by Jay Quinn
“Do you intend to stay in Raleigh?” he asked.
“I have no idea. I have no family, other than the one we just tore up. I’ve spent my entire adult life here. I’d like to stay near the kids, but they’re all living their own lives now. I certainly don’t like the thought of bumping into that bitch of Zack’s in the grocery store.”
Evan allowed himself to laugh at that, which endeared him to me immediately. “I can understand that, Chris,” he said. He stood, signaling me that the meeting was over. “Tell you what, with your permission, Zack’s authorized me to oversee putting the house on the market. I’ll take care of the details of the sale for you, that way you’ll save the realtor’s fees. I imagine it won’t take more than a weekend open house to get a qualified buyer to meet or exceed our price. The best thing that could happen is a nice little bidding war. Why don’t you think it over for a few days and give me a call?”
As I stood, a thought hit me. “Will I have enough money to buy a beach place?”
Evan gave me a cautious nod, then he told me what he thought the Oakwood house would bring. I had to sit back down.
“Really, do you think it’s worth that much?” I asked incredulously.
“I think I’m being somewhat conservative, actually,” he replied with a smile.
Resting my elbows on the arms of the leather chair in front of his desk, I put my face in my hands and rubbed my eyes. I was both overwhelmed by Zack’s generosity and by the opportunities it presented me. In truth, my prospects were excellent. The chance that I’d end back up in a housing project would be eliminated if I were conservative. I would, however, have to get a job. Both the annuity principal and the IRA would be locked up for years to come—17 years, to be exact. I would have to be 65 before I could begin to draw from them. Suddenly I realized after a lifetime of fear, I didn’t have to be afraid. In fact, I could do well, if I were smart about managing my sudden windfall.
“Chris, I’m sorry. I have another appointment,” Evan said, breaking my reverie. “Think about it and give me a call in a week.”
I stood, awkwardly shook his hand, and thanked him as if he were the author of my future well-being, not Zack.
Once I got home I considered calling Zack to express my gratitude. Instead, I told myself I had my pride first of all and always, and I didn’t want to sound like a grateful beggar. I had earned what he’d allowed me in the end. If you took into account 22 years of what child care and a personal assistant would have cost, it was at least a break-even situation for him. With that realization, I didn’t call Zack—I called Trey.
In my mind, it wasn’t hard to see the solemn five-year-old I’d met more than two decades ago in the man he grew up to become. With an MBA and a successful new career as an investment banker, he really wasn’t much different from the little boy I’d taken to the bank to make deposits in his savings account when he was 10. He’d always been shrewd with his money.
It took a moment to get through to him, but after a mildly irritating wait with Muzak in my ear, he answered his office phone by saying, “I suppose you’ve seen Evan Strickland.”
“Yes, buddy and hello to you too,” I replied.
“I’m sorry Chris. I’m in a meeting right now. But I’d like to stop by on the way home. Could you please call Susan and tell her I’ll be late?”
“Of course.”
“Six then?”
“Thanks, Trey.”
“Don’t buy anything before I get there, okay?”
“I’m rich aren’t I?” I said with a happy laugh.
“No. You’re not. Believe me, Chris. Bye now.” And he was gone.
I called Susan and told her Trey’d be late and why. After we talked about her concerns for me and I’d asked about how things stood with Trey and his father, she rang off as well. They were eagerly engaged in careers that I couldn’t begin to fathom. When I was their age I was embarking on a career of mommyhood. While I never thought it’d pay out in spades, I didn’t regret not having the socially engaged world they lived and moved in.
In the two hours before Trey arrived, the thought of moving to the beach grew steadily more attractive. Though I was basically a loner, and Zack always drew pretty harsh lines dividing his personal life from his business and social life, I learned quite a bit about Raleigh society from our various small circles of friends. Many first wives migrated to the beach or the mountains after their divorces. I had often wondered why—now I understood. When I told Evan Strickland I didn’t want to bump into Alicia Stiles-Ronan in the grocery store, I knew I’d joined the first (or second) wives club.
But it was more than that. Like a hamster in a Habitrail, my life made its way through a warren of streets and destinations that had grown beyond familiar over the years. While it was comfortable to be greeted by name in the bookstore, the dry cleaners, and the post office, my route between them was also totally limned with references to a life I’d suddenly outgrown. Every street I wound along called to mind all the treats and tricks of a life that wasn’t mine anymore.
The beach was vastly different in that regard. Though since the kids were small Zack had always taken us to the beach for a week during the summer, those memories were sustaining, not deadening. For me, the beach was always summery and shining with good memories. There was no accretion of life’s day-to-day worries and concerns along the coast road and in its small towns, souvenir and surf shops, motels, and distinct neighborhoods.
As my library of books and future dreams grew, as my hair grayed under the carefully blonded streaks over the years, I saw myself as someone who would end up on the beach as he grew old. In my carefully nurtured reveries of retiring there with Zack, I’d still always pictured myself alone in a cinematic long shot, walking near the surf with seagulls circling overhead in the early morning light. It was an idealized picture I’d stolen from a lifetime’s worth of TV commercials for everything from painkillers to track shoes, no doubt. Yet, it was something I’d been working toward for years. I’d bought into a Kodak moment when I made the split-second determination to take on Zack and the kids. Moving to the beach at this point in my life was a Kodak moment all my own.
Sitting in my kitchen in the Oakwood House, waiting for Trey, I thought a move to the beach would be the best thing for me. It was a pleasant picture I was seeing in my imagination. Surprisingly, it was a picture Trey saw for me as well. He came into the kitchen from the back door as I was lost in my sandy reverie and gave me a quick hug before he slumped into his place at the kitchen table.
“Long day?” I asked.
“You have no idea. Do you have any scotch?”
“That bad, huh?” I got up to get the bottle out of the pantry.
Trey rubbed his eyes, then looked up at me and smiled. “Nope. Just that long.”
I poured him a generous slug over some ice and poured some bourbon for myself as well. I settled the drinks before us and sat again at the table.
Trey sipped at his drink appreciatively, then looked at me warmly. “I’m happy to hear you’re pleased with Dad’s settlement offer.”
“How much of it do you know about?”
Trey sighed. “All of it. I didn’t want you to know beforehand, but Dad had been in to see me before he told you he was leaving.”
Feeling somewhat betrayed, I just looked at him, hurt and somewhat stunned.
“Don’t be mad at me Chris. He came to me professionally. I’ve been managing some of his money since I got my job. He made a little rain for me that really helped when I was starting out. Bringing in new clients is part of what I do. Who else is going to trust a snot-nosed kid with a brand-new MBA? In the bank’s eyes, a family investment in your potential, well … it’s pretty much expected when you’re new.”
I touched my split lip unconsciously and looked at him. “You knew. All that drama Saturday night, and you knew. No wonder all you could talk about was the money.”
Trey shook his head and had a fuller taste of his drink. “It’s how I
love, Chris. Ask Susan. It’s who I am. For me, looking after my loved ones is all about making sure they’re taken care of financially.” Trey gave me a penetrating look across the table. “You understand what I’m telling you, right, Chris?”
In light of what he’d just said, I understood completely. With all due respect to Zack, it didn’t take much thinking for me to understand my unexpected security had much more to do with Trey than it did with his father. While Zack had never been stingy, he’d never been exactly generous either. I was sure Trey had run the numbers for his father and showed him the benefits of taking care of me in the way he had. Ultimately, Zack was probably much less afraid I’d make news by suing him than he was afraid I’d irreparably dent his bank account. Trey had looked out for my best interests and still gotten the numbers to come out right. I bet that had pissed Alicia off. I nodded and looked down at the table. My kids. Thank God for my kids. “I understand, baby.” I said. “Thanks for getting his numbers to come out right.”
“Chris, it was more than that. I was looking out for you—please understand that.”
“I’m sorry, Trey. That was more what I was getting at. I know you took care of me.”
Trey nodded in return, finished his drink, then held out his glass, rattling the ice against its sides, to wordlessly demand a refill. I knew where he picked up that habit. Behold the new head of the family. I took his glass, stood, and made him another.
He watched me as I turned back to the table and put the glass of scotch down in front of him before reclaiming my seat. I was sure he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing—he always had the imperious understanding that he was next in line to the throne. In fact, I’d encouraged him in that direction by reminding him that, as the eldest son, he had a responsibility to the younger ones.
“Chris, you are not rich,” Trey said. “But you can be comfortably off if you listen to me. You are going to have to get a job to make that happen. First, you have to get out from under this barn of a house and find yourself something smaller and easier to keep up.”
I looked up at him, and nodded to let him know that was what I was doing. Shorter than any of my kids, I’d been looking up to them since they were in their teens. Now I had to look up to them out of respect. From this time forward, Trey would be the acting head of the family—and that was a bit disconcerting. It was like the Irish mafia. I decided I had to tell him what was really on my mind. “What would you say if I told you I wanted to move to the beach … find a small cottage, and move away to start over?”
Trey looked at me sadly. “Well, I’d say I don’t want you so far away. But if I wasn’t being selfish, I’d tell you it wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“Thanks for that—the first part especially—but can you tell me why you think it wouldn’t be a bad idea?”
“Well, you’d be away from … well, you know. Then too, beach real estate is a good investment. After getting such a chunk as you’ll get from the sale of this place, you’re going to need to reinvest in another home eventually to keep from having to pay capital gains taxes. Even if we reinvest in your annuity—which I’m managing by the way—there are still eventual tax liabilities to consider that we can offset if you own a home. Then there’s the long-term investment potential. A beach house is going to bring you a far greater and more stable return than anything else we could put your money in right now.”
“What about hurricanes?” I asked.
“Hurricanes are the insurance companies’ problem. As long as you don’t worry too much about the possibility you might have to rebuild at some point.”
I was silent for a minute, taking it all in. “So, simply put, you don’t think it’s a bad idea?” I finally asked.
Trey grinned. “No, I think it’s a great idea. I actually have a place in mind for you to look at if you’re interested.”
It was my turn to grin. “I’m all ears.”
“I have a client who needs to … well, let’s just say he needs to reallocate some of his assets. He’s almost finished building a beach place down at Emerald Isle. It’s not huge, but it’s certainly big enough for you and Beau—”
“And you and Susan, and Andrea and David, and Schooner—big enough for you all to visit?”
“Well, probably not all at the same time, not comfortably anyway. But Chris, it’s brand-new, not even finished at this point. The roof’s on and the interior rooms are roughed in. Your maintenance should be minimal because they’re building it with all these new kinds of weather-resistant materials. I wanted to buy it for Susan and me, but I can’t quite swing it just now. You could drive down and take a look at it if you want.”
“Sure. I’d like that a lot.”
Trey nodded and finished his drink in one long swallow. “I’ll set it up. Meanwhile, hold off on pulling Evan Strickland’s trigger. It looks like interest rates are going to stay low and I can get you a bridge loan to cover you until this house sells, if you decide you want to buy the beach place. But you have to give it time to get built out. I think this place’ll go quick, and we can’t leave you without a place to live.”
He stood, and I stood along with him. “Thanks, Trey. For everything.”
Trey stepped around the table and opened his arms, “C’mere, Chris, and give me a hug. You don’t have anything to worry about. I’ll see to it you’re okay.”
I stepped into his hug and felt his arms close around me. I wondered how I’d managed to grow such strong, tall boys. I didn’t do anything but put out the feed and holler “c’mon,” as far as I was concerned, Nonetheless, Trey and Schooner were both strong enough to bother themselves carrying me. I was a little overwhelmed. After returning his hug, I looked up at him once more and said, “I’m glad to hear you don’t mind looking after me. As of today you have my powers of attorney and the right to pull the plug when I’m pitiful and drooling.”
Trey hugged me tighter briefly, then let me go. He crossed himself quickly, stepped away, and picked up his coat. “God forbid I have to deal with that anytime soon.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” I said.
He pulled on his coat and gave me a small, bashful glance. Without looking at me, he said, “I want you to know how much I appreciate you trusting me, Chris.”
I walked to the kitchen door and held it open for him. “Just remember,” I said, “you never get grown to your mama.”
Trey stood still in the kitchen. “I think Dad’s a total asshole, Chris. Seriously.”
“Well, thanks for that, baby. But I’ll tell you just like I told your brother: Cut him some slack. He’s just a pitiful, aging man trying to outrun the inevitable. That’s how I see it. But I don’t begrudge him his foolishness, thanks to you kids.”
Trey nodded and moved past me, awkwardly touching my cheek as he passed. With a sure-footed step down the back steps, he was gone. With no little bit of excitement over the prospect of a beach house, I went back into the warmth of my kitchen and my drink.
Within a week, I was walking through the same rooms I wandered now. Then they were only a sketch of space rendered in two-by-fours and rough-cut plywood holes awaiting windows. Now the ceilings were covered in beadboard, and the walls stood solidly between this room and that awaiting my new furniture coming that day. I smiled at the emptiness, imagining the colors and textures that would make the echoing coldness come alive—make it a home.
Probably more than anyone else, Wade Lee would be happy to see the place now. He’d driven down to meet me after the last hurricane of the season to make sure the place wasn’t damaged and to measure and dream about what the place could become.
Buying the house before it was completed allowed me to pick finishes, floor treatments, appliances, fixtures, trim work, and cabinets. For once, I’d have all the built-in bookcases I’d ever wanted. Trey had come up with a budget for me after he conservatively considered what the house in Oakwood would bring. Wade Lee helped keep me on course, though I had a few splurges before I hit the outer limits
of Zack’s guilt and he cut me off of his credit cards. No first wife ever had a better time putting together the box to hold a new life and assembling the things to put in it.
Excited finally to have the gray days between February and Thanksgiving’s end behind me, I got busy. While waiting on the furniture delivery truck, I vacuumed my new Oriental rug, carefully avoiding Beau, who slept near the middle, farting and making tiny movements with his big grizzled nose as if he could sniff a duck on the wing. Chesapeake Bay retrievers are supposed to be ill-tempered, but Beau was always a good-natured dog. In any case, he was 14, and I didn’t even think he could hear the vacuum. His life had changed so much over the past few years; I thought he was past ignoring the differences. I really believed he just preferred to sleep and dream.
I often wondered what Beau dreamt of. Did he relive the days when the kids were young and ran him all over hell’s half acre chasing balls and sticks and even sofa cushions until I worried he would have a heart attack? Did he dream of Schooner? Whom he slept with until Schooner left for college? Did he dream of a piece of meat or a biscuit that I’d secretly stashed for him away from the kids’ ravenous hunger? Did he dream of his own old place: on the far-left cushion on the sofa in the den?
I turned off the vacuum and stashed it in the empty new hall closet. I closed my eyes before I turned back to the great room. Then I opened them to take in the acres of antique Oriental rug I’d splurged on. I’d wanted one like it for years before I saw this one in the rug store in Norfolk. It was the weekend Zack married Alicia. I’d left the house and Beau to the kids and drove up to visit Wade Lee.
Wade wasn’t any help that day—there was no keeping me from splurging on things for the beach house. He’d always had more money than sense, and when I’d walked away and gone back to the rug four times, he told me if I didn’t buy it for myself, he was going to. At just that moment I began to see where I was going and to appreciate everything I could do while I was getting there. For the first time in my life I could make a life exclusively for myself—I could furnish it to my taste and to the limits of the money I had access to. It was an incredibly satisfying feeling.
