I got to listen outside Dad’s study as they argued over me. Something they didn’t do often, especially when it came to us boys, which made eavesdropping a bit uncomfortable. When the screeching of Dad’s chair scooting back reverberated through the door, I darted back to the kitchen to pour some iced tea, trying to be cool about it.
Mom’s look of triumph had my shoulders slumping. Dad simply shrugged and gestured to Mom in a you know she’s really the boss kind of way.
“Knox, your father and I have decided.” She glanced back at Dad, who was shaking his head at me. Then he became sheepish when she raised an arched eyebrow at him. “Since this is your last summer before graduation, you will take a hiatus from Wellington Incorporated.”
I started to protest, but she held a hand up to stop me.
“I’ve stood by while you’ve spent nearly every summer there since you were fifteen. When you should’ve been off swimming, going to concerts, spending nights at the drive-in, you instead were at work. You have one more summer before you grow up, Knox.”
“What if I promise not to work nights or weekends? I won’t bring any work home.”
“The answer is no.”
“Mom, what the hell am I going to do in Belle Meade?”
Her answering smile had a knot forming in my stomach. Nothing good could come from that smile. “You’re not going to spend your summer in Belle Meade.”
I frowned, shaking my head slightly. “What do you mean?”
“You know the lake house we used to take you boys to when you were little?”
It was so long ago that I could barely remember, but since she brought it up, memories of rope swinging into the lake where I first learned to swim and where I went to my first drive-in movie—Bullitt, which lead to my obsession with Ford Mustang GTs—came back to me.
Damn, had it really been twelve years since we’d gone there?
“Yeah, I guess so. It’s just been so long, I’d forgotten. Why did we stop going?” I asked.
It was Dad’s turn to chime in. “After that last summer is when things really took off with the business and I had a hard time getting away. We decided to give up our yearly weeklong rental the following summer, and well, it just so happened that we never went back.”
Mom smiled at me. “Until now.”
My brow furrowed. “We’re all going back there for the summer?”
My first thought was about my brother and his proclaimed “love of his life.” I nearly smirked. At least I wouldn’t be sharing in the misery alone.
“Not exactly,” Dad said, giving me pause. “Your mother has apparently had your summer in mind for a while now. It seems she made a few calls and found the house up for sale. She”—he gave the word emphasis while turning to her with a pointed look. Then, with a sigh, he continued—“decided it would be a sound investment.”
“Okay.” He’s not being clear.
“She purchased it in your name.”
I reel back in shock, nearly spitting out the sip of tea I’d just taken. “Um, Mom, a house? Three hours away?” I asked, not trying to sound ungrateful, but what the hell was I supposed to do with a house hours from where my life is?
Mom placed her hands on the counter. “Consider it an early birthday gift,” she said, her eyes full of mischief. “That being said, the realtor informed me that the house does need a bit of tender, loving care. We can’t get away for a while, so I thought the best way for you to spend your summer was going to the lake house, doing any cleaning or maintenance that might need done, then decorating and preparing for it to become a rental property. After all, if being married to your father has taught me anything, it’s that you’re never too young for a sound investment. You know, if you’re up for getting your elbows a little dirty.”
My mother is a mad genius. She knew that the best way to get me out of the house for the summer would be to dangle not only an investment but also a challenge in front of my face.
Arguing was futile. So here I am, sitting on the deck of my summer purgatory with my brother in tow, even though Mom claimed I’d be alone.
A clap of thunder brings me back to the present, and I glance over and see Clay’s still waiting for me to respond to him.
“Look, I’m fine. I’m over it. Ready to move the hell on with whatever summer honeys Crystal Cove has to offer this year.”
I’m not lying, though everyone in my family thinks I am. Just the thought of tasting brand-new pussy has me half-cocked already. Not that I didn’t appreciate everything Gwen had to offer. It’s just…all I’ve ever had.
Gwen Mattingly and I grew up next door to each other for our entire lives. Hers were the first pigtails I pulled, the first lips I kissed, and the first breasts I saw. The first girl I gave everything to. Everyone, including our parents, assumed we’d grow up, join our families, have little Wellington-Mattingly babies, and live happily ever after.
Hell, I’d thought the same thing. We were inseparable through childhood and high school until she went off to Bryn Mawr College in northern Pennsylvania and I chose my father’s alma mater, Vanderbilt, right in the heart of Nashville. We saw each other every other month or so in the beginning, but the more we both got into our schooling, the harder it was to make the trip for either of us. Letters and phone calls became fewer and farther between. Even when we were both back home for the summer, our time together was limited since I spent most of my time at Wellington and she spent her time at her parents’ country club.
Which was where she fell in love with John Thomas Crossley IV over endless summer days playing tennis and apparently endless summer nights playing tonsil hockey. She had the decency to be tearful when she admitted to me that she’d cheated.
I shocked even myself when I realized I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t…anything. Any love I’d had for Gwen had evolved with distance. The truth was I loved her enough, in some kind of way, that made me happy for her. Another fact I couldn’t deny was that I’d played a role in our breakup by neglecting her.
The biggest truth? I was awash with relief when she told me she wanted to be with J.T. instead of me. There’d been a Gwen-named noose around my neck practically since I’d hit puberty and finally, finally, I was a bachelor for what felt like the first time in my life.
No one bought my indifference.
No one believed me that I was a-okay with the breakup.
Not when I broke the news to my family with a smile on my face.
Not when I took a pretty receptionist to the company Christmas party.
Hell, Dad went to scold me but stopped himself because he knew I was “just trying to save face from Gwen’s betrayal” as he called it.
Don’t even get me started on when, less than four months later, my mother received a wedding invitation for the future Mr. and Mrs. Crossley, which she promptly burned in an indignant huff.
Then the wedding announcement for the same couple was in the Belle Meade paper. Hell, I even commented that Gwen made a fetching bride—but then I said J.T. was a lucky man and Mom’s pitying glance had me wanting to bite my fist.
Through all of it? I felt nothing.
Actually, that’s not entirely true.
I felt liberation. I felt happy for her and J.T, who would treat her well. And I still do.