26. Mack
CHAPTER 26
MACK
O h fuck. Why’d my dad have to go and call me Ulysses?
I despise the name, a throwback to our ancestry that I’d love to leave behind. Far behind, in fact.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Gracelyn’s shocked look, brows flying up.
Okay, so maybe I should have mentioned my given name.
But I hate it so damn much. One of the million and one reasons I left Augusta and never looked back.
Escaping my destiny , my mother always says .
More like my fate, if I stayed here.
“Hello, Dad.” I stand and clap my father on the back, noting he’s smaller and more shrunken than last time I saw him. He is getting up in years. I probably should make more of an effort to come home and spend time with my parents.
But it’s so damn painful.
“This is Gracelyn.” I motion at her and she rises, shaking my dad’s outstretched hand. He pumps her hand up and down three times, smiling broadly at her.
“Ah, yes. The girlfriend. We’ve heard a lot about you, young lady.”
Gracelyn’s cheeks tint pink and she smiles shyly at my dad. Maybe the two of them can hit it off. She’ll have an easier time with him than my mother.
“Lovely to meet you, sir.” Gracelyn nods at my father and he motions for her to sit.
“How was the trip, kids? Long?”
Good grief. My parents act like we drove down from Iowa or something.
“Not too bad, Dad. The traffic isn’t ramped up yet. Tomorrow will probably be worse.”
“Exactly why we suggested you come today. We can get in a round of golf tomorrow, then enjoy the turkey and all the fixings on Thanksgiving.”
Oh shit. They want to play golf. Of course they do. I’ll be fine, but Gracelyn has definitely never swung a club before. And now’s sure as hell not the time to start.
“I don’t know about golf, Dad….” I hedge, squeezing Gracelyn’s thigh under the table. Her leg’s trembling—this is going about as badly as I thought it would.
“Nonsense. We have the chef here all day preparing, along with the rest of the staff. Gives us plenty of time to hit the links!” Bypassing the tea service, he heads straight to the bar cart in the corner. He pours himself a healthy shot of bourbon, and I sorely wish I could fix myself a stiff drink as well.
But I’d never do that in front of my mother. At least not until the appropriate hour. My father gets away with it, after forty-five years of marriage. One of the few perks, I guess.
Me, not so much.
Gracelyn sips her tea, staying uncharacteristically silent.
“Ulysses, we heard from Emma Kate that your team’s doing well this year.” My mother locks eyes with me over her teacup, pinky outstretched like the good debutante she always was.
“They’re doing so great!” Gracelyn chimes in, smiling at me, then at my mother. My mom presses her lips together in a thin line, nodding.
“Wonderful.”
Silence as we all sip our tea, a bird chirping in the distance. The ice from my dad’s glass clinks loudly, echoing through the solarium, and I search for safe topics of conversation.
Politics, no.
Work, no.
Anything Thunder Creek, no.
Yeah, I got nothing.
Luckily, my sister bounds into the room, sneaking up behind me and wrapping me in a huge bear hug.
“Big brother! You’re home!” Her voice trills in my ear, the sweet vanilla scent of her perfume tickling my nose.
“Hi, Emma Kate.” I pat her hand. “This is Gracelyn.”
Emma Kate loosens her grip on me and turns her attention to Gracelyn, embracing her.
“So nice to meet you! Anyone who’d put up with my grumpy brother must be a saint.” She grins and Gracelyn laughs. But it’s not the sparkly laugh I love, the one that lights me up inside. This sound’s more muted, lighter. Like she’s not sure what to do.
“Much as I oppose the grumpy comment, I concur Gracelyn’s a saint.” I squeeze her knee under the table and her shoulders relax a bit, her face softening.
“Well, I’m glad you’re both here. Takes some of the heat off me for a minute.” Emma Kate flounces over to the sofa and collapses against the floral cushions.
My sister’s never known a day of heat in her life.
She’s always been the favorite, the golden child. All my parents’ hopes and dreams were pinned on me, a heavy mantle to bear. When Emma Kate came along, she was a blessing, an answer to my mother’s prayers for another child. The girl could do no wrong, beginning from conception and going straight through to today.
“Uh huh,” I mutter, taking a drink of the strong English Breakfast tea my mother favors.
“Did you hear that Ruthie Ann and Tate Gillivray are getting a divorce?” Emma Kate folds one leg under the other and leans forward, ready to gossip.
“I hadn’t.” Nor do I give a hoot, but I’d rather talk about this than other things, I suppose.
“Yep. Supposedly Ruthie Ann cheated on him with—wait for it—her personal trainer. Like, how cliché, you know?”
“Emma Kate. Idle gossip is the devil’s work.” My mother chides my sister, but Emma Kate merely rolls her eyes.
“It’s pretty scandalous. Everyone at the club’s talking about it. I heard the trainer got fired and Ruthie Ann was forced to pull her children out of the Azalea School.”
“Oh my.” I set the teacup down, pull two sandwiches off the tray. I offer one to Gracelyn, but she declines.
“Those poor children.” Our mother sighs, acting like she can empathize with their plight. “At the holidays, too. Shame.”
Gracelyn shifts in her seat, a pink flush creeping up her neck. I change the subject quickly.
“Anyway, how was the hunting trip, Dad?”
My father perks up, rattling his glass in his hand. “Fantastic. We each got a buck, plus Murphy managed to shoot a few quail. I’m having the antlers mounted. Should be up by Christmas.”
Nothing says Merry Christmas like a good antler mount.
Gracelyn pales beside me and I search for yet another subject change, but I’ve got nothing. Every single thing that pops into my mind is so far out of the realm of everyday living, so unimportant to anyone outside of this microcosmic sphere.
“Hello!”
The hair at the back of my neck rises, my blood pressure skyrocketing.
No. This cannot be happening right now. Why the fuck is she here?
I’d recognize that high-pitched Southern drawl anywhere. In fact, that very same voice haunts me in my nightmares.
I swallow hard, mouth drier than a desert in a motherfucking drought. The voice, the strong scent of cinnamon and cloves, the full-body chills I just got without even turning around and making eye contact.
Yep, it’s definitely her.
Tinsley.
My ex.