Chapter Nine Take a Road Trip #2
How is it that he can make me feel so many things? Completely comfortable one minute and then heart-pounding desire the next.
“Tell me about the school,” he says. “Are you making any progress?”
For a second, I worry that he’s acting as a spy for his family—checking up on their investment—but then I realize that’s crazy, and I’m sure he’s just making small talk.
“A little,” I say. “The village council has bought into the idea, and we’ve been having meetings with them.
The locals will be the ones to provide the day labor for building the school, not to mention maintaining it and eventually running it, so their buy-in is critical.
It’s going to be a lot of work, but I love it. ”
It’s quiet for a few minutes while we eat, but I can tell there’s something on his mind.
Hart pushes his plate away and leans back in his chair. He looks down, and I can see the worry on his features.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, sensing a shift in the mood.
“Hearing you talk about your career, your passion for what you do, the difference you make in the world is incredible. But it also reminds me that I don’t quite know what I’m doing.”
“My work is one of the things I’m most proud of about the life I’ve built for myself, but believe me, I don’t have it all figured out.”
“How do you know what you want?”
I shrug and take another sip of my sparkling water. There’s something about the way he’s worded his question. I can’t tell if it’s purely rhetorical. Or if he’s asking how people in general figure out what they want, or if he’s directly asking me about what it is that I personally want.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
His look is faraway and filled with uncertainty—a little crease forming between his brows. “I just wonder, what is actually the point of all this? What am I meant to be doing with my life?”
“I guess it’s something that each person has to answer for him- or herself.”
“Exactly.” He nods. “We’re not meant to just follow blindly in the footsteps of those walking before us.”
I sense that he’s referring to his parents, that the path they’ve chosen is the same one they desire for him.
“It might help to talk about it,” I suggest.
“Sometimes I feel directionless.” He gazes out through the windows, and I study his profile.
“What if I’m nothing more than my name? And nothing that I do matters.
” He meets my eyes. “By the age of twenty-five, Martin Luther King Jr. was already a civil rights leader. Amelia Earhart had earned her pilot’s license, and Shakespeare had already written numerous plays. ”
I smile at him. Is this the rich person’s equivalent of a tantrum?
I touch his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“You have time, you know. For every Martin Luther King Jr., there’s also a Samuel L.
Jackson or a Vera Wang, who didn’t start the careers they’re famous for until their forties.
You’ll find your thing. Just the fact that you’re asking these questions tells me you’ll one day do something great. ”
He releases a drawn-out sigh and rubs his temple. “I’m sorry. I’m sure I sound ridiculous. I know I’ve been given every advantage, the silver spoon and all, and I have nothing I should complain about.”
“You don’t sound ridiculous. I’m sure those advantages come with their own challenges.
The heavy weight of those expectations.” My brow furrows as I study him, realizing for the first time that my words are no doubt true.
I have no idea what it’s been like to be him.
The pressures he might be under, the scrutiny he faces.
Taking a breath, I try to think of something to say that might help.
After a moment, something comes to me. “I think it was Gandhi who once said, ‘Whatever you do in life will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.’”
He meets my eyes with a look that’s filled with admiration and awe. “I’ll try to remember that.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, our heads bent close. I wonder if he’ll kiss me, but I hear footsteps in the hall, and we drift apart.
“I’m going to use the restroom ...”
He points. “Down the hall and to the left.”
I shut the door, and when I look in the mirror, I’m unsure about the woman looking back at me.
About how I got here, what I’m doing. I breathe deeply, taking my time.
After I’m through washing my hands and applying more lip gloss, I head out in search of Hart.
He’s not in the kitchen, where I left him.
I stop at the entrance to a formal living room and overhear his cousin Hayes talking. “She’s pretty hot, dude. But you didn’t tell me she was a cougar.”
A spasm of panic jolts me. Is that how he sees me? Like I’m some joke.
I swallow and round the corner to announce my presence, and see Hart shoving his cousin roughly up against the wall.
“Don’t,” he warns, voice stern.
Hayes jerks away, freeing himself from Hart’s grip, and straightens his jacket. “Chill. Dick. ”
Hart turns to me. “Are you ready to see the guest cottage?” he says, recovering.
I nod wearily, feeling like I have whiplash. Any footing that I thought I had found, feels as though it’s been ripped from beneath me.