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“Seems like a waste to me. All that house for two people,” he commented, shifting in his seat so he could peer between the front seats for a better look.
“But if the house were smaller, what would they do with all their servants?” I asked, voice dripping with sickly sweet sarcasm.
The car slowed to a halt behind a row of what looked like sweetbay magnolia trees that effectively blocked us from view of the house. Mama angled her body just enough to make sure both of us could see the look of displeasure on her face. I fidgeted in my seat despite the fact that I was a full-grown adult; it was the same look I had seen so often in my childhood. It did not escape my notice that Daddy seemed to shift back in his seat as well.
“I have had just about enough from both of you. This evening is important to Sissy, and she doesn’t need us showing up with a car full of bad attitudes and prejudices.” She turned to face me, giving me the full weight of her disappointed stare. “I raised you better than that, Sutton. You weren’t raised to be rude without call. As for you, Frank, didn’t you say just yesterday that the St. Jameses had sent a good bit of business your way?”
Daddy cleared his throat. “I did.”
“And this is how you repay their kindness?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t sound to me like either of you have much cause for complaint against that family other than their being wealthy. And, in case you both have forgotten, we’re a family, and family supports each other. Now I don’t want to hear one more word out of either of your mouths unless it is supportive and pleasant. Is that understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” I muttered, channeling my eight-year-old self.
“Good,” Mama answered after my dad’s nod. Then she put the car in drive and continued the trek toward the house.
The tricky thing was that Ididhave a legitimate grievance against the St. Jameses and Sissy. I had heard the ugly words about our family, spoken by the men of that family. I’d heard them and silently carried them around with me for years. But I would never,nevertell my parents what had happened that day at the fair, because I knew it would hurt them.
I’d also had to deal with Sissy’s retribution for telling my parents the truth about her falling out with Cam alone. Did I resent them for their blindness when it came to Sissy? Yes, if I was being honest. In my not-so-fine moments, I remembered how easily they’d believed her lies, and how that willingness to believe her against all available evidence had led to one of the hardest seasons of my life.
But, despite any resentment I might feel, I also remembered how well they had loved me. When no one would sponsor my computer club, Daddy’s construction company had covered the entire cost of a lab at our school. When Mrs. Grant made a disparaging comment about me after Sissy published my stories, Mama let it slip that her son was actually in jail and not away on business like she had been claiming.
So I stayed silent and reminded myself that I wasn’t doing this for Sissy. It became a chant in my head as Mama parked our ten-year-old Honda CRV behind a black Porsche Cayenne and a white Beamer that looked like it hadn’t left the lot for its very short life.
After helping my dad out of the car and onto a pair of crutches, we made our way to the door, where we stood silently debating the protocol.
“Do we knock?” I finally asked, looking at the large, golden knocker adorning each door. “I don’t see a doorbell.”
My dad and I both turned to look at my mom for an answer, seeming to agree that she was the de facto ringleader of this circus.
She stood up straighter, squaring her shoulders. “We’ll knock.” She stepped forward, giving the knocker a firm series of raps that seemed to echo through the silence both inside the house and outside. “They’re expecting us.”
I felt pretty confident that she’d added that last part as more of a reassurance to herself than anyone else. Daddy and I would have been just fine standing outside on the porch in perpetuity if it meant not having to attend this dinner. One of the large, wooden-looking doors opened to reveal a middle-aged man in a pair of grey slacks and a deep wine-colored sweater vest.
“Good evening,” the man greeted us, without the British accent I had been expecting. “Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan, I presume?”
“That’s us,” my mom chirped, her best Southern smile plastered on her face. Daddy and I exchanged a look that said, “Did the butler just say ‘I presume’?” and “Yes, yes he did.”
He opened the door wider, welcoming us and offering to take my mother’s wrap. I smoothed my hands self-consciously down the pant legs of my emerald wrap romper as I stepped through the door.
My head swiveled around trying to take in the undeniable grandeur of the foyer, with its double staircase winding down both sides of the entryway. A large chandelier hung in the middle of the staircases, casting a gentle glow over the space. I couldn’t help thinking that this did not look like a fun place to grow up, remembering the time Sissy and I had used an old mattress from her twin bed to sled down our beige-carpeted staircase until Mama had come home and put an end to the fun.
“Please follow me,” the unnamed man said, gesturing to a hallway on his left.
I stepped carefully along the slick-looking marble that lined the corridor, trying to stick close to my parents and unsteady in the nude heels I had never worn. Unfortunately, I was too occupied trying to keep myself upright to take in much of our surroundings as we made our way down the hallway.
“Here we are.” He led us into a small room with a fireplace and side bar. Two couches sat facing each other around a gleaming coffee table, and a matching set of chairs framed the fireplace, over which a family portrait was hung. It felt like we had stepped back in time and into a Regency-era withdrawing room.
“There you are!” Sissy cried, rising gracefully from one of the couches. “Sutton! I’m so happy you could join us.”
I braced myself as she flung her arms around me, giving me a quick squeeze before kissing my cheek. My own arms never left my side as I mumbled an insincere response.
“Mama, Daddy!” She continued her greetings while I did an excellent impersonation of a potted plant.
“Sutton.” A deep, rich voice — the one that had starred in all my teenage daydreams — sounded from behind me. I closed my eyes, taking a fortifying breath, then turned to find Macon St. James standing in front of me. A genuine smile graced his face, a handsome face that I could still see traces of that boyish charm in. “It’s been a long time.”
It took me a moment to find my voice, but I managed to speak in a tone that I hoped didn’t reflect my actual feelings.
“It has. It’s nice to see you again, Macon.”
