Yes, they were well-dressed and elegant with country club airs and phony laughs, but they smiled warmly and greeted Dexter with effusive hugs, kisses, and “It’s so wonderful to see you’s.” His movie-star looks, charming disposition, and easy grin marked him as one of them, and he certainly looked the part in his pressed khakis and a button-down that was probably from a Paris designer’s recent collection.
Dexter emanated charisma to the nth degree. I’d witnessed him work his wiles in Wood Hollow to sell donuts by the dozens and convince half the population of the Four Forest area that they needed flag football in their lives. But there was more to Dex. So much more. It seemed odd that I might be the only one here who could tell his laughter was too polished to be sincere. He was playing a role and working hard at it.
I didn’t escape their curious glances, which was understandable. If nothing else, I was a full head taller than most of the partygoers and I was sure they wondered how I fit in. But there were no snooty once-overs, no hostile posturing.
“You made it!” An old man with thinning white hair and a thick mustache beamed with pride at the sight of Dex.
“I wouldn’t miss it. Happy birthday, Gilbert,” Dex said a little too smoothly.
“Thank you very much, and you are?”
“Viggo,” I supplied, offering my hand. “Happy birthday.”
“Good to meet you. Thanks for coming.” Gilbert motioned to a server with a tray of champagne and waved to someone behindus. “I have to mingle, but I’ll catch up with you soon. It’s been too long, Dex. Far too long.”
Dex twisted a flute glass between his fingers and nodded. “Yeah. Is my mother?—”
“On the lawn. She’s had her eye out for you for hours. Go on and say hello.” Gilbert clapped Dexter’s shoulder and skirted around us on shaky knees.
The property’s stone-and-wood façade with the encroaching forest to the south and its dramatic cliffside perch on Lake Michigan made for a grand setting. I admired the beautifully carved mantel above the hearth, the vaulted ceilings, and ornately chandeliers on our way through the grand living area to the porch and the outrageous lakeside view.
We stood on the deck overlooking the lawn. Older couples in sundresses and linen slacks played croquet and bocce ball or chatted at the high tables decorated with bouquets of sunflowers. I put my sunglasses on and waited for Dexter to extricate himself from the clutches of a grandmotherly woman who patted his cheeks and asked how he was feeling. Someone else commented on the marvels of modern medicine, and Dexter gave a short chuckle I recognized as a signal he was ready to move on.
I leaned in and tugged at his sleeve, whispering, “Come.”
He followed me onto the lawn and took a sharp right to a clump of high bushes that served as a wind barrier. It wasn’t necessarily private, but it was partially shielded from view.
Dex put his hands on his hips and sucked in a deep gulp of air. “This isn’t terrible, is it?”
“No, not at all. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. These are old family friends. I think we’re the youngest guests by a long shot. Gil’s kids are here, but they’re in their forties and fifties. I’m surprised. Mom usually invites her minions from the firm and their kids.”
“Do you want to talk to her?”
Dexter inclined his head toward a striking brunet. “Yeah, Ishould get this over with. I’ll introduce you, but feel free to bow out at any time.”
I didn’t reply. I followed him like a bodyguard, gauging his mood by the tight set of his jaw as he pasted a smile on his face and approached his mother. She quickly ended her conversation with a portly older man and turned to him.
Mother and son engaged in a sort of standoff, and this right here was the tension I’d been expecting all along. I scanned their faces for clues and noticed how very alike they were—same hair, same color eyes, same straight spine and stiff upper lip.
“You’re here,” she said, breaking the silence.
“I told you I’d come,” he replied in a cooly cordial tone. “Mom, this is Viggo. He’s my…friend.”
She lifted a brow, her sharp gaze raking me from head to toe. “Thank you for coming, Viggo. I’m Margaret. Dexter’s mother.”
“A pleasure to meet?—”
“Where are you staying?” She pivoted to Dex. “I just heard your house was leased for the summer. Your agent’s wife works for me, you know.”
“Uh…right. We rented a place nearby.”
“Rented? Oh, Dex. Get your bags and take your room. You’ll both be more comfortable. Did you see Lance and Georgia?” Margaret’s delivery was rushed, as if she’d remembered she was on a timer and was leery of using the precious resource in one go.
“Yes. Lance and Georgia are Gilbert’s kids,” he added for my benefit.
Margaret tilted her chin and studied him. “And how are you feeling, dear?”
