The backseat of the car made him feel claustrophobic. The dark leather, the tinted window between him and the driver—all of it reminded him of too many car rides trapped in the back with his father, enduring a lecture. The constant tone of disappointment and disapproval. Matt plugged in his earbuds and cranked up the music, watched the scenery roll by and thought about Lena.
Smiling, he sent her a text.
Landed safely. Miss your scowl already.
A moment later, she sent him a picture of herself scowling fiercely. He felt the tension and claustrophobic feelings slip away as he laughed. I could fall in love with her. The thought cut short his laughter and the phone slipped from his hand. It was true. He could. Whether he should or not remained to be seen. Grabbing the phone before it hit the floor, he sent her a grin emoji. Focus on what you’re doing here, man. You should take her advice and try to fix this stuff with your family. Then you can figure out what to do about Lena.
* * *
TOO SOON, THE car turned up the circular drive and glided to a stop in front of the large Victorian. Blue-and-white trim and soaring rooflines unchanged since his earliest memories. Climbing out, he felt the bite of wind and cold. Back in Charleston, autumn was barely tapping at the door but here winter was already making its presence known. The respite from the feelings of suffocation Lena’s text had given him faded away. Twenty-four hours. You can do this. You get to sleep for at least eight of them. Hooking the backpack over a shoulder, he started up the wide front porch.
“Matt’s home!”
His mood brightened. Charlotte. “Chuck!” he teased as he met her on the porch.
“Beau!”
She hugged him. Charlotte didn’t fool around with her hugs. She came in fast and tight. He closed his arms around her and lifted her off her feet. When he set her back down, she reached up and ran her hands through his hair and beard. Snorted out a laugh. “Dad’s gonna shit a brick.”
“Won’t be the first time,” Matt said. He gestured at the front door. “What’s the mood?”
“The usual. Mom’s on a rampage. Everyone is incompetent. We’re purposely trying to embarrass her. Three of the caterer’s waitstaff have been reduced to tears. One quit. Called Mom a crazy old bitch. It was awesome.”
“Tell me you got it on camera.”
“Nope. Happened too quick. Heads-up, Susie is in there being Mom Junior. Dad’s hiding in his office.”
“So, essentially, nothing’s changed at all.”
“Nope. Welcome back to the asylum.”
The front door opened and his mother leaned out. “Charles. Where is your luggage?”
“Hi, Mom. Nice to see you.”
“You didn’t even bring a suit? I suppose you think you are going to attend your grandfather’s ninetieth birthday party in that?”
“I have some pants and a shirt. Figured I’d borrow one of Dad’s ties.”
He followed her into the house. Inside was the usual preparty bustle. Catering staff scurrying around, setting up tables and laying out place settings. His mother’s decorator had her own staff hard at work with flower arrangements and candles. He steered clear of that side of the house.
“Mom, I was wondering if I could...”
She looked at him, then past him. “No!” she screeched. “Not there. I told you people not to put flowers in that room.” Pushing past him, muttering under her breath, she stormed into the formal dining room.
Okay. Should have known better. Not a good time. He took some deep breaths, trying to let go of the irritation. He was going to try to make some amends this weekend. They weren’t going to come to him. He’d have to get them to sit down together at some point. He headed up the staircase to the second level and his old room.
It had been stripped of any hint of him and turned into a guest room, but it was where he stayed when home. Tossing the backpack in a chair, he toed off his shoes and flopped down on the bed. His phone vibrated in his shirt pocket. Charlotte.
You are not allowed to hide up there.
I’m taking a nap. Need to be fresh for tonight.
I have a flask of cinnamon whiskey on the back porch.
On my way.
He stopped at his father’s closed office door. Maybe he should do this after a wee sip or two from Charlotte’s flask. Shaking his head, he lightly knocked once on the door. Good old Dad would love to smell alcohol on his breath. There was a gruff sound from behind the door that he took for permission to enter the sacred chamber. He turned the doorknob, hating the way his heart rate picked up and he felt like he was fresh from the principal’s office.
“Hi. Just wanted to let you know I was here. Thanks for the plane tickets.”
His father looked up and pulled reading glasses from his face. When Matt was a boy, his father seemed a giant. Ten feet tall, hands like catcher’s mitts and a voice loud enough to shake the foundations of the earth. As an adult, he was a sedentary man heading into his senior years. He wasn’t even six feet tall. The hands were soft from turning pages in books all day. Only the voice remained. Gravelly, abrupt.
“I thought I told you to cut that hair.”
“I trimmed the beard,” Matt said, stroking a hand down his chin, falling against his will into the habit of goading his father.
“Always the smart-ass. Thought you’d outgrow that.”
“Dad. I want to talk to you and Mom at some point before I leave tomorrow.”
Replacing the glasses, his father returned to the book on the desk. “We aren’t lending you money.”
Fury, white-hot and oh so familiar, flared within him. He’d never asked them for a penny. Ever. The door opened behind him.
“Matt. Come on. Susie’s here,” Charlotte said. She caught his hand and pulled him from the room. Out in the hall, she looped an arm around his waist. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Keep hitting yourself in the head with the same club and expecting it not to hurt.”
He pulled away. “Is Susie really here because I’d rather not deal with her right now. Where’s that flask?”
They sneaked out through the basement door, heading down the paved garden walkway to the hidden gazebo that overlooked the woods behind the property. Huddled together on the bench, they passed the flask back and forth a few times.
“How do you do it?” he asked.
“Deal with them every day?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t change them, Matt. They will always be exactly who they are. I can only change how I let them impact me.”
“I want to tell them I’m sorry,” he blurted out. Charlotte had that effect on him. She’d been more than his big sister. She’d been more of a loving, motherly influence than his own mother. “I know I was a terrible son for a long time. But I’m tired of the dance.”
“And you want to know if they’d be receptive to this?”
“Yeah.”
Charlotte took a sip from the flask and handed it to him. “Bald truth? No. I don’t think they will be. They are so...so...inflexible.”
“So I should forget about it?”
“I didn’t say that. If you want to apologize to them for your own peace of mind, to make amends, then do it. If you want to do it to change how they treat you, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“But what if I want both?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Won’t get either or both if you don’t even try.”
“Are you two drinking?”
Susie’s voice climbed several shocked octaves. Matt and Charlotte slid lower on the bench. Charlotte pressed her face against Matt’s shoulder to hold back the giggles. Susie appeared on the gazebo steps. She was a perfect miniature of their mother. Blond hair tastefully tinted and shaped into an acceptable helmet around her fa
ce. Powder blue suit with a white blouse and black pearls. Black pumps with two-inch heels. She put her hands on her hips and Matt lost it. He began giggling, which made Charlotte giggle harder.
“I swear, Charles. You aren’t even home ten minutes and you’re causing trouble. Why don’t you grow up already?”
He pointed at Charlotte. “It was her,” he wheezed out. Drawing in a huge breath, he tried to stop laughing.
“It was,” Charlotte said, wiping at her streaming eyes. She held up the flask. “Mine.”
“Well. I’m going to tell Mother.”
The threat sent Matt and Charlotte back into a laughing fit. After Susie stomped away, Matt grabbed the flask and took another sip.
“Home sweet home,” Charlotte said.
“Think she’ll really tell?”
“No. Mom’s on a rampage. Even Susie isn’t going to throw gasoline on that fire. Come on. Let’s go find some food.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
HIS MOTHER’S PARTIES always followed the same protocol. Cocktail hour for the family that was essentially a wardrobe inspection and a briefing on the important guests. Matt finished ironing his dress shirt and put it on while it was still hot. Moving to the mirror, he tied the tie in a neat knot, adjusting it at his throat as if he did it every morning. Stepping back, he looked at himself. Nodded. Should pass inspection. Crap. His hair. He scrounged around in his backpack and found a hair band. Perfect. He scooped his hair up into a neat man bun.
He took a grinning selfie and sent it to Lena.
I clean up okay.
No immediate response. He took a deep breath. Okay. Showtime. He was going to behave. He was going to be charming. He was going to control his smart-ass mouth. After everyone had left, he’d sit down with his parents and tell them what he came to say. Charlotte was right—their response didn’t really matter. It’d be great if they could begin to heal this rift, but if not, he’d tried.
Halfway down the stairs, the phone buzzed.
That man bun is so hot. Have you talked to your parents?
He stopped on the staircase and began typing out a response.
Not yet. Soon. When I get home, I’ll let you watch me put it up.
Charlotte came running down the stairs and snatched the phone from his hand before he could hit Send.
“Baby brother! Lena? Who is this? You have a girlfriend?”
He took the phone back and sent the text. “Lena is... I don’t know what she is yet. Don’t say anything to anyone. It’s very new.”
Charlotte mimed zipping her lips but she gave him one of her giant hugs. “I hope it works out. I want to see you happy, Beau.”
“Don’t make me up, Chuck.”
She groaned. “Still as horrible as when you made it up, dork.”
Their mother appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Will you two stop wasting time and get down here.”
Following her into the formal living room, Matt looked around. His father lounged back on the sofa with Susie beside him. Grandfather sat in the side chair, looking older and frailer than Matt remembered. A pang hit his heart. He missed his grandmother. She had been an artist also and had encouraged his talents. Against the wishes of everyone else in the family. There was still not a small amount of resentment that she’d put the bulk of her estate in a trust for him.
But he was going to be the penitent son. “Grandfather,” he said respectfully, approaching the old man and holding out a hand. “Happy birthday. Happy to be home to help you celebrate.”
The old man pretended to squint up at him. “Susannah? Is that you? Can’t tell with all that hair.”
Matt pressed his lips together as Susie and his father snickered from the sofa. He turned to them with a smile. “Suz, you need to tend to your chin hairs. Must be out of control if Granddad here is mistaking me for you.”
“Enough,” his mother barked out. “I swear to God, can we just pretend to get along for one night?”
Charlotte made a drinking motion from behind the sofa and crossed her eyes. Matt ignored her and turned to his mother. “I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I promise.”
At the ring of a bell, the maid carried in a tray of champagne flutes. After they’d each taken one, his father got to his feet. “Happy birthday to my mentor, my leader, my father. May we have many more years of your knowledge and guidance.”
They all raised their glasses and called out, “Happy birthday.”
“Now that that’s over,” his mother began. Matt met Charlotte’s eye and she shook her head. “Matt, you haven’t been around much, but I’m sure you remember who the partners are at the firm.”
“Pretty much,” he said.
“There are several new wives,” she continued with a disapproving sniff. “Harley Bennett married that little blonde secretary of his, Eva. And Edward Cooper married his...”
“Mistress,” Charlotte supplied the word. She grinned at Matt. “She was a Vegas showgirl.”
“Lola?”
“No, Kelly. You’ll know who she is. Slamming hot.”
“Both of you, stop. No need to rummage in the gutter with Edward.”
Matt dipped his head. “Yes ma’am.”
* * *
THE PARTY WAS a mind-numbing whirl of faces and fake smiles. Matt moved restlessly around the perimeter, nursing the same glass of champagne he’d used for his father’s toast. It was all too much. The inane banter, the insincere compliments were almost physically painful to him. Watching his grandfather puff up under the fawning made him want to run screaming back to Charleston.
A hand closed around his biceps, squeezing tight. “Why, Matt, never in a million years would I have thought I’d see you here.”
He turned toward the familiar voice with a forced smile. “Bitsy,” he said before kissing her on both cheeks. “I wouldn’t miss Grandfather’s ninetieth birthday.”
Her eyes moved over him hungrily. “You’re looking rather...dangerous.”
She did all but lick her lips. He gave her a grin. She did lick her lips then. “Dangerous as a newborn kitten,” he said.
She lifted his left hand. “Still unattached I see.”
He pulled his hand away. Bitsy and her parents had decided that he was going to marry her when they were seniors in high school. Bitsy went off to college to get a degree in flower arranging or something. Matt had fled the scene. One of his many sins.
He pointed at the rock hanging off her fingers. “I see you aren’t.”
She gave him a smug, superior smile. “I found a real man.”
“Congratulations. I wish you happiness.”
“I’m sure I will be. Donald is a junior partner at—”
“Excuse me. Sorry, Bitsy, but my Grandfather is trying to get my attention.”
He slipped away. He was sorry he’d just run off all those years ago instead of telling her he didn’t love her and didn’t want to marry her. But not sorry enough to listen to her try to prove how much better her life was without him. He grabbed a fresh glass of champagne and sat down, unasked, next to his grandfather.
“Escaped her clutches again, son?” the old man said.
“Barely. How’re you enjoying your party?”
“Bah. I’d rather be reading a book. All these people. Not one of them has spoken to me since I retired. They don’t care.”
“I care.”
“Do you? You ran away from us fast enough.”
“I know. I didn’t know what else to do. But I did care about you all. You and Grandmother. Maybe I didn’t appreciate it back then, but I know how much work you did to provide us with all the advantages that we took for granted.”
The look in his grandfather’s eyes was one Matt had never seen before: respect. He shut his mouth before he said anything to ruin t
he moment.
The old man nodded and clasped Matt’s forearm for a moment. “I’m sorry your father is a bit of a dick. And I didn’t choose your mother. That was your father’s doing. And don’t ever tell anyone I said that or I’ll deny it and cut you out of my will.”
Matt laughed. “You can cut me out, Grandfather. I’m doing okay.”
“I know you are.”
“Oh?”
“I keep up. I know you’re something of the hotshot down there in Charleston. Your grandmother would be proud.”
Matt blinked. A lump rose in his throat even as his heart warmed at the words. “Thank you, sir,” he said in a thick voice. “I miss her.”
“Me too, Matt. Me too.”
And then Matt did something he’d never done before in his life. He reached out and took his grandfather’s hand. Gave it a gentle squeeze.
He took in a deep breath and looked around the room. Charlotte was deep in conversation with Kelly, the former Vegas showgirl who was indeed slamming hot. Susie was huddled in a corner with Bitsy and some other woman, casting dour glances at Charlotte and Kelly before murmuring what were surely not compliments. His father was working the men in the room, his hearty fake laugh bouncing off the walls. His mother was flitting about with her party smile on, but her eyes were sharp and constantly moving, looking for the waitstaff to make a mistake.
He suddenly remembered what Lena had said about rich people. That everyone was afraid to do something different unless the richest, most influential man in the society did it first. Was that what was wrong with his family? They were all acting out the roles they thought they were supposed to play? Could it be that under all that icy armor, they were looking for someone to make the first move? A new feeling rose in his gut. Hope. This might actually work. He’d take that first step and maybe they were ready to let go of the past as much as he was.
* * *
AFTER THE GUESTS had all left—several hours after Grandfather had taken his leave—Matt cornered his parents in the family room where they were enjoying a postparty cocktail.
“May I talk to you about something?” he asked from the door. He half hoped they would say no. Plead the late hour. Something. Anything. He stood straighter. No. You will do this. He crossed the room to the bar and splashed some club soda in a glass.
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