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I’m not sure if the awkward silence is because he wants the statement to sink in or just what. I do know based on the clock on his desk that there are ten minutes until we’re finished.
He clears his throat. “Concern over your mother living alone when Rex became ill prompted you to move home. How have things been between the two of you since the funeral?”
“You mean since I came here about her bombshell? She bought paint for the living room, spilled it all over the hardwood flooring, paid one company to fix the mess on the walls and another to replace the flooring. She leaves me alone. Until she doesn’t and then she brings up the DNA donor and presses me about meeting my biological sister.” I word vomit.
“Have you considered moving out again? Finding your own place locally?” It’s a trick question.
“No, she took off to the beach.”
While the aforementioned shit show was taken care of and after I yelled about letting sleeping dogs lie.
I don’t give a shit about Rex’s reputation. There’s a modicum of satisfaction knowing I’m not his kid. But hell if I’m going to go off half-cocked, announce to everyone in Brighton I’m a bastard, and blow my chance by dragging my grandad’s company through the mud.
“We could work it so we switched off. I’d never have to see her,” I joke, disparaging the lack of communication.
“Or you could see if Davina has any interest in going to dinner. In a neutral space, it may be easier to discuss how you’re both coping with Rex’s death, and how you see yourselves moving forward.”
“I’m not dating my mom.” I sneer.
“Do you believe her about the role she played in keeping your parentage hush-hush.”
This isn’t something I want to talk about. Con-job or not, I haven’t finished being mad that she signed them. Although after seeing the documents, I fired our family’s—and by that I mean Rex’s—longtime personal attorney.
“Hey, I don’t mean to cut this short, but I have a full day ahead of me, and I need to get to work soon.” I hear myself becoming combative.
I had it in my head to figure out the Holly situation. So, no thanks to dredging the rest of my emotional swamp. It’s the same level of agitation I end up with when I come in here in a great mood. I hate leaving after he’s wanted me to explore some screwed-up adolescent memory. Annoyed that he doesn’t want to help, I’ve stopped listening.
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6
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The guys who I’ve connected with in the big brother program are in various stages of life. I know the short version of most of their stories, but we don’t delve too deep into why any of us do this. There’s no box to check on the mentorship application stating you have to have fought your own demons to make a difference in a kid’s life, only the willingness to want to see them happy.
“Do we have to?” One of the boys takes up the groaning we’ve been listening to for the last forty minutes.
It may have been Glen’s charge. I’m not keeping tabs anymore on which kids have complained and which ones are dragging their feet over the cobblestones, tripping from one antiquated national landmark to the next.
This trip was Glen’s idea. He teaches high school history. Square as a carriage bolt, all he lacks is glasses and a pocket protector and he’d hit every mark to be called a Poindexter. He hasn’t even unbuttoned his shirtsleeves like the rest of us and it is blazing hot walking on the sidewalks in the sun. Another reason the kids are a mess.
Aside from not getting how bored the kids are, Glen does know his nerdy shit about the historic little town and has answered my dumb questions faster than the docents. I guess some women are attracted to those kinds of eccentricities since he has a fiancée too.
The other mentors are taking notes on where the boys want to go on the next group outing. So far, the most votes have been for an amusement park down past Charlotte and an adventure park near Raleigh with bumper boats and an arcade.
“Hey, if I haven’t said thank you for taking care of the admission fees for everyone—” Glen’s shaken with excitement each time he’s brought it up.
“No big deal,” I cut him off. “You arranged the group rate and The Cass-Stanton Group has got specific outreach programs for this type of thing.”
I have a little guilt that it paid for me. However, the dealerships have given far more to local Brighton and Triangle Area charity organizations than to penny-pinch over a dozen entrance fees to a living history non-profit.
“It’s great to see young minds sucking up culture.” Glen has his hands out parallel, they move up and down like a toy soldier as he explains his elation. “Having experiences up-close that others can only read about in books. It leaves an impression. I think they’re really going to remember this.”
Bhodi nudges my elbow. I ruffle his hair. It’s still sweaty from when we gave the kids a chance to run around under some big oaks in the quaint town’s park.
“I’m sure they will.” I wink, sharing an inside joke with Bhodi.
I doubt the boys will forget today, but there’s the distinct possibility it’s not for the reasons Glen wants them to.
