Chapter 3 - The Aftermath on the Lawn
Within twenty minutes, the fleet of luxury sedans and German SUVs had backed out of my gravel driveway, tires spitting gray pebbles against the picket fence Nile had built with reclaimed cedar. The folding chairs Laurelai had rented were left scattered across the grass, overturned by the rising sea wind like plastic skeletons. Only Cullen remained, standing in the center of the yard beside the four designer suitcases and six cardboard boxes I had neatly stacked under the weeping willow.
The illusion was shattered. His hair, normally slicked back with expensive pomade, was coming undone in sweaty strands across his forehead. He looked smaller, stripped of the borrowed prestige he had worn like armor for the past five years. He walked slowly back toward the porch, his eyes fixed on the new deadbolt gleaming brass against the blue door.
""Mom,"" he croaked, his voice cracking like that of a petulant adolescent rather than a thirty-four-year-old financial analyst. ""Mom, please. Just let me in. We need to talk about this. Just you and me. Let’s leave Blythe’s family out of it.""
""There is nothing left to talk about, Cullen,"" I answered, remaining seated in my wicker rocker, holding my cold mug of black coffee. ""You didn't want to talk to me when you planned your ceremony on Nantucket. You didn't want to talk when you told four dozen guests that your mother was too sick, too frail, or too embarrassing to sit in the front pew beside judges and venture capitalists. You only want to talk now because the roof you promised your bride belongs to someone else.""
""I was trying to survive!"" he shouted, dropping down onto the bottom porch step with his head in his hands. ""You don't understand how their world works! If Blythe’s father thought I came from a mechanic’s son and a public school teacher, he never would have let her look at me! He controls half the capital in the Boston investment firm! I needed that marriage, Mom! I needed to be someone!""
""Your father was a master electrician, Cullen. He worked sixty hours a week so you could attend private prep schools and graduate without a single dime in student debt,"" I said, each word landing like an anvil. ""He wore boots with steel toes and calloused hands so you could wear Italian leather. And when you took his photograph off that mantel and shoved it into a junk drawer beneath takeout menus, you proved that you aren't half the man Nile Vance was.""
Cullen flinched. He looked up, his face pale with sudden guilt. ""I didn't throw it away. I just... Blythe wanted minimalist decor for the welcome party. We were going to put it back.""
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""You weren't going to put it back,"" I stated flatly. ""You wanted to erase everything that reminded you of who you are. And now you can live with the consequences of that choice. The locks are changed. Your luggage is packed. The tide is coming in, and the private road belongs to this property. I suggest you call a cab before the gate locks automatically at six.""
He looked at me, realizing for the first time in his pampered life that my unconditional love did not mean unconditional surrender. He stood up, grabbed two of the heavy suitcases, and began hauling them down the long driveway toward the main highway, his designer shoes scuffing miserably against the dirt.
