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“The kind who don’t want to get Capone’d.”
“Capone’d?”
“You know, they technically got away with all their crimes, but they threw tax evasion charges at them.”
“So do you actually tell them you’re a dog trainer?” I asked, teasing.
“I do, actually,” she said, smiling up at me. “I am a very expensive dog trainer. But, of course, I am worth every penny.”
“What was your plan for when you were done with dog training?”
“I have been carefully investing. I was hoping to maybe partially retire, find some side gig that I found fun and interesting. But, apparently, I could have a very successful future as a high-end call-girl,” she mused, pursing her lips. “Perhaps I should be giving Faye a call…”
“I don’t think so, darling. No one is going to get to put their hands on you but me from now on,” I told her. I’d never been a possessive person in the past. But I’d also never had a woman as a steady fixture in my life, a woman I could picture a future with.
“Well, clearly, if this becomes a thing, a future with contracts kind of thing,” she said, pussyfooting around the word ‘marriage,’ “I would have to find something to bring in money. Since you are on a one-man-mission to lose your entire fortune.”
“Oh, but what a fun way to go into destitution,” I declared, getting a chuckle out of her. “This plan for semi-retirement,” I started, knowing this was a tricky area. “When was that supposed to start?”
“I didn’t have an exact date. I figured there would come a day when I just knew I was done. By then, I should have saved up enough to take a year or two off to figure out my future plans.”
“So you have a year or two?”
“Well, thanks to your job, absolutely.”
“Good. Because you’re officially retired,” I told her, watching as she arched a brow at me. She knew she was too, but this was not a woman who liked being told what to do. “Come on. We have to check out all those vending machines. You said you would come with me.”
“I believe I said it would be fun to go with you, not that I would.”
“Come on. You know you want to.” She did, too. Her eyes were already bright with excitement
“We can’t just jet off to China.”
“Sure we can. Alvy brought the jet back to the States for me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling. “You have to meet Raven and Roman. And if my brothers catch wind of your presence, they will want to size you up as well. We will have to stay in the States for a little bit.”
“Well, if we are going to stay for a while, maybe we can plan a trip for you to meet someone too.”
“Your grandma?” she asked, looking touched.
“Yes. She’s up in Connecticut. We can fly up after we spend some time with your family. We can even fly… commercial,” I said, pretending to gulp hard.
“I have a much better idea.”
As it turned out, her better idea was to take Wanda.
I learned something new about Wasp on the road trip up to my grandmother’s estate.
She drove like a church lady on her way to a potluck with a giant pot of soup—without a lid—on the floor of the passenger set.
“There is a gas pedal, you know, darling,” I told her, getting a withering glance. “Here I was thinking you’d be the sort to say fuck it to speed limits since you know you can charm yourself out of a ticket. But here you are, hands at ten and two.”
“Have you ever driven a school bus?”
“I have not.”
“Then shush,” she demanded, taking a turn at about three miles an hour.
Her skoolie—aka Wanda—was nothing like I thought it would be. Namely, not cold and oppressive, tight-feeling.
She’d clearly done the work to make sure it was airy and open feeling, so that despite it’s minuscule size, I didn’t feel like the walls were closing in on me. I could see how she and Raven had comfortably lived here for years.
Even if I much preferred flying and using the yacht, to be perfectly honest. If for no other reason than that we would actually make it there in good time rather than a day later than planned. Not that my grandmother would mind, of course. She was used to me being late.
“This neighborhood is silently judging Wanda. She can feel it,” Wasp declared a couple hours later after we finally turned into my grandmother’s gated community, getting a raised brow from the guard.
“They probably just think you’re casing the joint. Driving four miles an hour and everything,” I teased, getting a smirk from her. “This is the one,” I told her, pointing to the maple tree-lined property.
The house was set far back from the street as they all were, a towering French country style home with pristine white bound and batten siding and black shutters. My grandmother was particularly fond of her vibrant hydrangea bushes in white, pink, purple, and light green. Apparently, their whole marriage, my grandfather had claimed snowball bushes were ‘lowbrow,’ and he refused to have any on a single one of the family properties.
