Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“You sure know how to push my buttons,” my mother started. Her voice turned sterner with each syllable spoken. “This trip is to support your father. He’s been too good to us all and this is big for him. The national press is covering the resort’s opening. We need you on your best behavior, and absolutely no sneaking off to come home. Invite Chandler to join us for your birthday. But there will be no shenanigans between you two. Best behavior all the time.”
My father, Jackson Richmond, was one of the most successful businessmen in Texas. He took pride in being a dedicated family man. All of my brothers and sisters worked for his company and all had a stake in the success of the brand new four hundred room resort and playground, Richmond Resorts, along the Gulf of Mexico coastline.
The hitch in the plan? The local Sea Springs business community wasn’t pleased with big business coming in and stealing their customers.
They started a war against my father, trying every possible means to close the project down. Lawsuit after lawsuit had delayed the resort’s opening by about a year. When their legal recourses failed to get their desired result, they waged a smear campaign against my family. A long picket line formed in front of the resort where they pushed the idea of small, hometown business values.
Here came the Richmond family. This was a working holiday. We had a reputation for being a pretty family. An all-American success story. If you can judge a book by its cover, we pulled off a wholesome family appearance better than most. The plan was to use our togetherness against our enemies. There were thirty plus of us descending on Sea Springs for the next three months.
“Did you hear me?” Her tone was sharp this time. “I wasn’t pressing the talk button so don’t even try.”
His gaze skidded toward Amelia as he answered, “Yes, ma’am, I heard.”
“Good. I’m going for drinks at the club. I’ll expect you downstairs in the morning at eight forty-five.”
I sighed and silently nodded, wondering how our conversation had gone from happy to angry in the few minutes we’d spoken. My finger pressed the button to respond quickly, trying to diffuse the trouble I caused. “I’ll be downstairs on time.”
“Hmm…” I said aloud, and stood there for a few seconds longer, waiting to see if she responded with anything more.
“Let it go, Dasham. You never win,” Amelia whispered.
She wasn’t wrong.
One week later
Sea Springs, Texas
The smell of birthday pancakes quickened my steps as I trotted down from my third-floor bedroom to the kitchen on the first floor. Even in the early morning hours and dimly lit spiral stairwell, I deftly managed the steps two at a time, my stomach leading the way.
I could hear my grandmother grumbling quietly. She didn’t sound happy. She never did anymore. The small group of local business owners fighting to stop the new resort’s expansion were running out of time and money to keep the fight alive. It was all everyone talked about these days.
My hunger had me jumping the final three steps to land on the peeling tile of the kitchen floor. My booted feet lithely pivoted toward the stovetop where the delicious scent guided me. My mom was there, making her special pancake recipe that only came out two times a year. On my birthday and on Christmas morning. Both times presents were included. As far as I was concerned, especially this morning, the pancakes mattered the most.
“Happy Birthday,” my nana said from her regular spot at the old oak table, pausing with the coffee cup at her lips. The happy tone and relaxed brow conflicted with the permanent frown etched on her face since we first arrived.
I gave a small smile and nodded to acknowledge her greeting. Glad to see her life’s drink heading to her lips. Both my grandparents loved coffee, kept a pot hot all day long.
“Happy birthday,” my mom said cheerfully, expertly flipping a pancake in the pan. Based on the solid stack plated just to the side of the stovetop, she’d been at it for a while. She had skill. Each pancake was the same size, perfectly round, and looked like an advertisement for IHOP. So good in fact, I swiped one off the top.
“Hey,” my mom teased and swatted the spatula at my hand. I was quicker, even with the heat making it hard to handle. I tossed it from hand to hand, looking for the bottle of honey—my preferred choice in toppings.
I’d missed the plate, silverware, and glass of chocolate milk sitting on the table, directly across from my grandmother. The honey was right there waiting with the rest.
It didn’t take long for me to roll the pancake and squirt a generous portion of honey over the top before eating it like a burrito.