packing his things into his new Jeep Cherokee for the long road trip back to Arizona. Even though it was a bald- faced lie, he had told his grandmother, Astrid Ladd, that he wanted to get an early start that morning.
As expected, Astrid came out of the main house to watch the loading process. She stood in the driveway between the main house and the carriage house, leaning on her cane and shaking her head as he closed the rear hatch on his carefully packed load.
“All done?”
Davy nodded. “I should probably hit the road pretty soon.”
“This early?” Astrid objected. “You can’t do that. I wanted to take you to the club one last time before you go. Not only that, if you’re going to be driving all that way by yourself, it’s important for you to keep up your strength. You should start out with a decent breakfast under your belt.”
What David knew but didn’t mention to Astrid right then was that on the first day of his trip he would be driving only as far as downtown Chicago. There, just off North Michigan Avenue on Pearson, he and Candace Waverly—his girlfriend of six months’ standing—planned to spend their farewell night ensconced in a deluxe suite at the Ritz Carlton. It was a graduation gift from Candace to Davy, compliments of the Gold AmEx card Richard Waverly provided for his darling daughter.
“Sure, Grandma,” David said, accepting his grandmother’s invitation gracefully, as he had known in advance that he would. “I suppose I can stay long enough to have breakfast,” he added.
Evanston, the town, is dry. Evanston, the golf club—across the line in Skokie—is definitely wet. That was the other thing David Ladd was both smart and discreet enough not to mention. The reason Astrid Ladd wanted to have breakfast at the golf club—which she did several times a week—had less to do with the quality of the food than it did with the inevitable Bloody Mary or two that would accompany her order of eggs Benedict.
At seventy-eight, Astrid Ladd was old enough to still observe the strictures against solitary drinking. According to her long-held beliefs, only problem drinkers drank alone. Astrid and her late husband, Garrison Walther Ladd II, had been part of the fashionable drinking set their whole married life. Living in a dry town, they had done their drinking at home, in other people’s homes or in private clubs. David’s grandfather had been dead for five years now. He had hemorrhaged to death, dying as a result of esophageal varices which were most likely related to all those years of social drinking.
With her husband and best tippling buddy gone, Astrid Ladd still wanted to drink, but she was terrified of being caught in the very unladylike trap of drinking alone. As a consequence, she spent her days plotting a vigorously active social calendar that usually involved suckering some poor unsuspecting chump into driving her out to the club early for her daily ration of grog. Later on, she would prevail on somebody else to chauffeur her home.
On this hazy, and already hot summer morning in early June, David Ladd drove both ways. Leaving behind his upstairs carriage house apartment with its magnificent view of Lake Michigan, he pulled up to the side entrance of his grandmother’s oversized mansion in Astrid’s aging but equally oversized 1988 DeVille. She came out onto the porch and stood waiting, leaning heavily on her cane, while David hustled out of the car and helped her into the rider’s side.
“I can’t believe you’re done with school already,” Astrid said as he eased her into the leather seat. “Three whole years! The time just flew by, didn’t it? I’m going to miss you desperately, Davy. You don’t know how much.”
Actually, Davy did know. The drafty old house was far too big for Astrid. In fact, most of the upstairs and part of the ground floor had been closed off for years, since long before Davy appeared on the scene. Several times during his sojourn at Northwestern, David Ladd had hinted to his grandmother that maybe it was time for her to consider unloading the family home. He suggested that she might enjoy moving into a more reasonably sized condo, one that didn’t require nearly as much upkeep. Astrid had dismissed the idea out of hand, and after the second rejection Davy hadn’t mentioned it again.
“And I’m going to miss that lovely Candace,” Astrid continued. “I probably shouldn’t, but I can’t help thinking of her as a granddaughter.”
That wasn’t news. Astrid Ladd had never been one to keep her feelings or opinions to herself. Her unbridled enthusiasm for Candace Waverly—of the Oak Park Waverlys, as Astrid was fond of adding when introducing Candace and Davy to one of her upscale friends—was also well known.
“I’m going to miss her, too,” David managed.
“How much?”
“What do you mean, how much?”
“You know what I mean,” Astrid said slyly. “Are you or are you not going to give her a ring before you leave town?”
Astrid Ladd had promised her grandson a free ride at Northwestern’s law school if he wanted to go there to study. That “free ride” had included everything—tuition, books, living expenses, food, a place to stay, laundry privileges, and even a car—but it had been far from free. The cost had come in terms of three years spent living his life under Astrid Ladd’s watchful scrutiny, under her eye, ear, and thumb. Astrid’s far too conscientious mothering as well as Chicago’s uncompromising weather—summer and winter both—were the main reasons David Ladd was anxious to go back home to Arizona.
Candace Waverly was the single reason he wanted to stay in Chicago.
“No, Grandma,” he said. “No ring. We’re not ready for that yet.”
“But you told me that you’re . . . what did you call it?”
“Going out,” David supplied. “But that doesn’t mean we’re serious.”
“I wish it did,” Astrid said wistfully. “Because I’m willing to help, you know.”
Davy kept his eyes on the road. “Grandma,” he said patiently, “you already put me through law school. And you just gave me a Jeep Grand Cherokee for graduation. How much more help could you be?”
“You’d be surprised, Davy,” Astrid Ladd said determinedly. “There are one or two more things I could do.”
“Grandma, believe me, you’ve done enough.”
