Secrets on Cedar Key by Terri Dulong Page B

we’d just all pitch in and cook Thanksgiving dinner together. One of the guys has a place in Cambridge, so we’re going to go there rather than try to book flights for a quick trip home.”
    â€œOh, I see,” I said and hated that I sounded bitchy.
    â€œAre you okay with this, Mom? I mean, I figured that Jason would be there, and I promise I’ll be home for Christmas.”
    Get a grip, Marin. No kid likes a control-freak mom.
    â€œYes, of course I’m okay with it, but, no, Jason won’t be home this year either. Apparently, he has a girlfriend and they’re going to her parents’ home in Connecticut for the weekend.”
    â€œOh, really? He’s going to September’s family?”
    My disappointment quickly morphed to jealousy. “You knew about your brother’s girlfriend?” I questioned, feeling terribly left out.
    â€œYeah, they flew up to Boston for a weekend a couple months ago, so we got together for dinner.”
    It was times like this that I knew how hurtful parenting could be. And yet, wasn’t that the point of raising a child? To raise them so well that they are fully prepared to go out and face their world—even without you.
    I cleared my throat and blinked back the moisture I felt in my eyes. “Oh, that was nice that they came to Boston. So . . . what did you think of her?”
    â€œI liked her. She’s very pretty, but even better . . . she’s intelligent.”
    I smiled and realized that one statement said volumes about how Andrew and I had raised our sons.
    â€œSo is it okay, Mom? That I won’t be there for Thanksgiving?”
    I smiled again. Here was my twenty-two-year-old son basically asking my permission to skip a family Thanksgiving, when no permission was even required.
    â€œWell, you know Grandma and I will miss you and Jason both, but . . . of course it’s okay. What’s your contribution for the dinner?”
    â€œOh, another thing I meant to ask you—could you e-mail me Grandma’s recipe for squash casserole?”
    I shook my head and laughed. “Ah, you won’t be down here in the South with us, so you want some of the South up there with you, huh? Yes, I’ll send it off to you this week.”
    â€œThanks, Mom. Love you, and I’ll talk to you soon.”
    I stood for a few moments holding the phone in my hand and let out a sigh. I couldn’t lie. I was very disappointed that this would be my first Thanksgiving without my sons. But I attempted to brush off my mood and headed back outside to tell my mother, who, of course, took it better than I had.
    â€œOh, that is too bad that neither boy will be with us, but I guess that was bound to happen eventually. But we’ll be surrounded by family, Marin. This year it’s Sydney’s turn to do Thanksgiving, and I’m doing Christmas here. So Monica and Adam will also be there with the children.”
    This did manage to brighten my mood a bit.
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    My face was uplifted, capturing the sun as the wind blew through my hair and Worth turned the Porsche onto SR 27 in Bronson. Unlike Friday evening on the island, with a speed limit of twenty, once we left Cedar Key and he was able to increase the speed on 24, I could really appreciate the car he owned. I felt like I was floating, and with Springsteen’s voice coming from the Bose speakers, it was difficult to remember the last time I had had such a sense of freedom.
    â€œNot much longer down 27,” I heard Worth say, and I nodded. I wasn’t sure I ever wanted this ride to end. But about fifteen minutes later he was pulling into a long, paved driveway. A tunnel of live oaks partially obscured the enormous house at the end.
    I sat up straighter in my seat. Wow was the only word that immediately came to mind as an image of Southfork from the TV series Dallas flashed before my eyes. The house was redbrick, two stories, and, just guessing, I’d say it was at