Chapter 3
C HRIS TOOK IN a deep, hard breath then sprinted the last one hundred yards up the shore-lined path. He was free to chase twilight even though he knew he would never catch it. His timer beeped along with his heart rate monitor, forcing his feet to stop beating the dirt underneath.
He bent over to catch his breath then came upright and laced his hands behind his head. He walked in a circle, slowing his racing adrenaline, until his line of sight went back to the horizon, where the sun was breaking dawn by scattering its light into the upper atmosphere.
He walked another few feet before disregarding the NO TRESPASSING sign at the base of his parents’ lawn and then cut across to the dock. The world went still and a modicum of solace that often evaded him courtesy of his career found him. He could only capture moments like this here, in the Shores.
The little enclave was a slice of heaven. The best-kept secret of the Black elite, where he’d formed lasting friendships and spent summers fishing, boating, and enjoying life without distractions. He chuckled, thinking back to skate nights with Gavin and Duncan, or getting frozen cups from Uncle Willie’s Sweet Shop. Of course, he would never forget the time he spent with his mother on their evening walks or how she baked cakes and cooked his favorite candied bacon.
She was always supposed to be here, and now that she wasn’t, he seemed unsettled, unbalanced… not grounded. It was the very reason he still came this summer even though the expansion tried to dictate otherwise. He needed to feel close to her. And so despite the sacred oath to never bring work to the Shores, he did.
The ringing of his cell phone ceased his introspection. The intrusion on his peace introduced thoughts of leaving city life behind.
“Chennault,” he answered, somehow managing to present his crisp legal tone after a 5:00 a.m. seven-mile run with thoughts weighing him down like a rucksack.
“Good morning.” Shayla, his assistant, sounded as perky as ever. Which was odd, considering she had never been a morning person in the last three years that she’d been a part of his team. “Who do I have to thank again for giving you the bright idea to set up a temporary office in this little Southern town.”
They both chuckled. “I take it you are enjoying the Shores?”
“I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time, and I’m still working. Jordyn and Dion said they’re never going back to New York, and Mike is upset that in my years with you this is our first time here!” She continued sharing more of her husband and children’s recent excursions across the town.
“This place has that effect.” He gazed back out onto the water and couldn’t help the smile curling his lips. “Thank you for being willing to come here and set up shop with me. For the first time in my twenty-eight years of life, my mother won’t be here. Her passing has made this summer challenging, and with my father’s recent sentimental displays, this was definitely not a time I could miss being in the Shores.”
Chauncy Chennault had maintained a strong front for Chris and his siblings after the passing of their mother. However, as the summer began closing in and he started packing up his Louisiana residence to make the trip to Florida, he came from behind an invisible veil and showed how much he mourned his wife.
Chris cleared his throat. “Well, I’m certain you’re not calling me this early to chat about our temporary work location. Let me guess, Miller-Godwin?”
Shayla snickered into the line. “Bingo! They’ve called and emailed several times since late last night, demanding a meeting today.”
“I figured. Gerron’s publicist and agent have already pinged me. If the rumors floating around social media are true, he may have breached the character clause within his contract and that’s grounds for them to write his ass off the show. They’ve been looking for a reason and he’s given them one.” Chris sighed, massaging the back of his neck. “You can put them on midmorning. I need time to chat with him and his team first.”
“Got it. I’ll slide them in as early as permitting since you’re only working a half day. One more thing,” she mumbled. “Does the name ‘Seraphina Charles’ ring a bell? She submitted a new client inquiry.”
His mental Rolodex went to work. He’d met a ton of people recently with the expansion of his offices to the West Coast. Maybe the name should be familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Nor did he care to. His client load was beyond full. “No, it doesn’t, and honestly it doesn’t matter. You know all initial consults are done in person. Beyond that, I’m not taking on any new clients.”
“What if I told you Ms. Charles was referred by one of your longstanding clients, Ava Hamilton, the photographer, and is willing to be here by the afternoon.”
“Hmmm, that’s a bit odd.” Chris shook his head. He wished he didn’t feel the confusion that scrunched his face. “Ava would’ve mentioned something like this to me. Seraphina Charles,” he whispered twice to himself, still drawing a blank while noting to shoot Ava a text.
Shayla yawned into the line then offered apologies. “She was delightful over the phone. I called to make her aware that we received her request since she sent it multiple times through the online portal and indicated it was urgent, and of course since Ava referred her. I did take the liberty of explaining your initial consult policy. She had no problem with finding her way here to this little sleepy town. She’s eager to have a contract reviewed.”
He paused, upset that something so insignificant was intruding upon his quiet time. This was generally the only part of day that his mind wasn’t consumed with the needs of his clients. And now it was being hijacked by someone who wasn’t. “This piece could’ve waited until we were at the office later.”
“Not exactly… I confirmed the appointment. You don’t have to accept her as your client. Pass her to one of the other attorneys without a full roster. But at least meet the woman. She’s gone above and beyond to get your attention, and her referral speaks volumes.”
Chris relaxed a bit and released a light chuckle. “You’re going soft on me, Shayla. You used to bite like a bulldog.”
She sighed into the phone. “Blame it on the Shores.” She giggled. “Our morning is full. See you soon, boss.”
The line went dead as Chris gazed back out onto the lake and began bidding it farewell. He was somehow intrigued by the prospective client’s connection to Ava, and her determination to meet him in his very inconvenient summer space. Mount Dora was not an easy location to get to. There were no direct flights, the closest airport was over fifty miles away, commercial hotels were limited, and Ubers were unheard of, which was what the summer residents preferred. The exclusivity of the Shores had made it the playground for the Black elite for a long time and nothing would change soon. So if Seraphina Charles was willing to jump through a few hoops to get here, he would meet her to satisfy his curiosity and keep the peace with Ava and Shayla.
He turned away from the water and went up the backyard and entered the house. Everyone was still asleep except for the head of house staff, Ms. Watson. He saw her moving about, preparing for when all of his family would finally greet the day.
“Morning, Ms. Watson.”
“Morning, Christopher.” She smiled at him. “Oatmeal this morning?”
“You know it!”
She laughed. “Boy, your mama would be tickled pink to see your grown behind demanding oatmeal. Your sister and brother haven’t touched it since middle grades.”
“Ahh… is that why I’m the favorite?”
The old woman swatted at Chris. “Gone and get your hips upstairs and get out of them wet clothes. I’ll get your breakfast started. Should I make some for Heather?”
“No.” He paused for a second and then started up the stairs. He didn’t want her to see his regrets or ask about the argument from last night that he was certain they all heard. “Don’t forget the brown sugar and crushed pecans on top. Some sausage patties, too, please.”
“I been cookin’ for your family for the last thirty-odd years. I’m the one who started you on hot cereal.” She puffed. “You think I don’t know what you like to eat?”
“No, ma’am.” Chris chuckled, raising his hands to cast the white flag before a war could start. He was not doing battle with the woman who was like a second mother to him. She knew the good, bad, and ugly. “Thank you!”
He dashed up the stairs and quickly ducked into his room. He froze by the foot of his bed and scanned Heather, his girlfriend of a little more than a year. Had he heeded his mother’s warning, perhaps Heather wouldn’t be here now. The impromptu weekend visit was all wrong, and the sudden ultimatum of propose or break up validated why he had never considered asking.
Logically there was already an answer, since demands were his Achilles’ heel. His parents had learned the hard way when he denied the family business to pursue a career as an attorney. Chris knew his father allowed him to chase law only because it could still benefit the Olina Chennault Cosmetics Company. Just like deep down he knew Heather wouldn’t give up until he placed a ring on her finger.
However, last night unveiled clarity that a warm body and pretty face could no longer hide. Heather confessed she loved him, but he did not love her. The more he thought on it, their relationship felt transactional. She attended an event with him, they went to dinner, did what lovers do—repeat.
There was no warm and fuzzy, no prioritizing her above his work, and he never had that feeling of wanting to move heaven and earth for her. His mother had promised he’d know the feeling, and after more than a year of being in an exclusive relationship with Heather, he didn’t.
He moved away from the bed, not yet sure of how he would sever their relationship, and he got into the shower. No less than an hour later, he stood in front of his closet mirror, perfecting the knot of his tie. He was grateful Heather was such a sound sleeper. He didn’t feel like another argument over his refusal to discuss a future with a woman he finally understood he didn’t see in it. Not before going into the office. He needed his head on right.
Despite being in the Shores, the expansion forced him to keep some office hours. They were shorter than normal, but still jam-packed. There were agents and managers to chat with, litigators to renegotiate contract terms with, insider meetings to get the scoop on the projects that were happening at Amazon, Disney, Netflix, and other streaming platforms in addition to Warner Brothers and the major studios. The level of interaction that he expected from himself, but also knew was demanded of him, contradicted summer in the Shores.
Even still as he mentally prepared for his day while dressing in his signature three-piece bespoke style, he knew his mother would not have accepted less. At an early age she had drilled into him the importance of upkeep and appearances. When she dressed him for church, events, and parties, she often explained that dressing nice would make him behave well, stand a little taller, and act like a big boy. By the time he was a teenager, and participating in oratorical competitions, Men of Tomorrow, and serving as a Regional Teen Officer in Jack and Jill, she helped him to understand that the way he presented himself communicated who he and his family were in society.
His grandmother, the great Olina Chennault, didn’t bother to sugarcoat like his mother had. She cut right down the middle and told him plainly to dress to impress for it was a game of respectability politics. It was how Martin Luther King Jr. and his crusaders changed the way people viewed their protests, and it was the same logic Chris used every morning he stood in front of the mirror to prepare for his day.
He smoothed his hand down his tie, missing his mother. There was no doubt in his mind that if she could see him now, she would be proud of the man he had become. Dignity and respect , the words echoed in his head, knowing that was what she would say to him if she still were here in this world. However, now was not the time to ponder the mysteries of life and death. He snatched his suit coat from the chair, grabbed his laptop, and left the room.
The sweat cream of Ms. Watson’s famous oatmeal combined with the hickory and pepper he scented from the fried pork made his feet move a little faster until he reached the breakfast table. “Smells delicious,” he broadcasted to her as she stood at the stove plating his sausage. “You know I’ve asked my dad if you could come stay with me permanently.”
She shook her head. “No thank you. Ain’t nobody tell you to put your main office in New York.” She gestured for him to take his seat at the table. “Besides, I can’t be nowhere with all that concrete… and those women wear white shoes after Labor Day.”
The seriousness of her words forced deep-bellied laughter from Chris. His mother, grandmother, and younger sister were all staunch believers of no white after Labor Day. As a result, he found himself silently condemning women in the city for committing fashion crimes against the South.
“Thanks to all of you, I find it odd myself.” He slid into a chair at the table and she put a plate in front of him.
“As you should, my dear brother. Although I don’t think your girlfriend feels the same.” Chloe, his sister, side-eyed him while adding her two cents as she entered the kitchen refolding a newspaper. “Why are you taking breakfast in the kitchen instead of the dining room?”
“Why not?” he retorted.
Chloe waited at the counter while Ms. Watson poured her a cup of coffee, and then pulled out the chair across from him. “Must you always be the rebel,” she mumbled then took a sip from the steaming mug. “I thought you were spending the day with us? Dad mentioned golf at the club today.”
“I’ll be there.” Chris shoveled a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, and savored the taste.
“Don’t bring Heather,” his sister said boldly. “I don’t feel like hearing her complain about the heat or her dress being ruined. Why are you with her anyway?”
Chris stared at his sister. He didn’t owe her any answers. Besides, he was doubtful Chloe would empathize with his need to fill a lonely void. She still resided at the family home in Louisiana, where she was surrounded by love, support, and the memory of their mother.
Whereas he was in New York, navigating grief on his own. Heather had been a reliable distraction—that was the conclusion he’d arrived at before he made it downstairs for breakfast. So his sister was one hundred percent right for asking him why he was with the woman. However, if she knew, she’d never let him live it down. Chloe had been a pain in his right side ever since she was born. And yet he admired her. In a male-dominated business field, she managed to be the absolute best in school and now for the family business.
“She’s leaving today,” he grumbled before taking another bite of his breakfast.
A loud yawn captured their attention before the swing door to the kitchen flung open and their baby brother, Carter, walked through. He walked directly to Chris, threw a newspaper down on the table, and then plopped into a seat.
“You beat me to it.” Chloe smirked, eyeing the newspaper and then leaning back in her chair. “They love to exclude us.”
Chris now regretted the extra mile he ran and the phone call he’d taken this morning. If he had kept to his normal routine, he’d have missed both of his siblings at the breakfast table lamenting over their fear of missing out. “So what.” He dropped his spoon on the table, unable to control the gruff tone of his words. They would not let him enjoy his damned oatmeal.
Chloe smacked her lips. “I’m sure Carter was the only escort for the Debutante Ball not present at Camille’s little soiree last night.”
“Put a handle on that woman’s name, Chloe. That is not how you were raised, young lady.” Ms. Watson moved to the table, placing a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of Chloe then Carter.
“I’m not eating carbs.” Chloe pouted.
“Fine.” Carter reached across the table and grabbed the toast off her plate. “Ms. Watson didn’t do anything to you.” He finally made eye contact with Chris. “Chloe is right, I was the only one not there last night. All my friends and the girl I’m escorting were present, living it up, and here I was sitting in the house wondering where everyone was.”
Chris folded his napkin and relaxed back in his chair. He looked from his brother to his sister. This was the story of his life. For as long as he summered in the Shores, he would never forget the lengths everyone went through to keep the two families from each other’s spheres. “Are you both really so bothered by the Andrewses not extending an invitation to our family that you bring these shit attitudes to the breakfast table?”
In an instant both Chloe and Carter sat up a little straighter. Chloe opened her mouth to respond. Chris halted her. “Have we ever invited them to any of our functions? Do we mingle with them when both families are invited guests? It’s been like this for as long as I can remember.”
“Doesn’t make it right,” Chloe uttered, barely above a whisper.
“Try telling that to Granddad and Dad.” Chris gave her a pointed look before taking a bite of his sausage. “Your perspective will be missed.”
Carter cleared his throat. “You know the one your age, Carrah, she’s nice. I mean, I know she knows my last name, but she doesn’t treat me any differently than the other escorts during rehearsals.”
Chris paused. He let go of his spoon, finally deciding breakfast was a lost cause. Carrah Andrews had been the bane between him and his friends every summer since they first started coming to the Shores. When his mother was alive, it had been more intense. Everyone walked on eggshells to appease friendships.
For the most part, he and Carrah had an unspoken agreement to exist with distance. However, there were times that if Carrah were present, he couldn’t be, and if he were present, she didn’t come. One exception had been a few weeks ago when they all went out on their mutual friend Duncan McNeil’s boat.
“Cue the world of the old guard. She will be polite in public and so should you,” Chris finally responded as he got to his feet. “As Mom used to say, it’s for appearances sake.” He left the table and grabbed his jacket and bag.
“Is that why all of you looked so chummy in that picture at the cove?” Chloe asked before he could leave.
Ms. Watson looked at Chris and then turned away. That day was awkward as hell being in the same space with Carrah. The forced proximity had challenged his notions of her, her family, and the way his parents raised him to view the Andrewses. It also provided a glimpse into aspects of his life he missed because their grandparents had decided over forty years ago their clans couldn’t mix. However, rules were rules and he would not be the one to break them.
“Right!” Carter exclaimed then gulped down some orange juice, pointing at Chris. “Forget all that craziness. You looked like you were having fun. That girl is fine as hell. If she were my age, this little feud between our families wouldn’t matter.”
Chris shrugged. Maybe Carrah was beautiful, but she wasn’t his cup of tea. Her attitude toward him had never been peachy. Perhaps it never would be, and she had proven that on more than one occasion over the years. The day at Dorian’s Cove had been no exception. Besides, the last time his family was close to hers, they tried to steal everything.
“Do you ever think our families will get along? I mean, we have a lot in common.” Chloe’s fiery attitude had calmed. He sensed the genuineness of her question and could tell she wished things were different. He had, too, once upon a time.
However, his sister needed to remember. Actually, both siblings did. Maybe since he was the oldest and it had been etched into him longer, he didn’t have a hard time realizing their worlds would never collide in any manner that resembled something pleasant.
“Never forget why Olina Chennault Cosmetics is the number one cosmetics company in the world for Black women. The Andrewses are our rivals, and so I would tell you that hell would freeze over before our families got along.”