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“You know, being the CEO of a massive application company like Triggerz has been great for him and Mom, but this is the only place I’ve ever seen him at peace.” She leans back against the seat. “They’re not happy about missingT’slastathis year.”
After everything that’s happened to bring me back to our childhood playground, I’m eager to immerse myself in the annual celebration in a couple of weeks. It reminds me of a different time; one where Penelope and I were pimple-faced teens, parting with our innocence by kissing our first crushes and stashing liquor bottles in bushes while we danced with friends under the stars.
I smirk at the memories. “I’m sure they’ll be just as happy once they get to London for the international branch launch.”
When we make it up the long drive, Penelope stares, awed by the impressive twelve-stable building just beyond the rear side of her father’s home.
“I forget how much I miss it here,” she murmurs.
“You don’t visit?”
Pen lives in Keerah, a separate part of the island connected to the mainland by an enormous bridge. It’s about three and a half hours from where we’re headed, but still, I’m surprised she hasn’t been back in so long. I assumed Augustine was the reason behind her getting dual citizenship.
“Occasionally.” A frown pulls at her usually dimpled cheeks. “This place just doesn’t have the same sparkle without you guys, I guess.”
An inkling of guilt pinches my gut. “I’m sorry for dragging you out here, Pen.”
“Just be grateful that the judge let you choose your rehab facility because she wants to sit on your face,” she teases, and the visual I get of the elderly woman makes me cringe. “Besides, who else would risk busting your pampered ass out of there?”
“Pampered,” I scoff, but we both know the answer is no one.
If it weren’t for Pen’s connections at the facility, I’d be singing songs in AA meetings and reading pamphlets about drug and alcohol dependency.
“Your ex didn’t give you too much trouble, right?” I ask about the prick who broke her heart. She moved to the farthest city on the island just to get away from him, and asking her for this favor didn’t come easy. “I don’t care what kind of pull his father has, I’ll kick his ass if I need to.”
“Nah.” She shrugs. “He owed me one.”
Deciding not to dredge up the past, I offer our ranch hand, Russell, a wave and grab my suitcase before following Pen to the front door.
From the top of the property, miles of land littered with trees and far-off houses reflect the orange glow of the setting sun. Incandescent purples, pinks, and blues strike through the sky, and just beyond the horizon lies a crystalline ocean.
A black- and red-striped bird flies from the roof of the barn, and I note the faded red paint, various holes, and the overgrown grass around it.
“Dad’s gonna tear it down soon,” Pen says.
“What?”
“It took some weather damage about a year ago and has been empty ever since,” she says nonchalantly, as if that barn doesn’t hold some of our best childhood memories. “He says it’s an eyesore.”
I don’t believe what I’m hearing. There’s no way in hell I’m letting him tear it down, though I don’t tell Penelope that just yet.
She changes the subject as she takes the steps two at a time. “The folks around here will be happy to see you. Cat and the girls will be, too.”
“We’ll see about that,” I mutter.
My sister Leah and I used to live here for summers at a time when we were kids and pre-teens. Mom couldn’t go more than a few months without traveling to see her sister Lucy or her nieces, Penelope and Carrie.
But a lot’s changed since the last time I visited, and I’m anxious to find out if I’m still welcome.
Pen smiles thoughtfully, trailing her finger over the purple color Aunt Lucy insisted on painting the door all those years ago. Once we enter the living room, I inhale the thick, rich scent of wood and leather.
A set of dark couches fill the main living space, and to the right of the kitchen is a built-in bookcase that frames the top and sides of a stone fireplace.
I drop my belongings in the entryway, heading straight for the wall-to-wall entertainment center. Kneeling to open the glass case below the television, I swipe my palm over a dusty black game console, then remove one of the controllers.
“Our old Nintendo 64.”
With her arms crossed, Pen bumps my hip with hers. “I guess there are worse ways to serve your sentence.”
