Page 12 of Middle Ground
I stand from my seat and stick a hand out. “It was nice to meet you, Louis,” I say. “I look forward to working with you.”
A slight exaggeration, but that’s the name of the game.
Louis turns to Meyer, looking like he’s gearing up to go in for a hug. As he moves closer, Meyer’s hand shoots out between them, almost jabbing the lawyer in the belly from the force. She clears her throat.
“Man, I remember when you were just a tyke,” he says as he takes her hand, unperturbed. His tone then takes on a teasing quality. “Are you sure you’re grown up enough for this?”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Montaigne,” Meyer says, tipping her chin up with a smile. It’s polite, but I can detect the frustration simmering below the surface. “I look forward to hearing from you.”
Louis squeezes her elbow. “Talk soon, little lady.”
Meyer’s jaw hardens ever so slightly. Her annoyance with him isn’t as outright as with me, but I detect it all the same. Hell,Ifeel annoyed on her behalf. Still, she doesn’t say anything. But letting that belittling remark hang in the air doesn’t sit right with me.
“Ms. Ellison has a name,” I say firmly. “I suggest you use it.”
When the lawyer leaves, looking chastised, Meyer whirls on me. “I donotneed you fighting my battles,” she seethes.
I cross my arms. “Well, someone had to set him straight, seeing as you weren’t doing it.”
Her cheeks heat as her eyes blaze. “And who the hell decided that you were that person? Don’t kid yourself into thinking you’re my knight in shining armour, Vaughan.”
“Hey—”
A throat clears. Both of us turn to see a very stern Beatrice staring us down. I wonder how often Meyer was on the receiving end of this look growing up.
Beatrice’s brow is arched. “Are you two just about finished?”
I nod, now feeling chastised myself. Meyer opens her mouth again, but she wisely decides to shut it before she utters another word.
Beatrice sighs. “Why don't we all sit back down and have a proper conversation?”
I settle back into the mismatched chair opposite Beatrice at the office desk. Begrudgingly, Meyer slides into her own chair beside me. It feels a lot like sitting in the principal’s office after being pulled out of class, some kind of punishment imminent.
“It can be an uphill battle trying to make something of yourself in a town that’s seen you in diapers. But it’s a battle Meyer knows well, and one she is equipped to handle how she sees fit,” Beatrice says to me. Then she turns to her daughter. “And Meyer, Jackson was trying to help you. Don’t forget that.”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” she mumbles.
Then silence stretches for a moment too long. I can tell that Beatrice is waiting for one of us to make thefirst move. Judging by Meyer’s sour expression, that won’t be her, so I resolve to be the bigger person.
“My grandmother thought very highly of you, and this inn,” I tell Beatrice.
This coaxes a sad smile from her. “I thought the world of her as well. Both in a professional and a personal capacity.”
I look down at my hands clasped in my lap, turning my thoughts over in my head. I want to know why my grandmother kept this place from me. I have the strong urge to ask, but I’m fairly certain neither one of them will have the answer.
That’s just how Cherie was—she kept a lot of stuff to herself. But I always thought there were no secrets between us. Obviously, I was wrong.
“Well,” Beatrice says, “I would offer you a tour, but these old knees don’t work like they used to.”
Some of Meyer’s anger shifts. In its place is unbridled concern. “Are you okay?”
Beatrice smiles at her daughter. It’s reassuring and apologetic all at once. “Same old, same old.” She wiggles the cane in her grip. “Just meant I would be no fun hobbling through the halls with this.”
“That’s alright,” I say. “I can figure it out.”
“Nonsense. Meyer will show you around.”
Meyer, at this very moment, looks like she would rather be on the receiving end of a lobotomy gone wrong. Or, more likely, she’s imagining what it would be like to perform said operation onme.
