was so many things, and none of them included innocence.
Beside me, Boone blew out a slow breath. “Yeah, it did, and before you go and assume I was corruptly drawing six figures a year from it, my salary was twenty-four thousand.” The internal gasps from the majority of guests lining the table was so loud, it almost made me jump in my seat. “It’s a matter of public record. You know, just in case you don’t believe me and want to double-check.”
Ford exchanged a look with my dad. From the looks of it, those two were still each other’s second-biggest fans—next to themselves.
“Oh no, Boone, it’s clear from those boots you’re still tromping around in that you were making less than the poverty line.” Ford’s dimple set into his cheek as he fought to suppress a smile when Charlotte laughed. “My question had more to do with why in the hell a man would open a business and welcome all the headaches that come along with that if he knew he would be making less than 25K. I mean, it’s an okay weekly sort of salary, but I thought there were labor laws protecting people from that kind of atrocious annual income.”
Of all the bodies at the table, only Avalee and myself were giving Ford an appalled sort of look. Probably because most of the people around the table were his family and friends . . . actually, I think just as many were members of my own family, albeit distant ones I hadn’t seen in years and couldn’t name if someone dangled a one-way ticket home leaving in an hour in front of my face.
Boone continued to work at his breakfast though, half of it already shoveled into his mouth. “Because maybe my kind of reasons behind doing things are entirely different than your reasons.” When he returned Ford’s stare, there was fire in Boone’s eyes. Fire was another word for contempt. “I could explain it, but you wouldn’t understand.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes as she continued picking at her eggs, stabbing at them until the yolk burst and pooled in the center of her plate. Knowing Charlotte, she was probably trying to lose another ten pounds before the wedding. She wore a size 25 in jeans and had been underweight by medical standards her whole life, but if you asked her, there’d never been a time when she couldn’t stand to lose ten pounds.
Me on the other hand? According to the devil—also known as the BMI chart—I was a perfectly average weight for my height, but according to my mom, my size eight was about four sizes too big. Being a non-underweight teen girl in this household had been hell. Even now, my mom couldn’t help eyeing my piece of toast every time I lifted it to my mouth. You know, since carbs were the enemy.
“Speaking of business ventures, what’s this I hear about your company expanding, Clara Belle?” Dad lifted his coffee cup in Frieda’s direction, irritation set into his brow. Frieda bustled over with the coffee pot like the lives of an entire continent were in her hands. “Making its way down into the belly of the country here? Are my sources correct?”
All heads turned in my direction. All of them save for Ford’s, who stayed focused on his plate as he cut into his ham like he was performing surgery.
“The business is thriving. Sales are soaring,” I said, feeling like I was explaining it to the whole table. “My goal wasn’t to just keep to California if this worked; it was to expand nationally. I just didn’t think it would happen so quickly.”
Boone set down his fork and angled in his seat toward me. “What kind of business, Clara?”
He realized his slip an instant after I did. His expression stayed flat though. The mistake only registered in his eyes, whereas my whole body and face went rigid with an oh shit! feeling.
“You don’t know what Clara Belle does?” Ford wasn’t focused on dissecting his ham and eggs anymore. “How long have you been seeing each other again?”
My dad pressed his forearm into the table and leaned forward.
Beside me, Boone blew out a slow breath. “Yeah, it did, and before you go and assume I was corruptly drawing six figures a year from it, my salary was twenty-four thousand.” The internal gasps from the majority of guests lining the table was so loud, it almost made me jump in my seat. “It’s a matter of public record. You know, just in case you don’t believe me and want to double-check.”
Ford exchanged a look with my dad. From the looks of it, those two were still each other’s second-biggest fans—next to themselves.
“Oh no, Boone, it’s clear from those boots you’re still tromping around in that you were making less than the poverty line.” Ford’s dimple set into his cheek as he fought to suppress a smile when Charlotte laughed. “My question had more to do with why in the hell a man would open a business and welcome all the headaches that come along with that if he knew he would be making less than 25K. I mean, it’s an okay weekly sort of salary, but I thought there were labor laws protecting people from that kind of atrocious annual income.”
Of all the bodies at the table, only Avalee and myself were giving Ford an appalled sort of look. Probably because most of the people around the table were his family and friends . . . actually, I think just as many were members of my own family, albeit distant ones I hadn’t seen in years and couldn’t name if someone dangled a one-way ticket home leaving in an hour in front of my face.
Boone continued to work at his breakfast though, half of it already shoveled into his mouth. “Because maybe my kind of reasons behind doing things are entirely different than your reasons.” When he returned Ford’s stare, there was fire in Boone’s eyes. Fire was another word for contempt. “I could explain it, but you wouldn’t understand.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes as she continued picking at her eggs, stabbing at them until the yolk burst and pooled in the center of her plate. Knowing Charlotte, she was probably trying to lose another ten pounds before the wedding. She wore a size 25 in jeans and had been underweight by medical standards her whole life, but if you asked her, there’d never been a time when she couldn’t stand to lose ten pounds.
Me on the other hand? According to the devil—also known as the BMI chart—I was a perfectly average weight for my height, but according to my mom, my size eight was about four sizes too big. Being a non-underweight teen girl in this household had been hell. Even now, my mom couldn’t help eyeing my piece of toast every time I lifted it to my mouth. You know, since carbs were the enemy.
“Speaking of business ventures, what’s this I hear about your company expanding, Clara Belle?” Dad lifted his coffee cup in Frieda’s direction, irritation set into his brow. Frieda bustled over with the coffee pot like the lives of an entire continent were in her hands. “Making its way down into the belly of the country here? Are my sources correct?”
All heads turned in my direction. All of them save for Ford’s, who stayed focused on his plate as he cut into his ham like he was performing surgery.
“The business is thriving. Sales are soaring,” I said, feeling like I was explaining it to the whole table. “My goal wasn’t to just keep to California if this worked; it was to expand nationally. I just didn’t think it would happen so quickly.”
Boone set down his fork and angled in his seat toward me. “What kind of business, Clara?”
He realized his slip an instant after I did. His expression stayed flat though. The mistake only registered in his eyes, whereas my whole body and face went rigid with an oh shit! feeling.
“You don’t know what Clara Belle does?” Ford wasn’t focused on dissecting his ham and eggs anymore. “How long have you been seeing each other again?”
My dad pressed his forearm into the table and leaned forward.
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