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“It’s water under the bridge,” Blake said without his usual humor.
“I’d like to be able to put this behind us and for us all to be friends. I know you and Rafe are planning to stay a couple of extra days in Milan, so what would you say to joining me and Devin for dinner at his place. As an olive branch.” Devin wouldn’t like it, but maybe a civil meal would help us all get past this.
“I don’t think so,” Blake said, putting on a pair of sunglasses and fumbling for his phone.
“I know in theory it doesn’t sound like the greatest idea, but I think it would help to improve relations between us all. Bury the hatchet, as they say.”
I tried so hard to be pleasant, but Blake clearly wasn’t having it if the way his face was set in stone were any indication.
“You’ve already buried the hatchet ... in my back.”
“Please, Blake, just think about it.”
He looked off and down pit lane. Was he actually considering it? Could I do more to make him come around. As I was thinking of ways to sweeten the deal, he spoke:
“Fine, Monday night. Rafe and I were going to use that evening as a brainstorm session, but it would be nice to relax for a few hours, even with Flynn around.”
I smiled. “Perfect. And I’ll ask my brother along as well. And thank you. You won’t regret it.”
* * *
It wasn’t until after Sunday’s race that I told Devin about my little dinner party. He’d been so busy, and I hadn’t wanted to distract him. And maybe I didn’t really want to tell him, or at least give him that much advanced notice. As we drove from the track to the house, I finally told him my plan. He was quiet at first, his eyes focused on the road, and I could see his hands tighten around the steering wheel.
“Carlton and Rafe are coming to my house for dinner tomorrow night,” Devin said slowly.
“Yes, you don’t mind, do you?”
His jaw tensed. “And what are you hoping to accomplish with this dinner party?”
“Two things. First, I want to show both of them how happy you and I are, put to rest any doubts once and for all. Second, clear the air so we can all be professional next year”
“The thought of spending the evening with the two of them wasn’t what I had in mind,” he said, his voice as diplomatic as possible.
“I knew you’d be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” he said, clearly very angry, if the red blotches on his face and neck were any indication. “The only reason I hate the idea is because I’m going to feel like the hired help in my own home. They both make me feel second class.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“I think you are being naïve.”
“So I may be a little naïve. If it doesn’t work, what have we lost? A few hours?”
“Possibly my fucking sanity. But if we’re doing this, then I’m inviting Webb.”
“Great. The more the merrier.”
* * *
Monday morning I made Devin a list of things I wanted him to get from the supermarket. He took the list and scanned it very carefully.
“I guess I’ll have to take that mammoth thing you call a vehicle. I have nowhere to put all this shit in my car.”
“Do what you’d like, but don’t take forever doing it. And do not deviate from the list. If they don’t have something, call me. I have to start on dinner by noon.”
“Noon? When the fuck are they getting here?”
“Eight, but some dishes will take longer to prepare. Now, why are you still here?”
