hanging above everyone’s head. Waiting.
I’d spent half of my life waiting. Waiting for something that had never come to life. Waiting for something I couldn’t designate with a name even.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Boone said, his voice drawing out the term of endearment longer than necessary. “You can sit on my lap. Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve eaten breakfast like that.”
When I looked at him smiling down at me like everything was coming up roses, I found my eyes starting to narrow. I caught myself before anyone else seemed to notice.
I was just about to plaster on a smile and say something along the lines of, “Not when there’s company around”when my mom shot out of her seat.
“Now there’s absolutely no need for anyone to be left without a chair when we’ve got a whole storage room packed with them.” Mom lifted her eyebrows at one of the kitchen employees hovering in the corner of the room, then she plastered on a smile of her own. “I must have miscounted when I gave Frieda the number for breakfast.”
“You must have,” Boone replied, his smile more convincing than my mom’s, though I knew what he was saying between the lines. You didn’t miscount anything, lady. You simply chose not to count me.
“How did everyone sleep?” Dad gave up on his paper and dropped it into a crumpled heap on the edge of the table. He couldn’t stop watching Boone and me.
A chorus of “good” and “well, thank you” swept around the table. The new chair was just being nestled in beside the other empty chair. Frieda rushed back into the kitchen to grab another place setting, and Boone took my hand and walked me over to our chairs. My dad’s eyes lowered to where Boone held my hand. If you could kill the same person twice, my dad had just earned himself another life sentence.
“I don’t know if you want to call it sleep, per se,” Boone said, firing off a wink around the table before continuing, “but I had one hell of a night if you know what I mean.”
My mouth wasn’t the only one that fell open. My mom’s, along with a few others, followed my lead, while Dad and Ford went with something more along the lines of curling their lips while reaching for their butter knifes. As Boone slid out my chair for me, I gave him a subtle nudge before sitting. One that suggested he shut the hell up unless he wanted me to stab him in the knee with my fork if he made any more comments of that nature.
Frieda raced back into the room and set up Boone’s place setting in less time than it took me to unfold my napkin and smooth it into my lap.
Breakfast was a formal affair at Abbott Manor, as most everything was. We ate our eggs with cloth napkins, drank our coffee from porcelain cups painted with gold leaf, and sipped our pressed-fresh-every-morning orange juice from imported Italian crystal. While the breakfast centerpieces were typically extravagant, from the three floral pieces lining the center of the table, I guessed my parents had had every floral shop from Charleston to Raleigh on round-the-clock mode.
“Estelle tells me you’re unemployed, Boone.” Now that we were seated, my dad sawed into his ham steak, though I couldn’t help feeling like it was Boone’s neck he was envisioning. He cut into it a bit more eagerly than breakfast ham warranted.
Boone took a sip of his orange juice, ignoring the heads turned his way. “Estelle speaks the truth.”
“Is this something new?” Dad asked, before lifting a piece of ham to his mouth.
I reached for my own glass of juice. Breakfast hadn’t even started, and I was already counting down the bites until it was over.
“My business just went under.” Boone took another drink, draining his glass. When he was done, he slammed his glass on the table like he was in some gunslinger bar and that was the way one asked for another drink. “So yeah, new within the past few weeks.”
My eyebrows came together as I processed what he’d just said. I
I’d spent half of my life waiting. Waiting for something that had never come to life. Waiting for something I couldn’t designate with a name even.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Boone said, his voice drawing out the term of endearment longer than necessary. “You can sit on my lap. Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve eaten breakfast like that.”
When I looked at him smiling down at me like everything was coming up roses, I found my eyes starting to narrow. I caught myself before anyone else seemed to notice.
I was just about to plaster on a smile and say something along the lines of, “Not when there’s company around”when my mom shot out of her seat.
“Now there’s absolutely no need for anyone to be left without a chair when we’ve got a whole storage room packed with them.” Mom lifted her eyebrows at one of the kitchen employees hovering in the corner of the room, then she plastered on a smile of her own. “I must have miscounted when I gave Frieda the number for breakfast.”
“You must have,” Boone replied, his smile more convincing than my mom’s, though I knew what he was saying between the lines. You didn’t miscount anything, lady. You simply chose not to count me.
“How did everyone sleep?” Dad gave up on his paper and dropped it into a crumpled heap on the edge of the table. He couldn’t stop watching Boone and me.
A chorus of “good” and “well, thank you” swept around the table. The new chair was just being nestled in beside the other empty chair. Frieda rushed back into the kitchen to grab another place setting, and Boone took my hand and walked me over to our chairs. My dad’s eyes lowered to where Boone held my hand. If you could kill the same person twice, my dad had just earned himself another life sentence.
“I don’t know if you want to call it sleep, per se,” Boone said, firing off a wink around the table before continuing, “but I had one hell of a night if you know what I mean.”
My mouth wasn’t the only one that fell open. My mom’s, along with a few others, followed my lead, while Dad and Ford went with something more along the lines of curling their lips while reaching for their butter knifes. As Boone slid out my chair for me, I gave him a subtle nudge before sitting. One that suggested he shut the hell up unless he wanted me to stab him in the knee with my fork if he made any more comments of that nature.
Frieda raced back into the room and set up Boone’s place setting in less time than it took me to unfold my napkin and smooth it into my lap.
Breakfast was a formal affair at Abbott Manor, as most everything was. We ate our eggs with cloth napkins, drank our coffee from porcelain cups painted with gold leaf, and sipped our pressed-fresh-every-morning orange juice from imported Italian crystal. While the breakfast centerpieces were typically extravagant, from the three floral pieces lining the center of the table, I guessed my parents had had every floral shop from Charleston to Raleigh on round-the-clock mode.
“Estelle tells me you’re unemployed, Boone.” Now that we were seated, my dad sawed into his ham steak, though I couldn’t help feeling like it was Boone’s neck he was envisioning. He cut into it a bit more eagerly than breakfast ham warranted.
Boone took a sip of his orange juice, ignoring the heads turned his way. “Estelle speaks the truth.”
“Is this something new?” Dad asked, before lifting a piece of ham to his mouth.
I reached for my own glass of juice. Breakfast hadn’t even started, and I was already counting down the bites until it was over.
“My business just went under.” Boone took another drink, draining his glass. When he was done, he slammed his glass on the table like he was in some gunslinger bar and that was the way one asked for another drink. “So yeah, new within the past few weeks.”
My eyebrows came together as I processed what he’d just said. I
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