Seven #3
A hardness filled her gaze, and she straightened her light gray silk blouse that absolutely did not need straightening.
“This is not home. You are playing around again, Logan. We had a deal. You got to go off and explore the world, have your gap years, then you had to return to Boston and go to school. It’s time to live up to your end of the deal.
Make something of yourself and not be such a … disappointment.”
“Why didn’t you come to the hospital?” I asked, ignoring the painful sting of her insult.
I should be used to it by now. Being called a disappointment.
That I wasn’t living up to my potential.
Why couldn’t I be more like my siblings?
I’d heard it all, and yet, every time she or my dad said it to me, it was like the first time all over again. Cutting deep until they hit bone.
“What do you mean?” She knew exactly what I was referring to, but chose to play stupid instead.
“When I wrapped my car around a pole. Why didn’t you come to the hospital? You, Dad, Bill, Stuart, Evelyn, none of you came. I was in there nearly a week.”
“We paid your medical bills. We touched base with the doctors. They said you’d be fine. Bill works at the hospital. He always knew what was going on with you and kept us apprised.”
“And yet, you couldn’t be bothered to actually come visit me.”
“We were angry.”
“Because …”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Logan. You mucked around with that girl, did something stupid. Jeopardized your future and the reputation of this family. Then you did something even stupider. Why would we reward such behavior with … attention?”
“Attention? You mean coming to see your son who was in a coma for three days? You’re saying that would be rewarding undesirable behavior with attention?”
She took a sip of her wine. “It’s time to come home, Logan.
Now, you can’t return to UMass Boston, but I’ve reached out to some of my fellow alumni at Brown, one of whom happens to know the dean of admissions, and they think they can get you in for late second term admission.
But you’d have to start next week. Your father has also reached out to friends at Duke, but that would be for September. ”
“I’m not going to Brown or Duke, Mom. I’m not going back to Boston.”
That don’t-you-dare-mess-with-me glare entered her eyes like it did so often when I was a child.
“This is not a life, Logan. My sister might have raised …” She glanced around with unveiled disdain, “mercenaries who scrubbed off the gunpowder and think slinging beer will erase their violent paths. But I know better. We are better.”
“They’re marines, Mom. They served and protected this country.
Then they came home, started a very successful business and families, then lost their wives in a tragic accident.
Yet, through all of that, they’ve remained as close as ever.
They are wonderful people. The McEvoys are the kind of family I want.
Not our … ridiculous excuse for one. A group of people related by blood who can’t even show up when one of us ends up in the hospital. ”
I could feel Renée’s curious eyes on me, and it was impossible to resist glancing over at her.
“So that’s why you won’t leave,” my mother said haughtily, following my gaze and giving one of her disapproving head shakes. “Another distraction. Another mistake. Have you gotten this one pregnant yet? Or have you been able to keep it in your pants?”
I faced my mother again, my nostrils flaring as the fury inside of me built.
“I think you should leave, Mom. I’m not going with you.
I’m happy here. I’m building a life. I’m making friends.
I have a job I enjoy and a family that supports me.
” Then I stood up and pushed in my chair.
“I have to get to work. Have a safe flight home.” Before I could let those debilitating nerves tingling through my arms and causing my palms and pits to sweat like a beer mug with an ice-cold lager in it, I spun around and left.
“Go into the back, Logan,” Chloe said before I could even step foot behind the bar. “Now.”
She was the bar manager, in a relationship with the owner, and an all-around very smart woman, so I didn’t argue and shoved my hand into the swinging wooden door that separated the kitchen from the bar.
I bypassed the cash-out room, the kitchen, the walk-in cooler and pantry, before I finally landed in one of the walk-in freezers.
I heaved open the door, getting hit with a refreshing rush of icy air, and stepped inside.
The motion-censor light flicked on and I shut the door behind me. Then I let out the mother-of-all screams. Because my mother, of all people, decided to show up and ruin what had been an otherwise wonderful day.
Worst of all, I knew Shirley Conroy well enough to know that she wasn’t going to take me walking away from her as my answer. She rarely lost an argument, and the woman hadn’t even started to try to win this one. She was ready for war; the question that remained was: was I?
There’s definitely a happily ever after for these two, but to find out how it all goes down, you’ve got to head to my website and grab the rest of the book.
I won’t ask you to sign up for my newsletter or anything.