because he’s been so damn good to me.
“Not even a little bit. I’m trying to wake up some before I call Maggie, or she’ll for sure give me shit about being a lightweight.”
“Yeah, she will, but she’ll do it so sweetly that you’ll barely notice she’s laughing at you because you’re old. Now, if this had happened a few years ago, she would’ve publicly humiliated you.”
“That’s the damn truth. Sometimes I miss BC Maggie.” His tone is overly wistful.
“You know she hates it when we call her that, but you’re right. Before cancer Maggie was definitely a pistol.”
We laugh. It’s been a year and a half since his wife and my best friend nearly died from breast cancer. Maggie’s still as mischievous as ever, but since her near-death experience, she’s turned over a new leaf—no drinking, no cussing, no bad attitude. She’s so cheerful that it’s sometimes nauseating. That’s where the mischief comes in. If she knows it bothers you, then she’ll use it like a weapon.
Donny clears his throat. “Listen, there’s something I need to tell you.”
My stomach knots uncomfortably. “What is it?”
“First of all, you’re not in trouble.”
“Oh, good.”
“Honestly, Tiger, I don’t know why that’s your automatic assumption. You’re amazing at your job, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Prohibitive conscience maybe. I’m workin’ on it.”
“Prohibitive conscience …” He laughs. “Well, work harder.”
“Yes, sir.” I adjust the cap on my head. “So, what’s up?”
“If any realtors show up there, can you tell them the house isn’t on the market anymore?”
“You sold it?” I try and fail to calm the anxiety in my tone.
He chuckles. “Yes. Don’t worry, I made you living in the pool house until the reno is done a stipulation of the contract.”
“Thank you.”
“I wish you’d let me help you more.”
“I’ll be fine. I just needed a few months without paying rent to get my financial feet underneath me.” I transfer a set of plans from the counter to the island. “You’ve done plenty, Donny. You took a chance on me and gave me a job.”
“Pretty sure I’ve benefited from that as much as you.”
I take a sip from my travel mug. “And I’ll relay the news to the realtors. Do you need me to take it off the website?”
“No, I’ll have Kay do it. You’ll never guess who bought it.”
I pull a barstool over and sit. “Who?”
“None other than—oh, shit. I’ve got to take this. I’ll call you back.”
“Alright.” I disconnect and fight the bitterness crawling up my throat.
I glance around the house in various stages of renovation and all I feel is sad. Not because it’s not my home anymore, but because it never was a home. Wayland Estate stood as a monument to the wealth of the Lyons family. Sterile and cold, it was more a museum than a warm family dwelling.
Those words could be used to describe my parents too. I don’t have any memories of them hugging or playing with my brother Quinn and me. The only time we ever received any attention was when we won something. We both rebelled, but Quinn’s rebellion was quieter. He just stopped trying, and now lives abroad on his trust fund and has never worked a day in his life. I love my brother, but I don’t want to be him.
The sounds of a buzz saw, stomping feet from overhead, and country music fill the air. I’m glad Wayland Estate is being rebuilt from the studs up. Maybe the next family can fill it with love and happy memories.
Technically, this place should’ve been mine. It’s been handed down to the daughters of the family for a couple of generations, just like my name. But when I gave my trust fund away, my parents decided to sell the house out from under me.
My phone rings again, and I grab it before looking at the screen. “Hey, Donny.”
“Um, it’s not Donny, Tiger. It’s Collette Parks.”
“Oh, hi, Collette. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to make sure we had everything for the meeting at the rec center tonight. I, um, know you’re busy and all …”
A string of cuss words a mile long threatens to spew from my mouth. Collette isn’t calling out of the goodness of her heart. She’s checking up on me to see if I’m doing my job for our Save the Rec Center campaign. “Yes, I’ve got it all under control.”
“Well, it’s just that … the thing is, people are worried since the Cash King Foundation turned down our grant