Page 5 of Chasing Clouds

I nod, roll up the window, and begin to drive forward as the gate swings open.

Large oaks line the driveway. They’re beautiful but covered with moss, making the canopy thick and dense. Sunlight streaks through the branches here and there, but since it’s late afternoon, the drive is mostly dark and creepy. I should have asked who this friend of Nate’s is, but I was so excited at the possibility of seeing him, the details were unimportant.

As the trees begin to fade away, a massive white mansion comes into view.

“Holy shit, I’ve entered the Deep South twilight zone,” I mumble to myself.

There are huge white columns running the three levels of the structure, each of which has a wraparound porch. Aside from the massive double front door, there are several sets of French doors on each level leading out to perfectly placed rocking chairs. The lawn is manicured, the interior is lit up, and it couldn’t look any more different from where Nate and I grew up if it tried.

I spot the parking attendant at the fork in the driveway, and he uses a lighted wand to direct me to the right toward a building that looks like a stable but is actually a garage.

I stop next to the valet and climb out of the car. My nose scrunches at the smell of the nearby paper mill faintly lingering in the air.

“Good evening, Mr. Jackson.” The valet tucks another iPad under his arm and hands me a ticket. “What would you like brought to your room?”

“There’s a bag in the back seat.”

He smiles and moves toward my open door. “Perfect. You’re staying in the Magnolia room, and when you’re ready to retire for the evening, someone will direct you.”

“Thank you.” I nod to him and shove the ticket into my pocket. Magnolia room—is that meant to be cute or cliché? I can’t decide.

Following a lighted path, I’m walking toward the front steps when Nate comes strolling out, and his face splits in half with the biggest grin when he sees me. Man, I love this kid, no matter how old he gets.

“Bro!” He skips down the steps, meets me in the circular drive, and throws his arms around me. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course.” I pat him on the back and give him a once-over. He’s muscled up even more since I last saw him over the holidays. “I’d never pass up an opportunity to see you! Especially when you’re so close. You’re sure your friend is cool with me being here?” I look past him at the grand double doors. We sure are a long way from the Bronx.

“Absolutely. Wait till you meet her—she’s awesome.” He slaps me on the back as we enter the home, and I can’t help but eye him suspiciously.

“Awesome, huh?”

His gait slows and he pins me with a fierce scowl. “No, dude. It’s not like that—at all.”

“Whatever you say.” I chuckle and he rolls his eyes.

Quickly, we walk through to the back of the house and out onto a terrace that overlooks a large lawn completely decked out for a party. There are large white tents, tables scattered about, and waiters wearing black tie attire walking around with drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Beyond that are acres and acres of rolling fields with more sprawling oaks.

The buzz of people talking and a five-piece band playing in the background slowly distract me from the sheer awe I feel of this place. I glance at Nate and he smirks.

“It’s nice here, right?” he asks me.

“I feel like I’ve been transported to the set of an old Southern movie. Jesus, Nate, what do these people do for living?”

“Camille, my friend who’s getting married, is the daughter of one of the current senators for the state of Georgia.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I glance at him and then back at the crowd. Georgia is predominantly a red state, and looking around, Nate and I definitely stand out as the minority with our darker olive skin.

He shakes his head and grins.

“How in the hell did you become friends with a Southern Republican socialite?”

“You know my buddy, Beau? His sister-in-law—well, future sister-in-law—dances with her. They’re friends, he and I are friends, and we just kind of ended up in the same circle.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs his shoulders.

Last year, Nate headed off to Columbia on a tennis scholarship, and Beau was on the team with him before he decided to go pro. I met him once, but I never met any of his other friends.

“Hold up.” I lean in closer to him and lower my voice. “She’s a dancer?”

Nate busts out laughing and shoves me in the arm. “Not that kind of dancer! She’s a ballet student at Juilliard.”