Chapter 34 Holly
It’s Monday morning, technically my day off, and—once again—I’m scrambling to get ready, then heading into work to put out fires. At least, I think that’s why I’m going to the club. It’s also entirely possible that I’m going to get fired.
The club president, James “Buck” Dorsey, called my cell phone a half hour ago, sternly instructing me to come in for an impromptu meeting.
Frankly, I have no idea how he got my cell number.
Probably from Janey. All I know is that I need to be there in a half hour, and I can’t seem to track down any clean underwear.
Aidan arrives at the doorway of my bedroom, his unruly auburn hair flopping over his eyes. He’s wearing torn-up jeans, a dingy Goodwill T-shirt that reads Starlight Motel, and a look of significant concern.
“You okay, Ma?” he asks. “Lots of banging around in here.”
“Absolutely,” I say. “Just rushing to get to a meeting.”
Honestly, I’m not okay at all, but he doesn’t need to know that.
I’m freaking out because after Saturday night’s motorcycle debacle, I worry that Buck Dorsey is bringing me in to demote me.
Or maybe Luisa—in her fury—marched up to him after the Midnight Society Costume Ball and tried to blow the whistle on Griggs and the others, somehow implicating me in the process.
“Anything I can do to help?” Aidan asks, his brow etched deep with worry.
He returned from Athens last night, and—looking at him—my heart almost bursts with pride. The kid may look like a street urchin, but he finished his first year of college with a 3.95 GPA. Pretty damn impressive.
I guess he inherited his father’s brains, as well as his musical talent.
A huge pit opens in my stomach, knowing that all of Aidan’s hard work was for nothing.
In six days, Griggs Johnson will play a round of golf with the Undergraduate Dean at UGA, then take him to the Ivy Room and tell him, while nibbling on eggs benedict and sipping stiff Bloody Marys, that my sweet boy is a felon.
And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Well, except plan the meal, which I’ve already taken care of.
I’ve been carrying my phone around, watching obsessively for any communication from Luisa, hoping that she’s found some way to get Eli out of jail, praying that this isn’t all as completely awful as it seems. I tried to go see Eli first thing yesterday morning, but the Fulton County Jail requires at least twenty-four hours’ notice for any visitors.
I left my contact details in case he needs to make bail.
I sure wish Luisa would call to give me an update.
And I wish we both could take back the awful things we said to each other Saturday night.
“Sure I can’t get you anything?” Aidan asks, still standing in the doorway. I hate to make him worry—parents aren’t supposed to do this to their kids.
“How about a coffee,” I say, pasting on a reassuring smile. “That’s exactly what I need.”
“Great,” he replies, clearly relieved that I’ve identified something for him to do, besides stand around awkwardly and worry about his mother. “I’ll go make you a double latte for the road,” he says. “Then I’m heading out to play some music with Jay.”
“Perfect,” I say. “And don’t forget family game night tonight, next door.”
Joel and Peter established the tradition way back when Aidan was starting kindergarten. They’d have us over for dinner on Monday nights—my night off—and after a good hearty meal, with enough leftovers to last me and Aidan at least through Wednesday, we’d dive into Aunt Edna’s game night.
“How could I forget game night?” he teases. “Especially since we’ve got a guest player.”
I feel a blush rise to my cheeks, thinking about what it will be like to introduce Hugh to my adopted family.
I think he’ll jump in and enjoy the games, but it’s hard to know.
He is, after all, a British professor. And, while I’m not exactly feeling in the mood for fun and games, I know that canceling would be a terrible mistake.
Family game night is an almost sacred tradition, and if I miss it, especially on Aidan’s first Monday home, Joel, Peter, and Aunt Edna will gang up on me, demanding that I tell them what’s wrong.
First, I have to muster the courage to tell Aidan.
I watch him turn to go, my beautiful, sweet, shaggy-haired boy. My heart clenches with love and dread and a deep, haunting melancholy. I know that the time has come for me to explain the entire situation with Griggs, and to face the effect it will have on his future.
I meant to do it this morning. Really, I did. But then the call came in, and I found out Buck Dorsey is waiting for me in the boardroom. I’ll tell Aidan tonight, for sure.
I take my last swig of Aidan’s strong coffee, toss it in a hallway waste bin, paste on a smile, and stride into the Dogwood Hills boardroom, feigning a confidence I don’t have.
The first big surprise awaiting me there is Dennis, the current general manager, leaning back in a club chair with his leg propped on the conference table—in a full cast. The second, to my enormous dismay, is Griggs, standing beside Buck Dorsey, arms crossed over his chest, and an evil grin on his smug little pretty-boy face.
“Ohmygod, Dennis,” I exclaim, rushing to his side. “Are you okay?”
“Honestly,” he says, looking up at me pathetically, “no. I spent thirty-six hours in the Grady ER. Multiple fractures. Hurts like hell.”
“Terribly unfortunate accident,” Buck says. “And of course we intend to cover all of Dennis’s medical expenses, but in these circumstances, discretion is key.”
Ah, discretion. The highest value of the Southern Country Club set.
“With the board’s full support,” Buck continues, “and a generous severance package, Dennis has drafted an announcement explaining that he’s decided to retire, effective immediately.”
So they’re sending poor Dennis out to pasture early, to avoid any untoward gossip about Linwood Hayes’s botched motorcycle stunt.
No surprise there. I bet they’ve paid the escort off nicely, too, but only after having her sign a nondisclosure agreement.
I just hope she wasn’t permanently injured in the fall.
I’ve been around the club for long enough to know exactly what’s coming: Dennis will submit an open letter, sharing his heartfelt appreciation for his years here, and expressing his desire to spend more time with his wife and grandbabies.
No one will wonder why he’s disappeared (family values!), and no one will see his serious injury, thereby protecting Linwood Hayes from liability and the Midnight Society from scandal.
But what the hell does all this have to do with me, and why in the world is Griggs hovering over the whole situation while looking positively triumphant?
Griggs makes his way around the table to stand beside me.
For a moment, it appears that he’s intending to place a hand casually on my shoulder, and so I shoot daggers of fire through my eyes, then hazard a quick glance from my knee to his balls.
He seems to get the message, and instead he pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit.
“I’m fine standing,” I say.
“Suit yourself,” he tells me.
“Only one problem with Dennis’s big plan to retire early,” Buck asserts jovially, leaning forward and placing both hands on the table. “Somebody’s gotta run this place.”
Well, yes, that’s true.
“Griggs, buddy,” Buck says, patting him heartily on the shoulder, “as the newly minted chair of the Staffing Committee, why don’t you take the reins?”
“Absolutely.” Griggs nods, turning to face me. “We’ve called you in here today because we want you to be the interim general manager, Holly,” Griggs says, with that overly amiable Southern drawl he loves to put on. “Starting right now.”
My head spins, and I lean on the heavy oak conference table for balance. What the hell kind of game is this man playing? And how am I ever going to make it stop?
“I’m honored,” I reply, one hand grasping the edge of the table. “Though I do have some questions—”
“You’re the only person who can do it,” Dennis interrupts, “the only member of this staff who knows the place well enough to step in right away.” Of course, this is true, but still. “With you,” he says, gesturing toward me, “the transition will be seamless.”
Again, he’s right. No one will really miss Dennis, though he’s a perfectly nice man.
He just doesn’t actually do much around here.
In fact, I’ve wondered more than a few times why he showed up at all.
Probably to get face time with the members of the Midnight Society—the biggest of the club’s bigwigs. And look where that got him. Poor guy.
“We’ll offer a thirty-percent raise, effective immediately,” Buck tells me. “And, since you’ve submitted your GM application,” he continues, “we feel confident that you’ll slide right into the job permanently, once the dust has settled.”
Permanently. The word reverberates in my mind, and I recall what Luisa said—well, yelled—to me on Saturday night as we were watching Eli get handcuffed and taken to jail.
Am I stuck here forever? Will I always be trying to prove to myself that my mother was wrong?
I never, ever have wanted to fit in with the members of this country club, and I certainly have no intention of becoming one of them.
But why haven’t I found the courage to try something new?
Is it because of my co-workers and how much I adore them, or is it because I’m afraid?
I set aside my worry for a moment to focus on the practical: I need a raise.
My mind frantically races to crunch numbers, determine how long I’d need to hold on to the job to potentially cover Aidan’s tuition and Eli’s legal bills—but even with the significant salary increase they’re offering, it’s not enough.
“Make it forty-five percent and I’m in,” I tell them, my voice strong and unwavering. “I should earn as much as Dennis.”