Page 42 of Sugar Coated Lies
He pats my hand and directs his attention to the slice Carol places on the tray. She hands him a fork and sets a napkin down with a glass of milk.
Grandpa digs in, and I smile.
Poor guy. It can’t be easy losing track of the present and the past. He does really well, all things considered.
Carol follows me to the door. “I know this is a work event but try to have fun. You deserve some fun.”
“I have fun at work,” I point out.
“It’s still work,” she says with a sympathetic grin.
“This is, too.”
She sighs, and that grin grows even more compassionate.
“I will,” I say, understanding her point. “Thank you again for staying.”
A clatter sounds and Grandpa curses.
His glass of milk spilled on the tray, leaking onto the floor.
“Go on.” Carol waves for me to leave. “I’ve got this.”
“Thank you,” I repeat, wanting to stay and help, but I’m already fashionably late. I don’t know what I would do without Carol.
It doesn’t take me too long to get to Daire’s family estate. The house is about fifteen minutes from the farm. House is an understatement. The same impressive entrance as the pecan farm greets me with rows of oak trees lining the long driveway. When the estate comes into view, I’m whisked away to when Mom and I would watchGone with The Wind, a classic and favorite of hers.
White grandeur with white pillars and windows everywhere. Cars line the circular driveway as I pull under a covered awning near the front door. Valets race about, hopping into luxury vehicles and parking them in a small lot that seems to be for events like this.
I spot a few trucks, a minivan, and a couple of older SUVs, which help squash the inadequacy I feel about my car. I didn’t have time to clean it. Sweaters, medical papers from Grandpa’s last doctor visit, shoes, an umbrella, and other miscellaneous items litter the backseat.
The valet guys won’t mind, I tell myself.
I hand my key to the young man who greets me, then follow a dashing couple up the stairs and into the wide-open front doors. Their clothes are what I would call cocktail fancy—dress pants and a sports coat for the man and a black sheath dress with heels for the woman. Here I am in wedges. I pull my cardigan tighter and fasten a few buttons to give my dress a more polished look. Well, as polished as it can be.
A formal entrance with a split staircase and ornate railings lead to a second-floor landing. A crystal chandelier hangs above, casting warm light everywhere. Beyond, a massive room with two story ceilings showcases multiple seating areas, a bar, a buffet that could feed a nice sized wedding party, and two incredible stone fireplaces.
It reminds me of a fancy hotel in Savannah. Music caresses my ears, and idle chatter and laughter spread from the many people in the room. I don’t know where to go or what to do with myself. My shoulders relax a little when I spot some guests in jeans and a polo or a dress as casual as mine. These must be the regular employees, like me.
I spot Millie by the bar. Her eyes find mine, and she waves me over. I resist the urge to run.
“You look beautiful.” She greets me with a hug.
“So do you.” Her curls are twisted into a pretty updo, and her dress is a lovely shade of blush. I’ve never seen her with makeup. It accentuates her features and big chocolate eyes.
A gentleman around her age, with thick salt-and-pepper hair and tanned skin, turns to face us. “Carlos, this is Everleigh, the new employee I’ve been telling you about.”
Kind, dark eyes crinkle with a warm smile. He raises his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve been lucky enough to sample your pecan pie, and it is one of the best I’ve ever tasted.”
My cheeks warm. “Thank you. I love making them.”
“Everything she makes is delicious,” Millie says.
“Same with you.”
She beams, and Carlos asks if I would like a drink, gesturing to the bar.
“It’s free,” Millie adds and lifts her glass of champagne.
