Page 12 of Knox

“Mother, I’m wearing jewelry. See?” I touched my diamond teardrop earrings and lifted the matching tennis bracelet on my wrist in evidence. I knew from experience she didn’t actually disapprove of my choices as much as she loved complaining.

Angelica turned from the mirror, her critical gaze sweeping over me from head to toe. “Maybe you should wear your hair up. That loose wave look is very... casual.”

“It’s a beach party, Mother. Casual is appropriate.”

“It’s an anniversary celebration at a five-million-dollar estate. Casual is never appropriate.”

I bit back the response that the cost of the house had nothing to do with this discussion, but years of training in the art of keeping the peace with Mom kept me quiet.

The five million dollars should’ve been spent on assisting in the conservation efforts, not on literally bulldozing through them.

Was it possible to love someone while hating what they’d become?

My parents opened the first Mercer Outdoors location because they loved the wilderness. Because they wanted to share that passion with others and get people outside. They’d wanted to teach folks to appreciate, enjoy and protect wild places.

Now they barely left their climate-controlled offices. Rarely went outdoors at all except to attend parties like this one.

Talk around our dinner table, and on every vacation, was only about potential for expansion. Franchise agreements. Profit margins. I’d had an enchanted childhood, hiking and kayaking and exploring with the same two people I barely recognized these days.

The whole thing just made me sad.

I offered Mom a thin smile. “I’ll put up my hair and check on the caterers.” I turned to make my escape before she could critique anything else.

But she followed me to the door anyway. “Sloane, wait.”

I turned.

“Your father and I want to talk to you about yesterday. About what happened on the trail.”

My stomach dropped. “I’m okay.”

“You felt like someone was following you.” Mom’s expression shifted into something that might have been genuine concern. “You were terrified enough to run back to your car. That’s not nothing.”

I raised my chin by a fraction, hating the memory. “It was scary, but I’m fine now.” I forced a small smile, as if in proof.

“We’re glad you’re safe. Truly.” She paused. “Which is exactly why you should reconsider joining us back on the mainland. Come to Charleston with us tomorrow. We have vendor meetings lined up all week. The expansion into the Lowcountry market is critical for the franchise. You could sit in, pitch your company while we’re there.”

Pitch my company.

That was the truth behind what she wanted. She knew I was fine, could see it for herself. But yesterday’s — well, whatever that was— delivered a great opportunity to urge me back across the bridge.

“I don’t think so. I have some things left to do here.”

I’d founded Stride, a woman-centered outdoor initiative, in college, when I grew uncomfortable with the disparity in numbers between male and female consumers at my parents’ businesses. It didn’t take long to learn the reason. Women in general were less experienced and more uncertain in nature. So, I’d taught classes and led retreats every summer before opening my first Stride location.

I was supposed to open a location in Carolina Bay last summer, but the second missing hiker had put me on edge. Now, there was a third.

I’d thought I was going to join them yesterday.

A shiver rocked down my spine.

“Maybe you shouldn’t expand here,” Mom said. “Come back to Charleston. We’ll regroup and evaluate safer locations.”

I stepped away from her. “I’m not ready to go back to Charleston or give up on Carolina Bay. And while I love how happy you and Dad are with your company, I don’t want to be folded into your empire. I appreciate the offer, tremendously, but I’m building something I love on my own.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s just how I feel.”