Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
This time she laughs. Loud enough that a few people look our way. She has always had a free spirit, not caring what others thought of her. What she doesn’t realize is that everyone adores her.
Virginia’s laugh rings through my ears and an image of her pops into my head. My mother whispers, “Are you seeing anyone?”
The woman has a second sense for when her kids meet someone worth seeing twice. “Nah.”
Her hands are clasped together in front of her mouth, a smile rivaling the Grand Canyon, and I actually see a mischievous delight dancing in her eyes. That or I’ve been reading too many Playboy stories online. That’s probably it. Yeah, yeah, I read it for the articles. I get enough of the real thing in real life. I don’t need pictures of women who’ve been photoshopped to get me off. I’ve got enough offers and spank bank material in my head to do the job just fine.
Damn, I forgot I’m with my mom. I shudder, ridding the images now circulating around my brain, I say, “I haven’t seen Dad yet.”
“He’s here somewhere,” she replies, looking around the ballroom. “We’ve raised over five hundred thousand already.”
“Big donations.”
“Yes, the fundraiser is doing well. Can I bother you for a donation?”
“No bother. How much do you want?”
“Five thousand would be great. Ten would be better.”
I reach for my checkbook, pulling it from the inside pocket of my jacket. “Pen?” She hands one to me. I write out a check for the full amount hinted at and hand it to her.
“Thank you, Son. Now, go get something to eat before I have to force feed you some of my pot roast.”
“You don’t have to force-feed me your pot roast. I’d take it happily.”
“Maybe you can come for dinner on Sunday night?”
Sunday. Virginia. “I can’t Sunday, but maybe another one?”
A pat on the back is followed by a laugh. She says, “Yes, you’re welcome any Sunday, Son. Now go eat. The food is being served.”
I find my place card right next to Isabella, and I have a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t there originally. I’m tempted to cut out early now that I’ve made my donation, but I haven’t seen my dad yet and the lecture I would get for not staying isn’t worth it. I spy my parents sitting down five tables to the left front, closer to the stage.
“I thought you’d be gone by now, Hardy.”
Pulling my chair out just as a plate is set in front of me, I reply, “Thank you,” to the waiter, and to Isabella, “Soon.”
“You act like this is painful for you. Are you that much of a snob these days?”
I almost spit out the water I just drank. “Me? Wow, I’m not sure what to say to that.” Looking at the seat next to her, I ask, “Alone?”
“Unintended.”
“Matt always loved his work.”
She takes her glass and finishes the rest of her champagne. “Yes, he does.”
I sense her shift in mood, but she has a way of twisting things to turn them back on me and I’m not in the mood to justify my life to her anymore. “If you’ll excuse me,” I say, pushing back from the table. “I’m going to say hello to my dad.”
“Good seeing you, Hardy.”
When I look back at her, her eyes seem fixed on her plate, her fork in hand still on the table. “See you around, Isabella.”
I walk up behind my dad, and pat him on the shoulder. “Hey, Dad.”
He’s always been strict, not like my mom. They were definitely an opposites attract couple. Tonight he’s smiling and has a beer buzz by the looks of it. “Hardy, my boy.” He stands, setting his napkin down, and hugs me. “Good to see you, Son.”
“Good to see you, too. You look good.”
Wiggling back and forth, he tugs at his belt. “Well, the old man’s still got it.”
I hear my mom laugh. “Don’t encourage him, Hardy. He’s already a handful since he retired.”
“What? When did you retire?” I ask, shocked to hear my workaholic father has left his top priority in life.
“Last week. I didn’t make a big fuss to you kids. You have enough going on.”
“I always want to know what’s going on with you and this is big news. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Son,” he replies jollily. “Maybe I’ll come visit you at The Hideaway. We can have a drink.”
My dad’s never been there before. My mom has come by a few times before opening hours. She approved but left before as she says, “The ladies show up to bed me.” Besides being grossed out that my mom even said, “bed me,” I quickly escorted her out to catch a cab because she’s right and no mom should have to witness their son in all his charming glory make the ladies swoon. “Sure, Dad. Just let me know. Drinks are on me.”