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My little sister glares.
“Joke. It was a joke.”
Rolling her eyes, Caroline slings her driver over her shoulder and marches back in the direction of the rest of them. “Not funny!”
I grimace to myself. None of this is a joke. Even if it’s fraudulent, it’s not some silly play we’re putting on for our families. It’s real life. Business. But business doesn’t join with personal feelings in a copacetic way.
I need to be better.
I need to trick myself into softness. If only for Jude’s sake.
I push the shovel into the ground once more and toss the dirt to the side.That should do the trick.
I’ve dug a hole the perfect size for the bottle of Georgia bourbon lying in the grass at my feet. In any other circumstance, Gram would be furious I’ve dug a hole in her backyard. But for tradition? No problem.
“Burying the bourbon, are we?”
I turn around and smile at Jude. “Hey, thanks for coming.”
Jude pushes her red curls out of her face and settles her arms across her chest. “You’re welcome.”
Her coldness is understandable. We left things on the wrong foot last week. However, I’m determined to fix things up. For both our sakes. “I know it’s a superstitious thing, but if you know Gram… superstitions are everything.”
Jude grabs the bottle of bourbon and admires the label. “Sad to see you go, old boy.”
“He’s doing us a great service,” I say, taking the bottle gently and then placing it in the ground.
We both stare at it quietly for a long minute, as if we’ve laid a body to rest. It’s a weird Southern tradition, burying the bourbon. Supposedly, if you bury a bottle of bourbon at the site of your wedding ceremony, it wards off the rain on your wedding day.
“Have you had some time to think about… all this?” I ask, half not wanting to know the answer.
Jude nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”
No answer. Jeez, this woman is keeping me on the edge of my seat.
“Before I tell you, I have a question for you.”
I lift my head a little higher. I can feel annoyance brewing in my belly, but Jude is entitled to questions. Several if she’d like. “Go ahead.”
“Why do you care so much about this inheritance? I mean, you run your own law firm, you’re successful on your own merit. You don’t need Gram’s money.” Jude shrugs. “It just seems like a lot of effort to go to for something where the stakes are…” She trails off before she can say “low”, perhaps sensing the tenseness in my expression.
Not receiving Gram’s money is not low stakes. I might be more than comfortable financially. But that’s not what this is about. “First off, I am not successful on my own merit. Family money has funded everything I’ve done.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean you haven’t earned what you’ve done with it.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. I know everyone looks at me as a product of nepotism. Old, southern family money. Might as well be coursing through my veins. For Jude to tell me she sees me just a bit differently makes me like her even more.
Stay on track, Chase. Don’t let her cloud your head.
“That’s nice of you to say, but…” I lift my gaze to the house. Big plantation house, been in the family for centuries. Beautiful and yet, in light of everything that probably happened here, tragic. Our fortune is built on the backs of slaves. It’s important to acknowledge that my ancestors walked on the backs of so many so I could throw money at starting my own law firm when I was much too young. “The inheritance is about the Gladstone legacy.”
Jude snorts and I immediately frown in response. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you, just...” She flushes. “My family legacy is a trailer and some Adirondack chairs.”
I smile. “That’s as good a legacy as any.”
She shakes her head. “I just don’t think about that sort of thing.”
“Right. Right, well, it’s made up. It’s just a social construct. And yet, when you’re born into it, it’s all you’ve known. Thirty-nine years on this earth and one of my priorities is always the Gladstone family. The name, the fortune, the –” I sigh heavily. “The legacy.”
