make this environment tolerable.

“Hey friend,” said some 30-something man in his only suit. How his shirt stayed tucked into his pants despite the belly fat folded over his belt could only be attributed to the tear in the space-time continuum created by some Big-And-Tall fashion designer. “Whatcha drinking?”

“More than you make in a month,” Trevor said. He hoisted Elijah to his mouth. He knew it was rude, but it did the trick. The man ordered his Miller Lite and left.

Trevor thumbed into his jacket pocket and fished out the piece of paper he received from the valet. The number guaranteed a high-end companion and even party favors. That sounded promising. Something to numb any feeling he had left in his life.

Trevor felt another man slide next to him at the bar. Unlike the other guy, this man had a lightness, both in stature and in spirit. He practically bounded to the bar and raised his arm to get the bartender’s attention.

“Mineral water with a lime wedge?” he said, an Irish lilt to his voice.

“Aren’t Irish supposed to order only Whiskey or Guinness?” Trevor slurred, surprised he said it out loud. “At least that’s what an old college friend of mine said.”

“I know. I said it,” the man confirmed, turning toward Trevor, “I remember telling you that too, Trevor Jennings. It’s been a while. It’s Sean.” The unexpected reunion with Sean, a figure from his past, stirred a mix of emotions in Trevor, breaking the monotony of his usual lonely encounters in the hotel bar.

Trevor took a moment for his eyes to focus, but sure as shit, there he was, looking almost the same as the man he was thirty years ago. Sean’s hairline had receded into a sharp widow’s peak, his temples were gray, and his skin had ridges and crinkles. He hadn’t had work done as Trevor had. No dye, no hair plugs, and certainly no Botox or slight nips and tucks to maintain the fallacy of youth.

“Sean Finn,” Trevor said with genuine joy. He rarely saw anyone who knew him before the fortune. “Great to see you. Are you here for… whatever this is?”

Sean looked around at the gala attendees spilling out of the ballroom and nodded, smiling broadly.

“Oh yeah. It’s everyone’s excuse to live it up for the night and play a character they’re not,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Work travel,” Trevor said. “Yeah, I’ve got a business meeting tomorrow. Closing a deal to acquire this company. Should net me a few million or so.”

Sean smiled and let out a breath, whistling like a balloon. Trevor smiled too. He liked to impress people with his wealth. And it felt extra good to share it with Sean, with whom he made beer runs to the liquor store at 1:30 a.m. on so many nights at school. They had been study partners, taking the same college courses, and had competed against each other for the better grades in class. When they graduated, Sean waited for Trevor to cross the stage with his diploma so they could both raise their arms together in triumph.

They lost touch after that.

“What happened to you after college/” Trevor asked.

“Don’t you remember?” Sean said, pulling up on the barstool next to Trevor. “We went for the same job. You got it, and off you went. Looks like it worked out pretty well.”

Trevor smiled. Yeah, it did. He was hired at an investment banking firm and rose through the ranks until he decided to put up his own shingle and poach several of the firm’s clients. Eventually, he moved into venture capital, funding several Silicon Valley startups. He had more money than he ever dreamed. Even his houses, the primary residence in Sausalito, along with condos in New York and Miami, and a villa in Cancun, made him money.

“How about you?” Trevor asked. For the first time in months, he was interested.

“Not like you,” Sean said, using his hand to wave off the question. “Family? Wife? Kids? Pets?”

“Two ex-wives, four kids, including one from a former girlfriend,” Trevor said. “I had a dog, Sadie, but she stayed with wife number two. You?”

Sean pulled out his phone. Typically, Trevor groaned at the sight of the upcoming slideshow. He didn’t care and always tried to extricate himself before enduring the 1000-image picture roll. Once, someone swiped onto a naked selfie. She stayed over in his room that night.

“Remember Lauren from school?” Sean said, his smile wide. Of course, Trevor remembered Lauren - the one girl no one could get. She didn’t give any guy the time of day. Trevor thought she might be lesbian. “Well, two years after we graduated, we ran into each other at a weird young networking event, and one thing led to another, and 20 years married and two kids. Can you believe it?”

Trevor couldn’t, and as much as he was happy for Sean, he felt a little jealous. Trevor had the biggest crush on Lauren. Sometimes, in his loneliest times, he wondered what it would be like to be with Lauren. Now, Sean was living that reality.

“I bet you have some grand plans for Christmas,” he said.

“I’ve got a place in Tahoe. I’ll head there after I close this deal,” Trevor said. He had a three-bedroom condo near Heavenly Ski Resort that overlooked the Lake, and where he could easily access the Gondola to take him to the ski lifts.

“Your kids meeting you there?”

“Nope, just me. It will be nice to have some time to myself,” Trevor lied. He sipped more of his drink to hide the quiver in his lip.

A group of two men and a woman approached Sean. After apologizing for the interruption, which Trevor didn’t accept but endured anyway, they slapped Sean on the back, hugged him, and congratulated him. After a few minutes, Sean told them he was talking to an old friend and would catch up later. Trevor was touched by the gesture. In the same circumstances, he would have likely ignored Sean.

“What was that for?” Trevor asked. “Did you get an award or something?”

“Yeah, but it’s pretty lame,” Sean said with another wave. “They had to give one away, so they chose me for what I do day after day, you know?”

Trevor was intrigued. His friend had won an award, and even if it was trivial, it should be celebrated. He called the bartender over.

“Hey, barkeep, give my good friend Sean the best of whatever he wants,” Trevor said, wrapping his large arm around Sean. Sean smiled and giggled. “He is an award winner and an old chum.”

The bartender looked to Sean for the order, but he shook it off and raised his empty soda water and lime. Trevor was surprised, even moderately annoyed.

“What? You don’t drink anymore?”

Sean shook his head. “Nope, gave up the stuff when the kids were born. I just didn’t need it. I was waking up feeling like crap and not present. It’s a good thing, too, because those kids are terrors, bouncing off the walls and getting into mischief. It’s hard enough to keep up with them sober.”

Trevor understood. Half the time, when he lived with his kids, he sat in his man cave watching sports and chasing his hangover with the hair of the dog. Now, living alone, at least he didn’t have that guilt anymore.

“Speaking of which, I should probably get home,” Sean said. “I live twenty minutes away and want to get back in time to say goodnight to everyone.”

“You don’t have to go,” Trevor said. He had never wanted someone to stick around and hang out as much.

“Sorry, friend. I do, but I do want to keep in touch with you. We shouldn’t let thirty years go by again. I’d love to see you when you’re through town again. Or when I’m in New York, Miami, or Cancun, you can let me crash on your couch.

“Ha, you can have a whole wing,” Trevor said. “It was so good to see you. Truly, Sean. A delight.”

“Coming from the titan of business, that means a lot. See you.”

With that, Sean walked away, only looking back once but also accepting handshakes and congratulations as he walked through the lobby toward self-parking. Trevor watched him take every step and realized that he had only gotten the bit about Lauren out of Sean. He looked at Sean’s card.

Sean Finn, Executive Director

Promise Foundation

“I guess that guy is a big deal,” the bartender said. “Did you know he’s raised more than $8 million for juvenile mental health? And he’s personally mentored 100 foster youth? Amazing.”

“And how do you know this?” Trevor couldn’t believe a bartender knew more about his old college buddy.

The bartender handed him a program from the evening’s gala. Indeed, Sean received a lifetime humanitarian award for his tireless work on behalf of vulnerable and disadvantaged youth. The program included a bio.

After graduating from college and being disappointed to not land a coveted job in finance, Sean sold his possessions and spent two years traveling the world. When he returned, he decided to devote his life to service. With his wife Lauren by his side, he gave hope to thousands of youths through his tireless efforts and, most importantly, his presence and love. Even when Lauren died last year, Trevor continued to fight for those less fortunate. It’s an honor to name this award the Sean Finn Humanitarian Prize.

Trevor let the program fall from his fingers, and he wept. Trevor knew envy. That’s what drove his ambition and his ascent to the top of the financial world. He knew what he wanted and went after it. But he wondered if that was a false ambition. What he wanted most of all was to be loved and feel the comfort that comes from time spent with family. He knew he looked like a blubbering drunk, but the sadness he felt was the truest feeling he’d had in decades.

“Hey, Trevor, are you ok?”

Trevor felt Sean’s hand on his shoulder. When Trevor looked up, Sean’s eyes were dripping with concern. Sean brought him in for an embrace.

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to stop by tomorrow on your way to Tahoe, but maybe you want to spend Christmas with us. It’s not Tahoe, but it’s a home?”

Before he could let his brain interfere, his heart said yes.

Side of Mustard

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