Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
LIAM
T he winding, wooded drive to my parent’s house is a beautiful one. Late afternoon sunlight filters through mature evergreens and new underbrush, making the bushes and grass glow in vibrant hues of green.
My parents live in a gated community in a home that backs up to the 13th hole of a prestigious golf course–one of the original courses developed by the Graham family legacy. The course is beautiful, with mature trees, a man-made lake, and several water ways that draw from a natural spring originating from the side of the mountain. It’s a country club community where purchasing a home gains the homeowner’s and their families entrance into the clubhouse and private pool area, and a complimentary round of golf once a month during the open season.
Don’t get me wrong, the homeowners pay well for those amenities. It doesn’t come cheap. The golf course is the pride of Eugene. Even though there are other golf courses in the area, bigger ones with multi-million dollar spec homes surrounding them, Grahams on the Green holds a unique sort of prominence that only comes from old families and old money .
And of course, a reputation built on family values and high moral ethics.
Ask me how I know this and I’ll tell you it’s been beaten (not literally, of course) into the Graham siblings since birth.
Get caught sitting on a neighbor’s lawn? Unheard of. Get called into the principal’s office at school? Disgraceful. Speeding in the residential areas? Off with your head.
You get it, right? It’s an honor to live within the gates of the community, and it’s a qualification that residents live honorably. Of course, those are the unwritten laws of the area. They can’t be enforced through any legal system. But let me tell you, the homeowner’s association is alive and well in the community, and the elected leaders of the HOA are not afraid to exercise the powers afforded them in the community’s by-laws.
I’m not suggesting that’s a bad thing. It keeps the area clean and safe, and it helps maintain high standards of curb appeal and marketability. Nothing wrong with that.
After driving up the curving road through the foothills, I turn onto the residential road that leads to my parent’s house–the same house my brothers and sister and I grew up in. It’s not one of the largest homes in the area, but it sits on an incredible lot overseeing the Eugene valley from the large front windows and butting up to the golf course in back. The house is built like an old ranch home, with large rooms, a wealth of windows, and an oversized courtyard in the front dotted with potted plants, flowers, patio trees, and the rat-a-tat of a welcoming water fountain.
I spent many an evening as a kid sitting in the courtyard listening to the sounds of running water and nature. It’s quiet and peaceful. Come to think of it, Andie spent a lot of time there, too. We often sat and listened to the fountain or watched the sunset, as the sun dropped to the western sky, but more often than not, we would just sit in silence and enjoy being wrapped up in each other’s presence.
And we might have made out a time or two. Or three. But who’s counting?
That might as well be eons ago, yet, sometimes, it feels like it was just yesterday.
I find my usual parking spot on the edge of the wide driveway where my brothers and I used to shoot hoops as kids. Then I walk, slowly, through the quiet, inviting but unassuming courtyard, and prepare to steel myself for a battle of the wills.
My preparations die on the vine the moment I step inside the house. Because, seated on the dark brown leather sofa is my Grams.
Ah hell. This is worse than I thought.
“Hey Grams, you’re looking gorgeous as ever,” I paste on one of my winning smiles and bend down to place a kiss on Gram’s cheek. But Grams sees through my antics immediately.
“Don’t waste that well-deserved compliment and fake smile on me, Liam.” Her age does nothing to dull her sass. She’s a sprite of a lady, nearly a whole foot shorter than me, with white hair fashioned in a short bob that hits at her jawline.
She may be tiny, but she’s always been a giant in my world. I’ve always called her Grams as a sort of inside joke, since our family is known around the community as the Grahams .
“Good, you’re here,” my mom says as she enters the living room from the adjacent hallway. “He’s here,” she calls over her shoulder, presumably to my dad.
“Liam,” my dad says by way of greeting.
So far, this isn’t going so well. Our family is usually very affectionate. My mom and dad always hug me when I visit. Even the five of us siblings are affectionate, albeit in our brand of affection, which usually includes wrestling each other to the floor to see who can give the other a wet-willy first. All done in the spirit of family love.
But I’m not feeling the love right now.
“Somebody die?” I say hoping to break the ice. It’s the wrong thing to say.
“Save the morbid humor, Liam. This isn’t a social call. This is business.” My dad gives me the kind of look that only a dad can give. Forget dad jokes, because there’s nothing humorous about the look on my dad’s face–it’s one you don’t dare question.
I almost make a flippant remark, but a second look at my dad’s face warns me to keep my mouth shut. If only I knew how to do that.
“Well, you summoned me here, so let the lecture begin.”
My dad’s thunderous gaze hits its mark, but it’s the next words I hear that spear me in the gut.
“Your parents didn’t summon you, Liam. I did,” Grams says, her tone even and businesslike.
“Look, I know I messed up, I’m sorry. But I–”
Grams simply raises her hand, and the effect is the same as if Ursula the witch stooped down and stole my voice box.
“Liam, you know I love you. We all love you. You’re an extraordinary person.”
Oh man. This is doubly worse than I expected. Nothing good can follow that lead.
“I’ve sat back and watched you do your own thing , as you kids like to put it.”
I sincerely hope she hasn’t been watching everything I’ve been doing. Because that would just be wrong on so many levels.
“But you’re 33 years old, and it’s high time for you to grow up. We’ve been grooming you to take over as CEO of Graham Land Development and Commercial Finance, and you’ve proven yourself in many areas. You’ve always shown an innate aptitude for real estate development. And I’m proud of the work you’ve done in each of the tiers that have led to you earning you a place in upper management as a vice president. ”
“Thank you,” I manage to mutter before Grams raises her hand again. It’s like magic how the simple gesture renders me silent.
“But Liam, working for a company, or even running a company, isn’t the same as being its chief executive officer. Your reputation as the CEO of this company has to be above reproach. When you’re the CEO, everything you do, in business and in your personal life, will be on public display and impact the company’s reputation, not to mention how it will reflect on our family.”
“So, have you had this conversation with my brothers, or is it only me you plan to hold to this high standard?”
“Enough, Liam,” my dad interjects.
“Liam, dear,” my mom rests her hand on my dad’s arm. “Lenny is an attorney. He’s content to remain as such and has no desire to run Graham Development. He’ll maintain a connection to the company through consultation, but he’s built a successful business for himself separate from the family business. We respect that. Applaud it even.”
“And Layton?” I give my mom a pointed look.
My mom shoots a side glance at my dad before continuing. “Layton is not the future CEO of the company. You are.”
“I see. So he can do whatever he pleases and you don’t think it will harm the reputation of the company?”
“I didn’t say that,” my mom answers.
“Layton isn’t who we’re here to discuss,” Grams interrupts. “He has a brilliant mind for commercial finance, and he upholds the high standards for business practices set by your father and your grandfather before him. He’s a great asset to the company.
Because of that, Layton will continue to have a career with us for as long as he chooses. But Liam, Layton will never hold the company reins, like you will. You,” Grams points her finger at me, “have the same gift for development that your late grandfather had. He and I both recognized it early on in you. But he would not approve of the way you spend your free time womanizing and flirting with anything in a skirt. In fact, I fear he’d be very disappointed in you, and I have to admit, I’m glad he’s not alive to see it.”
Arrows shot. Bullseye strike to the center. Followed by a dagger to the heart. Man down.
All the fight leaves me like a rapidly deflating balloon, and my gaze sinks to the floor.
“Liam, dear,” Grams scoots to sit beside me on the sofa and places a wrinkled hand on mine. “I don’t say this to make you sad or upset. The last thing I would ever want to do is destroy the beautiful spirit inside you. You have an enviable charisma that shines from deep within your soul and filters through your eyes. I believe the good Lord has not only gifted you with charm and an ability to make friends wherever you go, but he’s also gifted you with the ability to lead. I don’t want to sit by and see you waste your gifts on frivolity and meaningless fun.”
Grams squeezes my hand and pats my knee. “I want to see you use the talents and abilities you’ve been given to create a legacy of your own–one that will honor your family’s name, and one that you can be proud to pass along to your children some day.” She angles her head so she can look me in the eye. “Can I count on you to do that?”
I risk a glance at my parents and discover them watching me carefully. Of course, they are. Grams is saying everything my parents have no doubt wanted to say for a while now–and probably have. I just wasn’t listening. No doubt my mom and dad are banking on the hope that I might actually listen to Grams, despite knowing my propensity to argue when the freedom to live life on my own terms is the topic of debate.
When I don’t answer right away, Grams gives my knee a parting pat and stands. “You don’t have to answer me right now, just think about what I’ve said, allow yourself to sit with it a while, okay? Promise you’ll do that much for me. ”
I give her a small nod and answer with a contrite, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now come in the kitchen and let me fix you a plate. I know your folks don’t have anything fit to eat, but I’ll see what I can whip up.”
I stand, towering over Grams, and yet right now I’m feeling kind of small. “Don’t worry about it, Grams. I’ve gotta get going.”
“Nonsense. You head over yonder and wait for me in the kitchen, and I don’t want any argument about it, you hear?”
I bend down and kiss Grams on the cheek, catching a light hint of her perfume, a fragrance that screams money. “Only if you promise to make me some sweet tea, too.”
Grams’ eyes brighten. “You know I will.”
With that, I head into the kitchen to wait for Grams. I hear the murmuring of voices filtering in from the living room and wish I could hear what my parents and Grams are saying to each other. On second thought, maybe I don’t want to know.
I make myself comfortable at the oversized kitchen island and wait for Grams. My parents had their country kitchen remodeled a couple of years ago, turning it into a modern-rustic kitchen with clean lines. Cement countertops replaced the old-fashioned tile ones, and stainless steel appliances, including a double oven, built-in microwave, and an upscale dishwasher, replaced the old white ones that had been there since my childhood.
I pull out my phone to check my email and catch up on social media. Clicking on the photos I took this afternoon on the river, I choose my favorite ones to post to my feed. In the caption, I write, “On the river with my buddies today. Good times. Looking forward to placing first in the upcoming charity run. This year we are unstoppable.”
As I scroll through today’s photos, I’m once again struck by how lucky I am to live where I do. The winters are a beast, there’s no disputing that, but for nine months out of the year this place is heaven on earth. If I ever were to get married and settle down, I can’t think of a better place to raise a family than right here.
Not that I’m ready for either scenario, mind you. I meant it when I told my friends I’m not the white picket fence kind of man. But then a year ago, if you’d have told me Larson would be married and about to become a father, I’d have thought you were two dumps shy of a load. I suppose love really does change a man, and the change must be a good thing, because right now, all three of my friends are at home with their wives, and their happy butts are probably smiling. Or napping.
While I sit in my parents’ kitchen waiting for my grandmother to make me a pitcher of sweet tea. What’s wrong with this picture?
But hey, I’m free, right? So I guess I won’t complain. My friends gave up their freedom–willingly traded it for married life. The paradox is that by doing so, they’ve found true happiness.
Where does this leave me?
“Sorry about that, dear,” Grams says as she floats through the large sliding barn door that separates the living room from the kitchen. She begins rummaging through the pantry and the refrigerator, pulling out every edible item possible. I watch in fascination as the creative wheels begin spinning in her mind as she surveys her haul.
“Grams, tell me again about how you and grandpa met.”
Grams pauses what she’s doing for a moment and looks pensively to the ceiling. Then, for the better part of an hour, she regales me with tales of how she and my grandpa met. Most of them are stories I’ve heard several times throughout the years, but I know it brings her so much joy to share them, so I don’t mind hearing them again.
Tonight, however, she surprises me with a story she’s never before shared.
“Your grandfather was the one true love of my life, you know.”
Yes, that much I do know.
“We went through a rough patch for a few years, but we managed to find our way back to each other, and we never looked back.”
But that much I did not know. My brows shoot upward. “What rough patch?”
“Oh, it’s not really much to speak of,” she says, attempting to brush it off.
“You can’t drop a bomb like that and not tell me,” I say, gesturing for her to continue her story.
“Well, as I’m sure you already know, your grandfather was a handsome charmer in his day.” She pulls out a frying pan, adds some oil to it and turns the gas burner on medium/low. Then she grabs a container of corn meal, and a bag of flour. Next she mixes the flour and cornmeal together in the bottom of a shallow bowl and adds some salt and pepper to the dry mix. Then she rinses a couple chicken breasts, rolls them in the flour and cornmeal, and then places them in the frying pan. Soon the entire kitchen is filled with the mouth watering aroma of country-fried chicken.
“You remind me of him, you know?” she says, winking at me as she turns back to the chicken. “Always one to light up a room the moment you enter it.” Adjusting the burner, Grams picks up a set of tongs and begins turning the chicken.
“So what happened?” I ask, urging her to keep talking.
“He asked me to an Easter sunrise service they were holding on the coast. A group of our friends were building a bonfire at the beach the night before Easter. The plan was to sleep on the beach and then get up early to attend the sunrise service. My parents wouldn’t give me permission to go, so your grandfather asked another girl to go with him. Wooo-wee, don’t ya know I cried for days over that! But I never let your grandfather find out how hurt I was. No sir. I gave him the cold shoulder like nobody’s business when he came home.” Grams shakes her head and chuckles. “It was the worst Easter of my life!”
“Wow, I can’t believe he would do that to you,” I say, a little shocked by this revelation.
“Well, we weren’t engaged or anything. He had his freedom to do whatever he pleased. And so did I, to the extent my parents permitted it.”
“But you obviously forgave him, right?”
“Not for a long time. I told him I wanted to be free to date other boys, and do you know what that scoundrel did?”
I can’t help my grin as I shake my head.
“He got mad at me. The nerve of him!”
“Seems like a double-standard if you ask me,” I add unhelpfully.
“That wasn’t uncommon back then, but I was having none of it.”
“So how long did you stay mad at him?”
Her smile widens. “Oh, it was a couple of years at least.”
“Years?” I say, unable to mask my surprise.
Grams continues rotating the chicken as it sizzles and pops in the pan. My stomach growls in anticipation.
“Oh yes. I went steady with another boy during that time. Made your grandfather spitting mad!”
I bark out a laugh. “You conniving little minx! I had no idea you were such a schemer.”
“I have plenty of secrets, Liam dear.”
“So, how did you end up back together?”
Grams chuckles. “After a couple of years, I guess your grandfather finally had enough. I was singing in a holiday program they held at the old community center in the original part of downtown Eugene. My boyfriend planned to pick me up afterwards. We were going to go see a movie, but when I stepped outside to meet him, your grandfather was there instead.” Grams shrugs her shoulders. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”
I shake my head. “Oh no you don’t. You can’t tell me this story and then leave out the best part. What happened when you saw Grandpa there? Did you fall into his arms? Or did you play hard-to-get?”
“Well, don’t forget, I was still angry at him.”
I laugh. “Really? Even after two years?”
“Oh yes. But then, when I saw your grandpa standing there, leaning so casually against the wall like he hadn’t a care in the world, my heart did this somersault thing in my chest. He had his hat sitting just crooked enough that my fingers itched to reach up and straighten it. But it was his eyes that did me in. They turned stormy the moment he saw me.”
“And you immediately melted at the sight of him.”
“Not immediately. Well, I reckon I melted on the inside, but I wasn’t about to let him know it.”
“So what did Mr. Stormy Eyes do next?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows.
Grams shoos me with her free hand, but I don’t miss the flush in her cheeks–and it’s not because she’s been frying chicken.
“The old fool marched right up to me and held out his hand. I asked him where Michael was–Michael was the boy I was going steady with–and your grandpa told me Michael would not be the one driving me home. When I didn’t take his offered hand, oh man, did his eyes ever burn.” Grams fans herself, and now my own cheeks are turning pink. “He grabbed my hand, pulled me down a nearby corridor, and then he kissed me.”
“And you let him? ”
She shrugs. “Oh, I resisted at first, or tried to, at least, but then,” she shrugs and gives me a saucy smile that makes her look decades younger than she is.
“And then you melted in his arms.”
She releases an audible sigh. “And then I melted in his arms.”
“I take it all was forgiven after that?” I ask.
Grams laughs. “Oh no. He spent the next sixty years trying to make it up to me. What he didn’t know, what I never admitted to him, was that I had already forgiven him.” Grams taps the tongs against the frying pan, and deciding the chicken is evenly browned on all sides, adds a little bit of water and sets the tongs aside. She covers the pan and allows the chicken to steam.
“Love is like that, Liam. We make mistakes all the time. Most of the time our mistakes are small ones easily forgotten, but every once in a while, someone makes a huge mistake that causes emotional pain to the person they love the most. When that happens, we have to choose how we’re going to respond. I already knew I wanted to marry your grandpa. There was never any other choice for me. I was miserable while we were apart. We both were. In the end, I chose the path I knew would bring me the most happiness. And that path was your grandpa. It doesn’t mean we never fought or had disagreements. We were constantly poking each other. But despite our differences, we made the decision to choose to love each other every day. And equally important, we chose to forgive each other every day.”
I stand and circle the kitchen island to fold Grams into a hug. “I love this story. Who knew you were such a romantic.”
“Of course, I am. Who else could you have inherited your devilish charm from?”
Most guys my age would be uncomfortable listening to their grandmother relate such personal stories, but I find it adorable. And what the heck! Way to go Grams for setting boundaries and holding to them. And way to go Grandpa for not giving up on winning the love of your life back.
“I see the question in your eyes. What’s troubling you, Liam?”
“I’m just wondering how you knew Grandpa was the one for you.”
“Well, I suppose I knew because of that little twinge I’d feel in my chest whenever your grandpa walked into a room. I called it the zing thing. It feels like something is turning somersaults in your chest and your belly. I’ve never experienced it with any other man. Someday, you’ll experience a zing of your own, although, I suspect you already have. I just hope you’re wise enough to embrace it.”
“I don’t know about that.” Ignoring Grams’ discerning gaze, I reach into the cupboard and pull out two mugs. I fill them to the top with ice and then pour the steeping sweet tea over the ice, enjoying the sound of crackling ice as it comes into contact with the hot fluid. Grams makes the best sweet tea on the planet. I have to be careful though, because if I drink too much of it, I won’t sleep for a week.
Grams removes the lid from the chicken and plates the breasts. She adds a wedge of cheese, some baked beans, a slice of bread, and some sliced apples as side dishes to the fried chicken.
This is Grams’ idea of whipping up something fit to eat . She’s as masterful in the kitchen as she is in the boardroom.
We enjoy our meal together, and Grams must be in a talkative mood because she continues to regale me with stories about her and grandpa. Every once in a while, she rolls her eyes upward and lifts her head heavenward. I imagine in those moments, she’s having a silent conversation with him.
What would it be like to have that kind of relationship with someone? That strong a connection? I suppose wondering is a waste of time for someone who’s not a white picket fence sort of man. There was a time when I might have seen marriage as a natural part of my future, but that was when I was too young to know better.
As if she’s reading my mind, Grams reaches over and pinches the side of my face. “You’re a good man, Liam. Maybe someday you’ll stop doubting the truth of that.”
“Grams, it’s not like my self image is lacking.”
Grams doesn’t argue, she simply picks up my plate and sets it in the sink. Before walking away, she squeezes my shoulder and says, “Go on, get along with you, now,” and shoos me out of the kitchen.
I’m two steps away from the front door when my mom calls to me. “Not so fast, Liam.”
I was so close to a clean escape.
“What d’you need, Mom?”
“It’s about the benefit. There’s someone I’d like you to take as your date.”
I close my eyes and bite back the urge to roll my eyes. “Too late. I already have a date.”
“Who?”
“Andie.”
“You’re taking Andie,” Mom’s voice is thick with suspicion. “As your…date?”
“Yes,” I lift a defiant chin, daring her to challenge me.
Mom glares at me, and I can’t be certain if she’s glaring because of the tone of my voice or because of the whole me taking Andie thing.
“What’s that look for? Don’t tell me you have an issue with Andie, because we both know you adore her.”
“I do adore her. That’s exactly the issue.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask .
Mom gives me a decidedly pointed look and jabs her index finger at my chest. “Don’t you dare mess with that girl! She’s been through enough the past couple of years. The last thing she needs is for you to start playing with her heart.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “What are you talking about? I asked her to be my date for the benefit. How is that playing with her heart?”
“Don’t play ignorant Liam. Andie cares about you, she has for years. In fact, if you ask me–which I realize you did not–she never truly got over you. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”
“Well, I don’t plan on hurting her, so you can stop worrying,” I say a little too defensively.
Mom’s wrong about Andie not being over me. She spent five years with Derek the scumbag. Isn’t that proof she was over me? Over us?
“See that you don’t,” Mom warns. “The two of you may only be friends, but the lines can sometimes be blurry if you aren’t careful.”
“Is that all?” I’m suddenly feeling very obstinate. “Or would you like me to pledge my first-born child to you as collateral?”
Mom raises her chin at me–an exact mirror of my own stubborn stance. “Don’t be fresh, Liam.” She skewers me with a look. “Yes, that's all for now. Fair warning, though. The members of the board will take note of everything you do. They’re watching you closely.”
“Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear. Repeatedly,” I reply.
“Don’t be flippant, Liam.”
I turn my head to the side and chew on the insides of my cheeks. “I don’t like living in a fishbowl, Mom. I hate it. Most of the members of the board have known me since I was a kid. They already know the kind of person I am, and my interactions with them as an employee have always been favorable. I don’t get their sudden dislike of me. I’m the same person I’ve always been. ”
Mom’s face softens and she reaches out to touch my arm. “It’s true, the members of our board have always liked you, everyone who meets you loves you. How could they not? But…” She allows the word to hang between us.
“What? All of a sudden I’m not likable?”
“It isn’t that. It’s that now, they’re viewing you through a different lens. They can’t afford to look at you as the carefree, fun-loving, always smiling and flirting son of the CEO. They have to view you as the next CEO, and as the face of the company. Grams and your father have been trying their best to groom you for the enormous responsibility that lies ahead of you. Grams believes you’re a natural, just like your father and his father before him. I’ve been trying to tell you this for months.”
I force myself to relax and un-clench my jaw. I could easily blame the shift in the board’s opinion of me on my screw up with the double booking drama, but the truth is, their opinion of me began changing prior to that.
“I don’t get it, Mom. I’m the same person I’ve always been. They’ve known you and Dad plan to hand over the reins to me for years, and up until a few months ago, no one questioned my character. What aren’t you telling me?”
Mom pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “We thought we had more time. Your father wants, needs, to step down, sooner, rather than later.”
For the first time, I notice worry lines around Mom’s eyes. “Why? What happened?”
“It’s his health,” she says, her breath a little shaky.
“What’s wrong with his health? He seems fine.”
“That’s because your father is an excellent actor. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nothing serious or life threatening. Not at the moment anyway. But he’s had some irregular EKGs recently, and he’s been experiencing heart palpitations during the night. They’re strong enough that they wake him out of a dead sleep sometimes.”
“Why am I just now hearing about this?” Mom flinches at the sharpness in my tone.
“Because it’s your dad’s call to make, and he didn’t want to worry any of you kids. It’s nothing to be concerned about, per se, but the doctors are keeping an eye on him. He wants to hand off the company while he’s still strong enough to support you as you grow into the position. It’s not as though you can just walk in one morning and instantly be the man in charge. There’s a lot for you to learn, Liam, and your father wants to begin tutoring you soon and bring you on as co-chairman of the board.”
“By soon, you mean?”
“He wants you ready to take over within the next two years. Sooner, if possible. He’s been working for the company since he was sixteen. That’s forty-five years, Liam! He’s tired. He deserves to spend some time traveling or gardening, or maybe playing golf more often. He’s earned it, hasn’t he?”
Judging by her tone of voice, Mom means for this to be a rhetorical question, but I nod my agreement anyway.
My dad is almost sixty-two years old. And Mom is correct. He has put in his time, given so much of himself to grow my grandfather’s company into the successful corporation it is today. All while maintaining high standards for professional ethics, customer service, and employee satisfaction. He took my grandfather’s legacy, and he built an empire my grandpa would be proud of. He’d be the first to tell you, though, that he didn’t do it alone. He had a lot of help from his support staff–his biggest supporters being Grams and my mom.
“He’s leaving me some very big shoes to fill once he retires.”
My mom smiles. “That’s true. So it’s a good thing you’ve got enormous-size feet.” Mom pulls me in for a hug and it suddenly occurs to me that it’s been a while since I’ve had a true mom hug. My family is overly affectionate at times, but usually in a teasing or annoying way, which tends to happen when there are four boys around. This hug is more than the sweet greeting hug or the kick you out the door hug. This hug is filled with tenderness and emotion, and all the words my mom hasn’t said, but wishes I could understand.
And let me tell you, Mom’s hug is speaking volumes.