For the first twenty years of my life, he was the coolest person on the planet. Then I caught him padding his expense account and took it to my father. He’s always resented me for it. He’s never considered how much it hurt to learn that my idol was a thief who couldn’t handle accountability. I told him as much. He exploded.
He told me how much he’d always hated me and told me I’d be nothing if I wasn’t Al Palmer’s son.
I reminded him that no matter how hard he’d tried that was the one thing he never be. He’d swung; I swung back and broke his nose.
It was the last time we voluntarily shared the same space for longer than a few minutes. Until my mother’s funeral, I hadn’t seen him in person for at least a decade. We occupy a very different world, and I’d like to keep it that way.
He’s still the tallest person in every room. He always dresses to blend in. Today he looks like every other staffer on Capitol Hill—dark suit, blue tie, starched collar, gold signet ring on his pinkie and a Rolex on his left wrist.
Six foot five, slim as a reed, with the same deep brown skin as his mother, a gleaming bald head and broad shoulders that force crowds to part, he could never blend in.
I glance at my wrist and grimace at the time. “I have a call this afternoon. I should head back and get ready.”
She turns to face me, her eyes creased in concern. “Oh stay, please. We weren’t done talking.”
I glance over to Oz and give my head a short shake. She knows there’s no way I’m confiding in her with him here. That conversation is over. “Another time.”
“You’re coming to the beach still, right? I’m going up today to air out the rooms.”
“Yup.” I groan internally. This weekend at Highland Beach is another tradition I haven’t missed. I only agreed to go this year because I thought my father would be there. Of course, he’s since fled the country and won’t be back until his bacchanal in April.
“It’ll just be us and the Persauds and The Glovers in the Cove. I think Wilde House is also going to be occupied for the weekend, if the butcher’s gossip is correct. Not sure by who, though. Maybe Tyson will be there. You two always got along.”
I dart a glance at Oz and then back at Alice. “Nice. Anyone else?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be there,” Oz answers my silent question with a sardonic smile.
I ignore him. “Titus gets in tonight. We’ll drive down together,” I tell Alice and ignore him.
“See you Saturday.” I give her a hug. She wraps an arm around my waist and hugs me back.
“Good luck with your lady,” she whispers.
Sin would love her.
An image of Sin, her head thrown back in a laugh, her golden-brown throat smooth and elegant and bared so casually, as if it’s not the most beautiful neck ever created. Eleven freckles dot the side of her neck in a curved line that I’ve traced in my mind a hundred times.
The way things are going, it might be as close as I ever get.
The thought makes my whole body heavy. I give myself a second to enjoy the familiar, comforting warmth of Alice’s hug and then I let go.
I don’t say anything to Oz as I leave. I’m on the second step down when he calls my name.
“Yeah?” I say, looking over my shoulder.
“Your father expects you to be at Palm Sunday,” Oz says from behind his newspaper.
I purse my lips in irritation. “I haven’t been to a Palm Sunday in ten years.”
“I’m bringing it up now so you have time to wrap your mind around it. It would make him very happy.”
My repressed irritation strains against its leash. “You work for him. That doesn’t mean you know what makes him happy.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” he drawls and looks over the top of his paper with an amused glint in his eyes.
“Idon’t need convincing and I don’t carewhatyou think.” I add a chuckle to soften the bite in my voice but it’s hollow, and there’s a beat of silence before he responds.
“Your fathercares what I think,” he says it softly, but it doesn’t dull the edge in his voice.
