clamp together as I nod.
“I
know how difficult this is for you.”
He
doesn’t have a clue. My eyes focus on my knees. If I look at him, I’m afraid
I’ll crack into a thousand pieces.
“Carter,
I’m sorry, honey . Your father, well, he was the best
attorney, but the worst financial planner.”
Standing,
I hug Uncle Foster again, and start to leave.
Before
I get to the door, my uncle calls out to me. “Carter, it’s a safe bet—the
contract. You’ll be fine there and if you need me to look over anything else,
just give me a call.”
“Thanks,
Uncle Foster.” My voice squeaks as I speak.
“I
love you, Carter.”
“Love
you, too.”
I
barely make it to the car before I break down, sobbing. There are a gazillion
reasons I don’t want to sell the house, and now I have to deal with him .
What in the world am I going to do?
Glancing
at the clock on my dashboard, I notice how late it’s getting. I need to get
back to work. I rein in my emotions and drive back to the hospital. On the way,
I call Harper.
“What’s
up, Doc?”
She
loves to say that when I call.
“Oh,
God. You’re such a dork.”
“Uh,
I think you have that backward, Carter. You’re the dork who lives in a lab.”
“Truth.
But guess what? This dork just got her funding from a huge pharmaceutical
company to work on her research. They want my stuff, Harper!”
“Oh,
holy lab experiments! Hold up your fist and give me some bone, sister.”
We
laugh and her excitement warms me. It’s not often that my friends get what goes
on in my life with respect to my work. But Harper is the only one that truly
cares.
“This
will be it for you. You are now going to be the famous Dr. Drayton.”
“Hey,
slow down a minute. My stuff has to actually produce something in the body and
not just in the lab,” I remind her.
“Oh,
Carter, knowing you, it will. I feel it. I’ve always known you’d do something
special one day. You were that kid.”
“Yeah,
that geek of a kid. But thanks, Harper. You’ve always stuck up for me.”
When
I get back to the lab, I call Winston Miles and leave him a message that I’ll
be sending the contract over, signed. He’s probably still on a plane heading
back to his office.
My
head swims with so many things: the contract, my research, my waning excitement
over it due to the necessity of selling the house, and Kestrel Hart. Needing a
diversion, I throw myself back into my work, and when I look at the time, it’s
ten p.m.
“What
the hell?”
When
did John leave? Did he even say good-bye? What about everyone else? I need to
get out of here. I shut everything down and head home.
The
house is dark and silent when I unlock the back door and turn off the security
system. I drop my backpack on the counter and grab a bottle of wine out of the
refrigerator. Pouring a huge glass, I kick off my sandals and head out to the
back yard. As it is oftentimes in Charleston in October, the night air is still
warm and pleasant. A gentle breeze ruffles my hair as I flop down on one of the
chaises by the pool. I turned on the lights as I headed out the door, so the
yard looks pretty all lit up and aglow. For a brief moment, I allow myself to
imagine how it was when my parents and Ells were still alive. Ells loved
splashing in the pool on hot summer days.
Glancing
at the terrace behind the house, I fondly recall the many parties Mom and Dad
used to throw. They were such socialites, always having some kind of a
gathering either here or at the beach house. Now, this huge place sits empty
most of the time, with only their ghosts to remind me of the happier times.
Maybe it’s best that I pass this place on to someone who can fill it up again
with laughter and sunshine.
I
hop to my feet and walk to the heavy wrought iron gate that bars the entrance
to the property. As I look down the driveway, I can see the water, for the
house sits on the Charleston battery. Craning my neck, I look up toward the
widow’s walk. That’s my
“I
know how difficult this is for you.”
He
doesn’t have a clue. My eyes focus on my knees. If I look at him, I’m afraid
I’ll crack into a thousand pieces.
“Carter,
I’m sorry, honey . Your father, well, he was the best
attorney, but the worst financial planner.”
Standing,
I hug Uncle Foster again, and start to leave.
Before
I get to the door, my uncle calls out to me. “Carter, it’s a safe bet—the
contract. You’ll be fine there and if you need me to look over anything else,
just give me a call.”
“Thanks,
Uncle Foster.” My voice squeaks as I speak.
“I
love you, Carter.”
“Love
you, too.”
I
barely make it to the car before I break down, sobbing. There are a gazillion
reasons I don’t want to sell the house, and now I have to deal with him .
What in the world am I going to do?
Glancing
at the clock on my dashboard, I notice how late it’s getting. I need to get
back to work. I rein in my emotions and drive back to the hospital. On the way,
I call Harper.
“What’s
up, Doc?”
She
loves to say that when I call.
“Oh,
God. You’re such a dork.”
“Uh,
I think you have that backward, Carter. You’re the dork who lives in a lab.”
“Truth.
But guess what? This dork just got her funding from a huge pharmaceutical
company to work on her research. They want my stuff, Harper!”
“Oh,
holy lab experiments! Hold up your fist and give me some bone, sister.”
We
laugh and her excitement warms me. It’s not often that my friends get what goes
on in my life with respect to my work. But Harper is the only one that truly
cares.
“This
will be it for you. You are now going to be the famous Dr. Drayton.”
“Hey,
slow down a minute. My stuff has to actually produce something in the body and
not just in the lab,” I remind her.
“Oh,
Carter, knowing you, it will. I feel it. I’ve always known you’d do something
special one day. You were that kid.”
“Yeah,
that geek of a kid. But thanks, Harper. You’ve always stuck up for me.”
When
I get back to the lab, I call Winston Miles and leave him a message that I’ll
be sending the contract over, signed. He’s probably still on a plane heading
back to his office.
My
head swims with so many things: the contract, my research, my waning excitement
over it due to the necessity of selling the house, and Kestrel Hart. Needing a
diversion, I throw myself back into my work, and when I look at the time, it’s
ten p.m.
“What
the hell?”
When
did John leave? Did he even say good-bye? What about everyone else? I need to
get out of here. I shut everything down and head home.
The
house is dark and silent when I unlock the back door and turn off the security
system. I drop my backpack on the counter and grab a bottle of wine out of the
refrigerator. Pouring a huge glass, I kick off my sandals and head out to the
back yard. As it is oftentimes in Charleston in October, the night air is still
warm and pleasant. A gentle breeze ruffles my hair as I flop down on one of the
chaises by the pool. I turned on the lights as I headed out the door, so the
yard looks pretty all lit up and aglow. For a brief moment, I allow myself to
imagine how it was when my parents and Ells were still alive. Ells loved
splashing in the pool on hot summer days.
Glancing
at the terrace behind the house, I fondly recall the many parties Mom and Dad
used to throw. They were such socialites, always having some kind of a
gathering either here or at the beach house. Now, this huge place sits empty
most of the time, with only their ghosts to remind me of the happier times.
Maybe it’s best that I pass this place on to someone who can fill it up again
with laughter and sunshine.
I
hop to my feet and walk to the heavy wrought iron gate that bars the entrance
to the property. As I look down the driveway, I can see the water, for the
house sits on the Charleston battery. Craning my neck, I look up toward the
widow’s walk. That’s my
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