Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Mom ditched Brad, Dad ditched the cheerleader, and they’ve been blissfully married for twenty-five years.
Dad calls it their origin story. He gets a kick out of telling it. But Mom … it’s weird. Sometimes when she talks about it, she still wears this odd expression of disbelief. As if she can’t fathom how Gavin Bartlett could have chosen her, Gemma McCleary, over some cheerleader he dated in high school. I don’t get why she’s so stumped. Of course he chose her. Mom’s the coolest person I know.
With a curious expression, she peers closer at the computer screen, then lifts her head to narrow her eyes at Dad. “You can’t fish in that, Gavin.”
“But isn’t she beautiful?”
“Can you fish in her?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then she’s ugly,” Mom declares. “Utterly hideous.”
Dad pouts. “Spoilsport.” He leans back in his rolling chair. “What brings you here, darlin’?”
“I took a half day at work today, so I decided to drop off some lunch for my boys.”
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a pair of sandwiches wrapped in foil. They’re man-sized, as she calls it. Meaning each sandwich is about the size of a shoebox.
“The vegetable garden is growing out of control, so I’m trying to use everything I can from it. Picked some fresh tomatoes, lettuce, peppers. And I grabbed some of that deli meat from the butcher in town. The roast ham you like.”
Dad’s eyes light up. “Oh man, yes. Thanks, Gem.”
“How are my children?” I ask Mom. “You’re not sending me enough pics of them.”
“Because I have more pressing matters to attend to than taking pictures of your dogs, sweetheart. You know, like go to work every day?”
“The kids are great,” Dad assures me. “Polly killed a rabbit last week and brought us its severed head as a token of her love.”
I guffaw.
“And Fudge got into the pantry yesterday and ate half a box of cookies, so he was farting all night. Around ten he was in a dead sleep and ripped one out so loud he woke himself up. Got so freaked out he was barking for a solid five minutes.”
Now I can’t stop laughing. “Shit, I can’t believe I missed that.”
Leaning against the side of the desk, Mom glances at Dad and nods toward me. “Did you ask him yet?”
I eye them both. “Ask me what?”
“No, I didn’t get a chance to yet,” he tells her. “Got distracted looking at boat pics.” He spins around in his chair, hands propped behind his neck. “It’s a big ask, but we were hoping you could do us a favor, kid. You know how we planned to take a trip in the fall?”
I nod. “A week in California.”
“Right. Well, we’re hoping to be gone a little longer than a week. We figured if we’re already on the west coast, we should make a real holiday out of it. Add Hawaii to the itinerary.”
“Hawaii!” Mom claps excitedly.
I rise from my chair and head for the water cooler to pour myself a cup. “So how long would you be gone?”
“If you’re on board, it’d be a month,” Dad says. “Your contract with the club is done in September, right?”
“Yeah.” I don’t teach sailing during the off season, working only from April to September. After that, I switch over to full-time shifts at the dealership. But I’ve never run the place on my own before. It’s always Dad and me, so the responsibilities are split fairly evenly. Working solo for a month means much longer hours.
On the other hand, it also means much bigger paychecks. I could put all that extra money toward buying my own sailboat.
“I think I could manage it,” I say slowly.
“Thanks, sweetie.” Mom comes up and gives me a quick hug, resting her chin on my shoulder. “We really appreciate it.”
“Told you we could count on him,” Dad says with a pleased smile. “Family always takes care of family, right, kid?”
“Yup.”
* * *
The rest of the workday flies by after Mom leaves. Around one o’clock we deal with a rush of tourists coming in to inquire about boat rentals, which we also provide. Dad and I are so busy we don’t even have a chance to eat our sandwiches. I scarf mine down in the Jeep on the way home later.
As always, I conduct a quick visual sweep of the Jackson house when I walk in, just to make sure nothing bad happened when I was at work. No wild animals finding their way in, or greedy hooligans getting the bright idea to rob us. All is good, and I head upstairs to change into sweats.
My plan for the night is lazing on the couch and watching mindless TV, because tomorrow’s going to be busy. Working with Dad till four, then speeding over to the yacht club to teach a five o’clock safety class to a group of teenagers who’re hoping to get the certification required for them to compete in single-handed dinghy racing. I love that the Manor sponsors junior programs for young sailors—I found them so valuable when I was their age. I do wish we offered club races to prepare kids for national events, but at least they’re able to compete at our sister club in Charleston.