Defending Taylor (Hundred Oaks #7)

by Miranda Kenneally

  Will people ever think of me the way they used to? Will I need to prove myself trustworthy again? Once they doubt, can that ever be repaired?

  • • •

  The rest of my week mostly sucks, given how much Dad’s campaign and my name are in the news, but I must say I feel better than before, when the lie was bottled up inside. It’s nice not having to always be on my toes for fear that my lie might come out. And I’m glad my parents know I was never into serious drugs.

  When I get home from school on Friday, Dad is already there. It shocks me to find him sitting in the sunroom, reading a newspaper.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I left the office early. I want to take you and your mom out for dinner. Unless you already have plans with Ezra.”

  Wow, we haven’t gone to eat together in forever. “We were going to see a movie, but I’ll call him and cancel.”

  “Invite him along. I’ll get a reservation for four.”

  After I text Ezra, I shower and change into a sleek black dress for dinner, but when I get downstairs, I find Dad in a pair of jeans and Mom in a casual flowered skirt and pink blouse.

  “Dad, I didn’t know you owned jeans.”

  He cracks a smile. “Neither did I.”

  “Tee, why don’t you go put on something more comfortable?” Mom suggests.

  This is all so weird. First of all, my family rarely eats together. Second, did Mom just tell me it was okay to dress down? I change into leggings, a white blouse, and leather boots, then meet my parents in the front parlor.

  Ezra is here, dressed to the nines in a black suit and shiny red tie.

  “Why did no one tell me this wasn’t a formal dinner?” he grumbles.

  Mom actually grins. “I’m sure you can find something to wear in Oliver’s closet.”

  When we’re all finally dressed appropriately, Dad drives us to the Roadhouse.

  “This is where we’re eating, Edward?” Mom asks, peering through the car window at the restaurant, which looks like a log cabin.

  “I feel like a good steak and a baked potato.” At the look of horror on Mom’s face, Dad adds, “Don’t worry, dear. I checked. They have salads.”

  Mom lets out a long breath of air.

  “I didn’t know the Roadhouse took reservations,” I say.

  “They don’t. I found that out this afternoon,” Dad admits, and Ezra and I laugh. “I learn something new every day,” Dad says.

  We go inside the restaurant, where people are cracking open peanuts and throwing the shells on the floor. The hostess seats us at a little round table by a window. The centerpiece is a lantern, its wick flickering in the dark room. Before we can even get drinks, people start converging on our table to shake Dad’s hand. Everyone seems really sad about his loss, and some are pissed to have a Democrat in office. Dad is gracious and kind to everyone, even the nosy people who want to know what he plans to do next.

  When everyone has gone back to their tables, the waitress takes our drink order. Mom seems a little horrified that they don’t serve wine, so she settles for iced tea.

  “Make that four iced teas,” Dad says.

  When the server is gone, Ezra clears his throat. “What are you going to do next, sir?”

  Dad seems impressed Ezra has the balls to ask. “I have a lot of options, actually. I could teach or work at my father’s firm. I might take some time off to travel. I saw an ad for a Caribbean cruise that looks relaxing.” He glances over at Mom, whose eyes light up at that idea. “It’s hard to believe I won’t be in the Senate anymore… I’ll miss Washington. I’ll miss making a difference in people’s lives.” Dad’s voice is so sad, I’m afraid I might cry.

  “You don’t need the title of senator to make a difference,” I say quietly.

  Dad leans back in his chair, thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll consider the president’s offer for a position over at Treasury. One of his people called earlier.”

  “But then you’ll never be home,” I say.

  “You won’t be either,” he replies with a small smile. “It’s off to college with you. Your mom and I will be bored at home without you around.”

  Since Dad was honest just now, I decide to do the same. “Mom, Dad, listen. I’ve decided I’m going to apply to some other schools…and not Yale.”

  Mom sits up straight, shocked. She looks over at my father. He didn’t tell her? Dad doesn’t say a word, so I take a deep breath and keep going.

  “I’m not sure what I want to do with my life, but I like the idea of being a museum curator,” I say, and before I know it, I’m totally word-barfing on my parents. “I love art history, and I think I want to major in it. That or history. Maybe minor in museum studies? Or major in museum studies and minor in business, like you want me to, Dad. That could be helpful if I’m running a museum one day. I’m still doing some research, but I think Boston University or GW or NYU could be a good fit. There’s also Vanderbilt, which means I’d be closer to home. The University of Chicago has an intern program, and I could work at one of the museums there. There are so many good museums in Chicago, you know? Well, in New York, DC, and Boston too. Yale is a great school, but there wouldn’t be as many internship opportunities in New Haven. That’s why I don’t want to apply there,” I ramble.

  Mom sets her tea glass down. “Life is short.” Her eyebrows pinch together for a moment, and her eyes begin to water—she must be thinking of her sister. “You should do what you want to do.”

  Dad simply stares at me. Finally, he cracks a small smile. “It sounds like you have a well-thought-out plan. Let’s talk about your college research tomorrow.”

  Ezra squeezes my leg under the table and grins at me.

  “Ezra Carmichael,” Dad says slowly. “Get your hands up where I can see ’em.”

  Ezra looks sheepish. “Yes, sir.”

  And I am all smiles for the rest of dinner.

  • • •

  When we get home, I invite Ezra inside.

  “You can’t stay too late because I have my last soccer game tomorrow. It’s an early one. Eight a.m.”

  “That’s fine. Shall we have dessert then?” He flashes me a killer smile.

  “If by dessert you mean dessert dessert, sure.”

  “I was thinking of the other kind of dessert, but I could settle for an ice cream sandwich. Do you have those?”

  We head into the kitchen. “I don’t know what we have,” I say, glancing in the freezer. “Green tea gelato?”

  Ezra sticks out his tongue. “Never mind. Can we go downstairs? I need to talk to you about something.”

  My heart skips a beat out of nervousness. “Okay.”

  Once we’re settled together in a cushy armchair with me sitting in his lap, Ezra speaks up. “I went to see my dad last night.”

  I suck in a deep breath. “How did that go?”

  “I told him I want to go back to school. To study architecture.”

  I hug my boyfriend. “What did your father say?”

  “He’s so happy to hear that I want to go to school again, I think he’d be excited no matter what I wanted to study. I could’ve told him I want to be a gynecologist.”

  I punch Ezra’s bicep.

  “Ow.”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “Seeing what you did for Ben.”

  “Huh?”

  “When you covered for him, you were living a lie. And even though you never meant for any of it to happen, it changed your whole life.”

  I draw tiny circles on my boyfriend’s chest. “In some ways, that was good. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here with you now.”

  “I agree. But when you were lying, you were living a life that just wasn’t right. Didn’t you feel like something was off?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I feel
the same way. I mean, I’m happy working on houses, but there’s always this nagging feeling. Something’s off, and I don’t think it will go away.”

  “Are you saying I’m a nagging feeling?” I joke.

  He tickles my sides. “Yep. You are my little nagging feeling. But seriously, you made me realize that if I don’t change something now, I could end up in a place I don’t want to be, just because I didn’t have the guts to tell the truth and ask for help. So I looked into resources for people like me and talked with my dad.”

  I touch Ezra’s cheek. “Wow. What happened?”

  “He was pissed, yeah, but I think he’d rather people find out I have a learning disability than us not speaking and me living on the other side of town. I’m getting tested for dyslexia and ADHD on Monday.”

  I suddenly feel like the day after Christmas, when all that anticipation finally pays off and you’re happy, but also sad. “So you’re going back to Cornell?”

  “I think so…but I don’t want to leave you either.”

  We hug each other tightly. “We will deal with it. You do whatever you need to do, and we’ll work it out, okay?”

  He nods. “I’m also looking into the architecture program at UT Knoxville. It looks like it may be a good fit for me. I might try to transfer. I’m waiting on a call back.”

  I kiss him. “You know what I’m thinking?”

  His arms pull me close. “What?”

  “Maybe your dad and mom wouldn’t have a problem with your Ragswood Road apartment if you got some throw pillows.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he mutters, pecking my lips. “My little nagger.”

  • • •

  Today is my eighteenth birthday.

  Unlike my sixteenth, I don’t have any big party plans for tonight. Ezra takes me to Jiffy Burger, so we can listen to all the trucker dudes talk smack. One bellows, “Well, that just dills my pickle!”

  We eat burgers and fries and drink cherry cokes.

  When we’re finished, I feel like I will never be hungry again, but I look at the dessert menu anyway. “Want to split some pecan pie?”

  He plucks the menu from my hand. “No dessert. I’ve got something for you back at your house.”

  I give him a pouty face. “I figured we could go to your place.”

  “Not tonight.”

  I raise my eyebrows. He won’t have the apartment much longer, and I want to take advantage of the privacy while we still can. He’s moving back home in December so he can spend the month working with an education specialist, who is going to help him get set up for college. He’s transferring to UT Knoxville in January, and the school will pair him with tutors and the support he needs to succeed. He’s excited to start and not scared, and that means everything to me.

  His mom and dad are already telling people that the reason Ezra left Cornell is because he wanted to study architecture and his father was upset he wouldn’t inherit the family business. I only hope that his parents will begin to accept that he has dyslexia and give him the emotional support he needs to succeed.

  When Ezra drives me home, there are tons of cars parked along the street. Wait—is that Chloe’s Sentra? Hey, there’s Steph’s red Mercedes! What is she doing here?

  I hop out of Ezra’s Range Rover and hustle up the front steps. Inside, rap music is pounding. The walls are shaking. Pulling my boyfriend along behind me, I jog through the house to the kitchen.

  “Surprise!”

  Tears flood my eyes when I see my family and friends standing around a cake with flickering candles. Chloe and Alyson are there from Hundred Oaks, and a few other girls from the soccer team, including Sydney and Brittany. Steph and Madison came down from St. Andrew’s. Mom, Dad, and Marina. Even Oliver and Jenna are here. Wow. I guess I should’ve known, considering the loud club music.

  I walk over to my brother and give him a big hug. “Any excuse for an Oliver Dance Party, huh?”

  “You bet.”

  “I’m surprised to see you.”

  “Me too. I’m still pissed, but you’re my little sister.”

  “Disappointing you has been one of the hardest parts of all this.”

  He pulls away from me and winks. “You’ll have to make it up to me. There are several nightclubs I want to visit over Christmas break now that you’re eighteen. Also, I’m thinking of a road trip over spring break. Think Nightclubs across America. Oh, and did I mention you’re coming with me?”

  I snort, leaving my brother to catch up with Chloe. “I have a new tequila you should try sometime,” he tells her.

  “Oh hell no. I’m not over the last time.”

  I spend most of the party gossiping with Steph and Madison. My sister won’t stop hitting on Ezra, which I find hilarious. He keeps making excuses to hide from her.

  At this point, I haven’t seen my boyfriend in half an hour, and I’m starting to get worried he’ll never reappear, when he suddenly materializes by my shoulder.

  “Tease, your present is in the garage.”

  “The garage?” I place my hands on his chest. “Did you get me a Vespa?”

  “Yes. I got you a Vespa.” He rolls his eyes. “C’mon.”

  I go into the garage, where Ezra leads me to a cardboard box. There is a puppy inside.

  “Eee!” I squeal. It’s a yellow lab, and he can’t be more than six or seven weeks old. I scoop him up. He fits in my hands, he’s so tiny.

  “He’s so cute!”

  Ezra smiles his gorgeous grin at me.

  “Who’s this?” I ask, accepting the puppy’s kisses.

  “He doesn’t have a name yet, so I’ve been calling him Squeaks,” Ezra replies.

  I run my fingers through the dog’s yellow fur and clutch him to my heart in a hug. “I love him, but do my parents know? Mom said I can’t have a dog. The carpets!”

  The dog is panting, his ears flopping all over the place. He barks a little puppy bark. Aww.

  The garage door swings open, and Mom appears. “Taylor Lukens, you can’t just leave your guests to sneak off with Ezra to kiss—” She stops chiding when she sees the puppy.

  “Oh, Ezra,” she says with a heavy sigh. “Not again.”

  “C’mon, Mrs. Lukens. Isn’t Squeaks the best?”

  Mom has always had a hard time saying no to Ezra. I mean, she caved when he gave me a rooster, for God’s sake. She comes over and gives the dog a scratch behind his ears. “He’ll chew my rugs.” The puppy licks her hand, making a smile flit across her face. “He’s awfully cute, Ezra.”

  “At least it’s not a goat,” I add. “I would love a baby goat.”

  Mom gives me a look.

  “So Tee can keep him, right?” Ezra asks.

  Mom sighs again. “As long as she takes care of him.”

  I lunge for my mother, folding her and Squeaks into a big bear hug. The dog makes a yipping noise. Mom takes the dog into her arms and goes back inside the house, either to show him off to our guests or to show him the rugs and tell him not to chew on them.

  “Thank you for Squeaks,” I tell my boyfriend. “I love him. But I bet Mom is going to steal him.”

  “No bet. Your mom looks tough, but she’s going to love Squeaks like her fourth child.”

  “Where did you get him?”

  “From Jack Goodwin’s neighbors, the Whitfields. They breed them. You can go visit the mama dog if you want.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out an envelope. “Here’s the rest of your present.”

  I rip into the envelope to find a handmade birthday card; he drew a picture of a doghouse for me. I open the card, and little slips of paper fall out. More homemade coupons!

  Doughnut holes on me!

  I will watch exactly one chick-flick with you.

  One free kiss!

  “I love you,” I tell him.


  “I love you too.”

  “I want to cash this one in right now.” I pass him the coupon for the kiss, and when his lips meet mine, this is officially the best birthday ever.

  Epilogue

  Spring Break

  I kiss Mom and Dad good-bye and hug Leo’s neck for the thousandth time this morning. I named my dog after Leonardo da Vinci because I’ve been on a total Renaissance kick. The puppy has grown from a tiny yellow furball that fit in my hands into a fifty-pound wrecking ball that loves romping all over the house. I haven’t been away from him more than a day in the past five months, and now I’m leaving him for a week.

  “Don’t worry,” Mom says, taking Leo’s leash. “Leo will Skype with you every day while you’re gone.”

  I smile, because that means I’ll get to talk to my parents every day too.

  “Be safe,” Dad says. “We love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “When you get back, we need to talk about what you’re doing this fall,” Dad adds.

  I knew that was coming. He brings it up every single day. I need to decide which school I’m going to by May 1.

  I imitate his voice. “When I get back, we need to talk about what you’re doing this fall, Dad.”

  “Stop teasing me. I’m working on it.”

  After turning over his Senate seat to Harrison Wallace in January, Dad hasn’t gone back to work. He and Mom took me to visit schools in New York, Boston, DC, and Chicago earlier this year, and then they went on a two-week cruise. They relaxed for the first time in forever. Dad even wore a Hawaiian shirt.

  Still, I know he’s sad about losing the election.

  He hasn’t decided if he wants to take a political appointment in DC or stay in Tennessee to work at Grandpa’s firm. Either way, he loved setting his own agenda when he was in the Senate. He wouldn’t get to do that at the Treasury, where the issues rarely change and it’s all about money. He wouldn’t get to interact with Tennesseans very much either.

  Dad talks of running for governor, but I fear I damaged his legacy, and I’ll never get over that. He says he forgives me and that it’s not my responsibility, but still, I know what I did hurt his reelection. I live with that every day.