a funny way of making sure things work out exactly the way they’re supposed to, despite our best-laid plans.”
Temple covers her heart with a manicured hand—red nails to match her red lips—and she shoots her husband a smile from across the table. He smiles back, but only with his eyes.
A few minutes later, two women clear away our dishes and a man dressed in a chef’s uniform brings the final course—some kind of chocolate cake with multiple layers, each layer a different kind of chocolate.
When we’re finished and the final plates are cleared, Charles rises and makes his way to me.
“Madden,” he says. “Glad you could join us for dinner. I’d love to stay and get to know you a bit more, but I’ve got a late-night conference call to prepare for. Temple, I’ll be in my study if you need me.”
Charles leaves and Temple clears her throat, toying with the string of pearls around her neck.
“Well, I suppose,” she says, exhaling. “I should take my evening walk before the sun goes down. What do the two of you have planned this evening?”
Brighton looks to me, smiling and shrugging. “Thought I’d show him my room. Maybe give him a tour of the house?”
Girlfriend-y things …
Brighton slips her hand into mine and leads me to a curved staircase with a polished banister. I follow her up and she stops in front of the first door on the right.
“So … this is my room.” She lets go of my hand. I guess if her parents aren’t around, there’s no point in carrying on the lovey-dovey act.
“Pretty sure your room is bigger than my entire apartment.”
She rolls her eyes. “No, it’s not.”
I take in the abundance of white. White four-poster bed. White dresser. White nightstand. White desk. White bookcase. White quilt. The only non-white thing in here aside from the pale pink floral wallpaper is the bulletin board above her desk, which is littered with medals and ribbons and honor roll certificates.
She truly is their perfect little angel.
Brighton follows my gaze. “I told my mom there’s no point in displaying those. They’re so old. And who cares if you got first place in dressage when you were fifteen, you know?”
“The hell is dressage?”
She laughs. “Exactly.”
Studying all of her awards, I conclude that her parents were so busy controlling every last detail, every spare minute of her childhood and adolescence, that she never had a chance to be a kid.
Or a rebellious teenager.
Which is why she’s rebelling now, at twenty-two.
My gaze falls to a few framed photos resting on her desk, beneath her bulletin board, and I grab one. Brighton's hardly recognizable here, her skin more bronzed than it is now, her hair pulled back and covered in a hat, a man’s arm around her while a group of children in non-American clothing sit at their feet.
“Oh. That’s two summers ago in Myanmar,” she says. “Every summer after college, I’d tag along with my oldest brother while he did Doctors Without Borders. We’ve also been to Mozambique and Cambodia.”
I place the photo back where it was.
Brighton’s a good person, through and through.
I just hope I don’t ruin that for her.
Twenty-Five
Brighton
* * *
I leave the ChemTech Soil and Water Laboratories shortly after five o’clock the following Monday. It was my first job interview, but I’m left with a sense of accomplishment and also relief.
The woman who interviewed me said she’d make her decision by the end of next week, and if I don’t hear from her by then, I should call and ask to speak with her.
It isn’t my dream job to test soil and water, and the pay isn’t amazing, but I’ve done the math, and on the lab technician’s salary, I can afford a small studio apartment in this area with enough left over for a car payment, incidentals, and other living expenses.
The lab isn’t too far from Olwine, so I stop by Madd Inkk on my way home.
I park my car in the back lot and head to the side entrance to his building, trekking up the stairs to his apartment. He took the day off, something about getting Devanie registered for school and taking care of a few errands, but he told me to stop by any time after five.
This past weekend, Madden met my parents, which actually went better than I thought it would. I could tell they weren’t crazy about him, but they were cordial enough and so far, they’ve yet to say anything.
I think they’re biting their tongues,