Common sense.
“Okay . . . so, if you could go anywhere on your yacht, where would you go?”
“Alaska.”
“Alaska?” I ask, feeling even more shocked with that answer. “Why Alaska? I thought you were going to say something like the Mediterranean, you know, because in my head that’s where all the rich people go.”
“Alaska, because it’s breathtaking up there. The cascading mountains capped in snow, the blue waters, the tall pines, and wildlife.” He nods. “I’d spend my time there, exploring.”
“Hold up, are you telling me you’re the kind of man who sheds the suit and puts on a pair of hiking boots?”
“Is that your second question?” he asks.
“Consider it 1a,” I say with a grin.
The smallest of smirks pulls at the left corner of his mouth before he says, “I do enjoy hiking.”
“That wasn’t on the list of things you like to do for fun.”
He shrugs. “Well, it’s one of the things I like to do. There are some decent trails around here, especially up in the hills. The boys and I try to get a few hikes in on the weekends during the month. We haven’t been in a bit because of life. But, yeah, I’d take the yacht to Alaska and go hiking, whale watching, camping.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Time,” he says. “Time is always the factor.”
“But you could retire right now, you have enough money for more than a lifetime, so why keep going?”
He cuts a piece of his steak and pierces it with his fork. When his dark eyes meet mine, I feel my breath catch in my chest. The intensity throws me for a loop. “We can’t just stop what we’re doing. A lot of people depend on us for a living. For their livelihood. Until I feel comfortable enough to find someone who could take care of the business while we were gone, I’ll work for the people who work for me.”
An outsider looking in, listening to Huxley and his clipped tones and short-worded answers, would think the man has no heart, but then he gives you an answer like that. He has all the money one person could ever need, he could jet off somewhere and be done with ever working again, but he sees that he owes people his time, because they’ve given him theirs.
That hits me harder than expected.
“That’s a very kind answer, Huxley. You’re making me think there’s a heart under that pressed shirt after all.”
“It’s there when it needs to be.” He takes a drink of his water and asks, “Best place you’ve ever gone on vacation?”
“Ooo, you’re going to be sadly disappointed. We didn’t really go on vacation growing up. My mom didn’t have the money, but when she did save enough on occasion, we used to have a fantastic day at Disneyland. Mom would spoil us. We’d get there early before the park opened, have all the food we ever wanted, ride the rides twice, sometimes three times, and then stay until the park closed. Some of my best memories are of going to Disneyland. The only vacation we’ve ever been on was when we went to the Redwood National Park. We went camping. We aren’t wilderness ladies, but it was fun. We attempted to cook food over a fire, lived off s’mores, and played cards the entire weekend, when we weren’t marveling at the trees. It was a lot of fun.”
“Sounds like it. I’ve always enjoyed camping.”
“Let me guess—with your brothers.”
He nods. “Yeah, we do everything together.”
“I’m sensing that. You know, I’ve never been formally introduced to them, but I’m guessing they know all about me.”
“They do.”
“Well, maybe Friday I can get a proper introduction.”
“I can arrange that.” He bites into his steak and I watch as his firm jaw moves up and down. Okay, for some reason, that seems sexy to me. Yup, I think I might be losing it. “Your turn to ask a question.”
“Right,” I say, turning back to my plate. “Uh . . . who’s your favorite brother?”
He chuckles. “Going there, huh?”
“Might as well. I need to be prepared when I do meet them.”
“If I had to pick, I would say I’m closer to JP. We’re closer in age, we got into more trouble together, and we worked more on building the business together. He’s also the one I’d probably go to if I needed someone to help bail me out of jail.”
“Jail? Why are you going to jail?”
“We did stupid shit growing up.”
“Like what?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “A question for another day. Your quota is up. And don’t try that 2a, 2b bullshit on me, you already used it.”
“Well, aren’t you a killjoy?”
“Just playing the game as it was laid out. My turn.” He lifts his glass of water and takes a sip. When he sets the glass down, he looks uncertain. “I’m not sure how to ask this without it sounding harsh, but what happened to your dad?”
“That’s not being harsh. He left my mom early on. He was a truck driver. Didn’t want to stay in one place. I never had a relationship with the man, but he always sent my mom child support. It’s why she was able to afford the house we live in. I remember hearing my mom talk to my grandma late one night when Dad first left. Mom was saying she didn’t feel right taking the money from him, but my grandma shot down those feelings very quickly. It was the first time I heard my grandma talk in such a strict tone. She said my mom didn’t have her babies on her own. That the money he sent wasn’t charity, it was his duty. And from then on, Mom accepted his checks every month. We sent him homemade cards on holidays and his birthdays, but that was the extent of it. Now, I honestly have no idea what he’s doing or where he is. And we’re okay with that because we have Jeff, and Jeff is all we need.”
Huxley is silent for a moment before he says, “I couldn’t imagine abandoning my family like that, but at least he had it in his heart to be there in some capacity.”
“He helped give us a home Mom wouldn’t otherwise have been able to afford. And it’s such a great home, full of memories.”
“I felt that when I was there. Very homey.” He plops another piece of steak in his mouth and then goes quiet.
He remains that way for the rest of the night. And, of course, being the person that I am, I recount our conversation in my head, trying to pinpoint the moment or the thing I said that shut him down so quickly.
If only I could ask . . .
“What are you doing?” Kelsey asks as I bring my feet up into my chair and prop my phone on my knees.
“Getting ready to ask Huxley some questions.”
“About what?”
“About him,” I answer. “It’s part of the deal so I don’t freak out about having to live and act with a robot. I get to ask him questions. Two during the day and two at night. He gets to do the same.”
“Wow, that seems very . . . calculated.”
“That’s Huxley for you. The man needs order.”
Kelsey studies me and then scoots her chair closer so she can reach out and poke me in the arm. “You like him, don’t you?”
“What?” I ask with a pinch in my brow. “Are you nuts? No, I don’t like him. He’s . . . he’s a sociopath. Not the type of guy I’d ever go for. But it’s nice getting to know him a little bit better, because having dinner with someone who either spends his time irritating me or being completely silent isn’t what I’d call fun. This makes the deal easier.”
“Uh-huh,” she says with a smile as she gets out of her chair. “I’m going to walk to the salad shop around the corner. Want me to grab you something?”
“Please.” I smile at her, not giving in to her disbelief. “Chopped salad, no tomatoes. Thanks, sis.”
With that grin of hers, she grabs her purse and heads out the door. When it clicks shut, I open up my text thread with Huxley and ask him the question I wanted to ask him last night. Maybe he’d be more receptive to answering over text, where he doesn’t have to look me in the face.
Lottie: What stupid shit did you do as a kid?
I smile to myself as the dots appear on the thread.
Huxley: I knew that was coming.
Lottie: So, then you might have a good answer for me, right?