34. Mack
CHAPTER 34
MACK
“W here’s Gracelyn?” I glance around the garden, but I don’t see her anywhere. She’s not sitting and chatting with Emma Kate and Tinsley. Can’t say I blame her there.
She’s not in front of the fire, nibbling cheese and crackers and sipping wine.
She isn’t talking with my father.
And she’s not with my mother and me.
“I’m not sure, dear. Perhaps she went to the bathroom.” Mom twirls the drink skewer holding the bleu cheese-stuffed olive in her martini, avoiding my gaze, her posture ram-rod straight.
I guess we’ve moved onto the stiffer drinks now.
“I should try to find her.” I sidestep my mother and go into the house. The clattering of pots and pans sounds from the kitchen as the chef and staff put the finishing touches on Thanksgiving dinner. A few people move through the hallway, carrying dishes for the feast.
No sign of Gracelyn anywhere.
I walk down the hallway, checking each room I pass. They’re all empty. Room after room, each one quiet and unoccupied. I peer into the library and spot two empty champagne flutes on one of the round side tables.
Stepping into the space, I quickly glance around. Nothing but empty sofas, unread books, and a bunch of stupid trophies my parents insist on displaying to impress their friends.
So embarrassing.
Where the hell’s Gracelyn?
I’m worried now. The last time I saw her was over forty-five minutes ago at least. My dad yammered on and on about some kid I vaguely remember from school who started practicing law down in Florida and made a fortune chasing big pharma. Like I give a shit.
Maybe Gracelyn’s in the bathroom.
I hustle down the hall, knocking on the powder room door. No response. I open the door to check she’s not passed out or something.
Empty.
After checking every bathroom on the main floor, panic sets in. Where could she be?
I pull out my cell and shoot her a quick text.
Mack: Where are you? Worried
I stare at the screen, willing her to respond. No dots pop up and swirl, the message only marked as Delivered.
Hurrying out of the main house, I jog down the path to the guest house. It’s the only spot I haven’t checked outside of the upstairs and she has no reason to go up there.
I knock on the guest house door and wait. She doesn’t answer, so I turn the knob and push inside. The house is still and quiet, and no lights are on.
“Gracelyn?” I call her name, striding through the house in search of her. “You here, babe?”
My voice booms in the emptiness.
“Gracelyn?” I call for her again as I enter the kitchen, a hint of panic edging my voice. I spot a note on the table and grab the paper with a shaky hand.
Mack,
I’m sorry to leave like this, but I couldn’t stay. After a lot of thinking, it’s best if we spend some time apart and reassess our relationship. I think we may be too different after all. We’ll talk about it later—I don’t want to ruin your family holiday.
Please pass my regrets to your family, along with a thank you for their hospitality.
Happy Thanksgiving and again, I’m sorry.
Love,
G.
P.S—I took your truck because I couldn’t get an Uber. I’ll come pick you up this weekend. Maybe Bobby can drop you in town and I’ll meet you there?
I toss the note back on the table, slamming my fist down hard.
“Dammit!”
Pulling my cell out of my pocket, I mash Gracelyn’s number and wait. I get sent straight to voicemail. I call again and leave a message.
“Gracelyn, it’s me. When you get this message, call me. Please.” My voice is low and desperate, but I can’t help it. Bolting out of here without saying goodbye isn’t Gracelyn’s style. I need to know what happened, who hurt my girl.
Anger surging through me, I charge back to the main house, gravel crunching under my feet. The garden’s empty, Michael Bublé singing only to the decorative hedges. Appetizers are gone, all the dishes cleared away. Cocktail hour’s over.
I square my shoulders and stomp into the main house. Voices carry down the long hallway. My guess is everyone’s gathered in my mother’s favorite sitting room, the one adjacent to the dining room used only on holidays and special occasions. Not to be confused with the regular, everyday dining room.
Blood roaring in my ears, I loosen my shirt collar and head in the direction of the voices. Sure enough, my mother, sister and Tinsley are relaxing on the sofas in the peacock blue sitting room, while my father freshens his drink at the bar cart in the corner.
“What happened?” I growl, not bothering with any niceties. “What did y’all say to Gracelyn?”
“Huh?” Dad blinks at me over the ice bucket. “What are you talking about, son?”
I shove one hand in my pocket, knuckles flexing in the small cotton cave.
“One of you—maybe two of you—” I peer over at Tinsley and Emma Kate, “must have said something to her. Because she’s gone.”
Tinsley gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. Like she actually cares Gracelyn left. It was probably her plan all along.
“Really? She just left ?” Emma Kate’s voice tips up in shock. “Before we even had dinner? That’s so rude.”
Anger boils in my veins as I spin to face my little sister. “That’s the rude part? Y’all have been beyond rude and inhospitable to her ever since we got here.”
Emma Kate sits up straight, crossing her feet at her ankles demurely. “That’s not true. I personally made it my mission to talk to her any chance I could.” She presses her manicured nails to her chest and acts affronted. “Not my fault she didn’t have much to say.” Shrugging her shoulders, she feigns innocence.
“Yeah, right. The Gracelyn I know always has a lot to say. What did you talk to her about? Cotillion? Your sorority sisters? Did you ask her anything about her life, her interests? Doubt it.”
“We did, Mack. Swear.” Tinsley backs up Emma Kate, smoothing her hair over her shoulder and fluttering her lashes. “We tried.”
“By talking bad about her behind her back?” I spit out the words, heat creeping up my neck.
“What? No.” Emma Kate shakes her head, but doesn’t make eye contact with me. She’s always been a terrible liar.
“I know you did, Emma Kate. You and Tinsley talked shit about her every chance you got. And guess what? She heard you. So nice job. And she didn’t want me to mention it because she’s mature and wanted to get along with everyone. But the way you treated my girlfriend is wholly unacceptable.”
Emma Kate blushes a bright pink, all the way to the tips of her ears. At least she has the decency to be embarrassed.
Tinsley, not so much.
That bitch sits on the sofa examining her fucking nails and pretending she did absolutely nothing wrong.
“And you, Tinsley.” I level my gaze at my ex. “How dare you say anything bad about Gracelyn and the way she looks? She’s a better person—more beautiful inside and out—than you’ll ever be.”
Tinsley touches her slender throat, her face pale. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
I spin to face my mother. “And don’t act all blameless, Mother. You could have embraced Gracelyn, welcomed her with open arms. Instead, you invited my ex for the holiday—” I jerk my head at Tinsley, “then shoved Gracelyn into the guest house, away from the rest of the family. You made jabs about her career—which she’s very good at, by the way—and made her feel less than. If I don’t call or visit enough for your liking, the only person you have to blame is yourself.”
My mother’s lips press into a hard, thin line and she frowns. “Now, Ulysses. That is just not the truth.”
“It is, Mother. It is the truth. Whether you want to admit it or not. The reason I don’t come home is because this isn’t me.” I sweep my arm across the room, gesturing at the expensive paintings, the blown glassware from Milan, the priceless first editions. “All this stuff. It’s too much. I feel trapped, suffocated by this lifestyle. Maybe if y’all were warm and open, it’d be different. But this visit shows me that’s never going to happen.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Ulysses.” My mother’s voice wavers a little and tears shimmer in her eyes, glistening in the glow of the lamp. “We’ve always done the best for you, tried to give you everything. And this is how you repay us? With ingratitude?”
“No, Mother. I’m not ungrateful.”
Raking my fingers through my hair, I take a deep breath and forge ahead. “I appreciate having the means to live how I want, on my own terms. But those terms have never been enough for you.” I glance up and meet her gaze. “And that’s the problem.”
My father stares at me from across the room, nodding his head in agreement. He’s wise enough to stay out of it, for fear of retribution from my mother. I understand his position, but it would be nice to have back-up every once in a while.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find the woman I love.” I take a deep breath, my conviction growing stronger. “The woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. Because she understands and appreciates me for who I really am, not who she wishes I would be.”
My chest lightens as I say the words out loud.
I love Gracelyn. I want to be with her. I want to make her my wife.
“Dad, I’m going to need to borrow a car.”
He sets his glass down on the bar cart and hustles across the room, ready to spring into action.
“You’ve got it.” Looping his arm across my shoulders, he ushers me out of the silent sitting room and toward the garage.
The four-car garage attached to the main house stores my father’s collection of modern cars.
“Any one you want, son.” He gestures at his fleet, driven mainly around town when he feels like a quick escape from my mother. “My personal favorite is the Maserati. It’s got some pick up.”
“Perfect.”
My dad presses the key into my palm. “Take good care of her, son.”
“I will. I’ll bring her back without a scratch.”
“I’m sure the car will be fine. I was talking about Gracelyn.”
He winks, slapping me on the back, and for the first time in ten years, I think my dad gets it. Gets me.
“Thanks, Dad.” I hug him, my heart full. “I appreciate it.”
“Give me a minute and I’ll have the chef fix you a to-go plate. For you and Gracelyn. Happy Thanksgiving, my boy.”
“Thanks, Dad. Happy Thanksgiving.”