Page 167 of Boss of Me
after a hard morning’s work, westop for lunch.
As we clomp into the house covered in dirt and sweat, Mrs. Calder clucks her tongue and orders us to wash up before stepping foot in the kitchen. When we’re sufficiently clean, we pile our plates with food and hunker under a shade tree to wolf down the delicious barbecue she made. It’s the most substantial thing I’ve eaten in weeks, so it tastes even better.
As Mrs. Calder circles the picnic table refilling everyone’s drinks, she squeezes my shoulder in approval. I don’t have the heart to tell her that my rediscovered appetite is probably only temporary.
After the workers leave for the day, my father and I sit drinking lemonade on the wraparound veranda overlooking the horse stables and paddock. Giant oaks dot the landscape, the leaves just beginning to turn orange and yellow.
Dad drains his lemonade and smacks his lips. “Sunshine in a glass. Just like old times, ain’t it, son?”
I smile faintly and nod.
He pats his flat stomach with a grin. “Gemma Louise is trying to fatten me up. Says I’ve lost too much weight.”
“You have.” I look at him sideways, lips twitching. “So what’s the deal with you two? Is she moving in with you?”
“I’m working on it,” he says with a sly wink.
“I bet you are.”
He laughs. “You can’t keep her to yourself, Gunny boy. She was mine first.”
I snort and roll my eyes, but we both know he’s right.
Grinning broadly, he gets up and saunters to the railing, spreading his arms along the wooden handrail. “Gemma Louise and I used to lay by the creek every summer, catching fireflies and talking about our hopes and dreams. One time I told her I was gonna buy a horse ranch someday and name a horse after her. Instead of being flattered like most girls would’ve been, she thought I was making a wisecrack about her teeth. She wore braces to fix an overbite and was mighty sensitive about it. So she gave me a good whack upside the head, and we ended up tussling in the grass. Dang near rolled ourselves right into the creek.”
A low laugh escapes me, such a rarity these days that it feels foreign.
Dad grins at me before turning away to survey his new land with pride and satisfaction. “I’m going to make this place a home, Gunn. Arealhome that my sons will enjoy visiting with their wives and children. We’ll have cookouts and picnics and birthday parties with piñatas. We’ll ride horses, play football and freeze tag, watch fireworks on the Fourth of July.”
“Sounds good, Dad,” I murmur, rocking listlessly back and forth on the creaky porch swing.
He lifts his face to the sky and inhales deeply. “It’s not every man who gets a second chance to do right by his family.”
“Just focus on staying sober, Dad. That’s all we ask.”
“I know, son.” His eyes close, and he seems to be simply enjoying the warm breeze against his face until he says, “Marlowe would make a wonderful daughter-in-law.”
My mellow mood instantly evaporates.
Heedless of my glare, he doggedly continues, “She’sthe woman I picture by your side when you and your family come to visit. She wouldn’t care if she gained a few pounds after birthing your babies?—”
“Dad—”
“She’d chase the kids around the yard without worrying about ruining her pedicure. She wouldn’t turn up her nose at helping out in the kitchen. She wouldn’t complain about mosquitos while sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows. She’d be a joy to have around. A breath of fresh air. Unlike Laurene ‘Miss Hotel Heiress’ Vandenberg. Or that ditzy little artist you’ve been seeing?—”
“Enough,” I snap.
“I’m just saying.” He glances over his shoulder at me. “You know I’m right.”
I clench my jaw hard enough to break bone. “First of all, I’m not seeing Gianna. It wasonelousy date.”
A week after Marlowe moved out, Gianna called me up and invited me to dinner. Her treat, she insisted, to repay me for everything I’d done to launch her art career. She badgered me for days, calling and texting until I finally capitulated.
Eager to impress, she picked me up in her Porsche and drove to a high-end restaurant with a tasting menu. I barely made it through the first course. After just two minutes of her insipid babbling, I wanted to gouge my ears out with a shrimp fork.
The longer the meal dragged on, the more I yearned for Marlowe’s sparkling intellect. Her sharp wit. Her bewitching laughter. Her infectious charm.
She was only a year older than Gianna, but it might as well have been ten. The difference in their maturity levels was off the charts.
