Chapter 31
Harbor
After the mountain of a speed bump we ran over when my parents heard things never intended for their ears, it’s been smooth cruising ever since.
I haven’t seen my parents laugh so much in a long time. They’re almost, dare I say, like regular people. People with lives that don’t revolve around their kids and aren’t stuck in suits in stuffy offices or running fundraising events.
Cooking dinner or running us to sports practice.
I don’t recognize these imposters, but I’m not upset about seeing this side of them for the first time.
John, because that’s what we’re calling him now, cracks open another beer can and hands it to my mom.
My gaze swings to Lark as I shake my head.
She laughs, I think at me, but it could be seeing my mom drink beer from a can.
That’s a sight I never thought I’d see, so it’s something we’re experiencing together.
My mom turns the design to read the front of the can. “It’s been a long time since I had one of these.”
“How long?” I ask, thinking I might need another if this night continues like it is.
Three’s probably a good stopping point on a school night, plus we have a test in our first class tomorrow.
I should probably review the test material, but I have a handy-dandy sexy study buddy to help me memorize the interior biomes of human anatomy.
It’s a refresher since I studied that in high school.
I think I’ll study the anatomy of a Lark tonight instead.
My mom looks up at the stars and then at my dad. “What was that dock party we went to sophomore year? Do you remember, Port?”
“Probably not if we were drinking these that night. I think we’re going to need the kids to come pick us up to take us home.” He pulls out his phone along with a pair of reading glasses. “I’ll call Noah. Marina can ride with us, and Noah can drive the other car home.”
I chuckle because they’d rather have a newly licensed sixteen-year-old drive them home than their wild child twenty-year-old son.
Lark’s dad sits forward in the patio chair, and says, “You can always crash in the back bedroom, Lark’s old room.”
My mom waves him off. “No. No. We can’t impose like that. It’s no problem for the kids to come get us. It’s only twenty minutes down the road.”
She doesn’t catch it, but I do. John stiffens and looks away, taking another swig of beer to cover up for whatever came over him. I imagine it’s what Lark warned me about—don’t mention the estates.
Turning her attention to Lark, she asks, “How long have you been with Larry’s Catering?”
Like father, like daughter. Visibly tensing, she turns a cup of water around in her hands. “Two years, but as of yesterday, I’m a free agent again.”
John’s attention is caught, and he turns it on Lark. “What does that mean?”
“I quit yesterday, so I’ll be looking for another job next week. I’m just taking a breather for a few days first.”
Her dad’s brows pinch together, and he shifts in his seat. “How are you going to pay rent? It’s coming up quick.”
“I have enough saved to cover the next month.” She glances at me in her discomfort of the spotlight. I reach over and offer a hand, though she knows where I stand on the matter of where she lives. She takes my hand.
“And after that? You’re dipping into your savings.”
Lark’s posture remains unchanged with no defensive pretenses. That’s my girl. “Don’t worry, Dad,” she says, “I’ll find another job.”
My mom says, “If you’d like me to ask around—”
“I appreciate that, but it’s not necessary.” Her cheeks are flushed. Embarrassed is my least favorite hue on her. Post-orgasm is a different matter altogether.
Occasionally, I’ve caught my mom sneaking peeks at Lark. I can tell my mom approves of her. From Lark’s welcoming way of speaking to everyone as if they’re the most important person in the room to her intelligence, drive, and ambition to her kindness, she’s easy to love.
I’ve been bucking against the system for so long that it feels good to finally have peace in my life, my parents’ approval, and our family getting close again.
“Why did you quit?” my attorney father asks, but his voice is calm, even sympathetic. I don’t love that he asked, but I don’t think Lark needs me to save her, either.
I squeeze Lark’s hand, and when she looks at me, she says, “I was working a brunch at the country club yesterday.”
“The Ladies Who Lunch?” my mom asks. “I was supposed to be there, but I was in Manhattan with a school event for Marina. Now I’m sorry I missed it.”
“It was ugly,” Lark says and then sighs. “I’m glad you weren’t there.”
“Tell them why, Lark,” I say, keeping my voice low, though the others can hear me. “The details are important.”
I’m shot a devil’s glare. My dad asked the question, but somehow, I’m the villain?
Looking between her dad and my mom, she replies, “I spilled tea on one of their expensive purses.”
“One of them was a bitch to Lark.”
“Harbor,” my dad says. His tone isn’t irritated but more indifferent. “You shouldn’t talk about people like that.”
“She shouldn’t have been a bitch.”
John chuckles when he says, “I never much cared for pretenses. Although I do give people the benefit of the doubt—they’re having a bad day or wrecked their car, which is something I see a lot of in my shop—kindness matters.
When someone is rude to service workers, acting like they’re above it all, they’re not good people. ”
Wise words.
He’s gruff, like Lark said, but he’s honest, and you get what you get with him. I like that.
“It’s not only how she acted,” I start, trying to coax her into revealing the details. Tapping the toe of my shoe against the side of hers, I say, “Tell them what she said to you.”
I can only imagine that she’s hesitant to say bad things about anyone in my parents’ social group, but I don’t mind being the bad guy. “The lady told Lark that her turquoise bag was worth more than Lark’s life.”
“What?” My mom gasps. “That’s horrible.”
“That’s what I think,” Lark says. “Who would say that to another person? To another human, much less someone serving you. It was an expensive bag, but do I mean so little to her that she values that more than a life?”
Leaning forward, John’s eyes are wide. “No offense to our guests, but The Pointe is full of assholes.”
Dad taps his can against John’s drink. “Well said, John.”
“It was a turquoise bag?” Mom asks.
Lark angles toward her and replies, “An Hermès bag. I recognize it from Sex and the City. They had a whole episode about the bag.”
My mom stands and walks to the end of the deck, looking out over the yard. Port gets up and goes to her. “What is it?”
She rubs her hands over her arms like she’s cold.
“Betsy owns an Hermès. Turquoise specifically. She bought it on a trip a group of us took to London.” A mischievous grin settles on her face, making me think there’s more to the story.
But then her expression sours. “She always makes a scene over that purse, once even demanding it have a seat in a sold-out event. Laila ended up standing the rest of the night just to shut Betsy up.” The memory wrinkles my mom’s face, but then she asks, “You spilled tea on it?”
When laughter bubbles up, my mom clamps her hand over her mouth.
“I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t a laughing matter.
What she said to you was awful. I’m still shocked someone could say such horrid things to another person, but honestly, they’re just not good people.
” My mom says the last part almost sheepishly as if she’s done something wrong.
Her better nature makes her feel guilty.
She doesn’t need that relationship dragging her down.
Dad looks at Lark again, his features tightening. “It’s a shame you had to deal with that, but it doesn’t surprise me to hear Betsy’s involvement.”
If the Bensimones try to fuck with my girl. Not going to fucking happen.
“They’re not good people,” he repeats after my mom. I think the beer is kicking in, but I still support my dad’s honesty.
“That’s the last straw with them.”
John says, “This night took a turn I didn’t see coming.” He takes a swig from his can. “Nothing like betrayal to set things in motion.”
We’re all just staring at him, not only unsure of what he’s referring to but also, I’m hoping he continues and gets the dirt out on the table.
Lark’s still staring at him when his eyes meet hers.
I’m not sure what they exchange at that moment.
Maybe it’s something they’ve developed, a silent form of communication that only they share, but Lark suddenly says, “They were saying terrible things about your family. Mrs. Bensimone and the other lady.” And then she downs her water.
The three of us remain silent, unsure how to comprehend what she just said, but John sits forward, resting his arms on his legs. “There’s always more to the story.”
I roll the admission around my mind to connect the dots. “Terrible things about your family.” Her words finally make sense. “You dumped tea on her bag because of what she was saying about me.”
“I dumped tea on her because of what she was saying about the Westcott family. The bag was just collateral damage.”
Silence encircles us again until my mom says, “I don’t think I want to know what was said, but . . .” She moves to sit by Lark. “She’s always been a jealous bitch.”
“Mom,” I say, shocked but holy shit, that was awesome.
“Sorry, it slipped” She shrugs. “I’d like to thank you. You don’t owe my family anything, but knowing that someone stood up for us . . . Thank you.”
“It’s really not a—”
“It is,” I say before she has a chance to undermine the good she’s done. “You stood up for what was right when you had something to lose.”
“It’s only a loss if it meant something to you. It was a job. I can find another.”
Rubbing Lark’s arm, she adds, “I’d like to help however I can.” My mom’s a fixer. It’s hard for her to sit and do nothing when there’s an injustice. “I could call Larry—”