“The usual.” I shrugged and decided not to tell him that she liked anal. Wren liked it too, but only with him, and part of me wanted to keep Brooke’s ass to myself. I was being silly and selfish, but I couldn’t change how I felt. Besides, it didn’t matter anyway. It was her decision, not mine.
I snorted, at myself as much as anything.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “Just thinking about Granville.”
“Then you’d better get going.”
“Yep. See you when I get back.”
* * *
Granville and I worked at the long dining room table instead of the little one in the parlor. Beatrice kept us supplied with cold drinks. I’d never told her that I didn’t like tea, but she’d known since the second meeting. She brought me lemonade instead.
“Fresh squeezed,” she said. “Like you like.”
I smiled gratefully. “Thank you. As always.”
“M’yessir.”
“Bea here’s very fond of you, my boy,” Granville said. “She always remembers to buy lemons when you’re coming.”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. He treated her like a well-trained child and was proud when she remembered things, even ones as simple as this. No doubt he thought it was because of his influence. If he’d been born in the nineteenth century instead of the twentieth, he’d have bragged about how well he treated his slaves, and how much they loved him.
You don’t get credit for being nice to them, I thought acidly. They’re people! You’re supposed to be nice to them. You aren’t supposed to own them.
And slaves don’t love you, I sneered. You hold the power of life and death over them. They’ll tell you whatever they think you want to hear.
I took a deep breath and tried to find an island of inner peace. I’d had an overdose of Granville lately, and I wasn’t dealing with it very well. I probably could have lived with his prejudices, if only he’d kept them to himself. But he was a clueless braggart instead. He honestly thought he was praising Beatrice, encouraging her, but his low expectations were just another form of racism.
Unfortunately, he was a product of his upbringing more than anything, although white southern culture made it possible. Too many people romanticized the Old South and ignored the uglier parts of its history—our history.
Slavery was a terrible thing that never should have happened. Period. End of discussion.
The south bore most of the guilt, but we weren’t the only ones. Our pre-war economy couldn’t have existed without northern slave traders, merchants, and mill owners. So the north romanticized their past as much as we did, although they at least had been on the right side of history.
The south hadn’t been—still wasn’t—and our myths couldn’t rewrite history. The Confederacy hadn’t been genteel plantation owners and “southern patriots.” Oh, no. The not-so-noble Confederacy had fought for a system that allowed them to own other human beings.
But I digress, big time.
Granville didn’t notice my frustration with him and the culture he represented. He was too preoccupied, bent over my drawings like Narcissus at his pool. He only saw his own greatness. Fortunately, his “greatness” didn’t have any problems, so he signed and sealed everything.
Beatrice timed it perfectly and appeared with lunch. I was ready to leave, but she’d gone to the trouble of making fried chicken, so I thanked her and enjoyed it. And, of course, I listened to Granville’s story about his first big job. The world revolved around him, after all.
“How’d it go?” Trip asked when I eventually returned to camp.
“Don’t ask,” I snapped. Maybe I hadn’t calmed down as much as I’d thought. “Sorry,” I said immediately. “Granville.”
“Uh-oh. What happened? Did he—?”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Things went well. He signed everything.”
“Thank God. I thought— Well, it doesn’t matter. Why’re you so upset?”
“Long story,” I said. “Just… the way he is. And the way he treats people.”
“Who? You?”
“No,” I scoffed. “I’m white. And male.”
“Then… what’s the problem?”
“Nothing. As long as you’re white and male.”
“Which you are,” Trip said slowly.
I pursed my lips and thought of several snarky replies, although I rejected them just as quickly. Trip wasn’t the problem.
“Listen, I get it,” he said. “Granville’s a pain. And maybe even a racist—”
“No ‘maybe’ about it.”
“Fine,” Trip agreed patiently. He was humoring me. “He’s a racist. So? The world’s full of ’em. We happen to need this one.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “But that doesn’t make it any easier.” I took a deep breath and tried to be objective. “He has good qualities, too,” I said. “I mean, he’s been super-helpful, not only with the permits, but with the overall design as well. I couldn’t’ve done it without him.”
“Then focus on that,” Trip said.
“And ignore the rest?” I scoffed. “Whitewash it?”
“Whatever you wanna call it. We need him. I can probably find another architect—”
“No. Granville’s the best choice. He’s buddies with half the town, including the director of Building and Zoning. So our permits’ll be approved. They won’t be rubber-stamped, but we won’t have any problems. The good ol’ boy network.”
The girls chose that moment to emerge from the forest on the other side of the clearing. They’d taken the same path so many times that they’d started to wear a trail.
Christy saw me. She smiled and waved, and I immediately felt better about the world.
“Are you gonna be okay?” Trip asked.
“Yeah. I’ll live. Just… no more Granvilles. Please.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I inhaled a deep breath and exhaled through my nose. I did it again and stared at the sky. It was hazy from the humidity and filled with towering cumulus. Worse, it didn’t look like it was going to change any time soon.
“I can’t do anything about that, either,” I said in mild disgust.
“What? The sky? Yeah, it’s blue.”
“No, the weather. But it’s all the same.”
“I give up,” Trip said good-naturedly. “You’re determined to stay in a bad mood.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I sighed. “Don’t worry, the solution’ll be here in a minute.”
He followed my gaze. “You two need some time alone?”
“No, but thanks.”
“I don’t mind.”
“We can’t,” I argued. “We have too much work to do.”
“It’ll keep.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll take Wren and Brooke. We can still make it to the liquor store if we leave now.”
“You don’t have to.”
He snorted, polite disagreement.
“Seriously,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Uh-huh.” He’d acquired Wren’s habit of agreeing with me without listening. He waited until the girls drew within earshot. “Hey, babe, you wanna run to town? We can pick up the alcohol and then swing by the grocery store.”
Wren frowned. “I thought you were going to do it tomorrow.”
“Changed my mind,” he said.
She glanced at me and knew me well enough to see the residual tension in my expression.
Christy saw it too, and she grew concerned.
“Thought we’d pick up something special for dinner,” Trip added. “Steaks, maybe. To celebrate.”
“Sure,” Wren agreed. “So… Granville signed everything?”
“Yep.” Trip gestured at the carrying tube and roll of drawings that I still held. “Signed, sealed, and almost delivered.”
“Congratulations,” she said to me.
“Thanks.”
Trip said, “You wanna come with us, Brooke? We can listen to scores and highlights.”