My self-imposed isolation in high school would end up being good training for my life now. By necessity, a billionaire’s life is one of solitude. Even if you’re surrounded by people, they’re not your friends. Even the ones who act like friends. Not unless they’re billionaires, too.
I turn on the lights in the kitchen. It’s huge, as is the entire house. I have a thing for sizable houses. Even if it’s just me living there, 4000 square feet isn’t too much. I don’t fill them with a lot of things; I just like the space. The room to breathe.
The house is a custom-built brick home with a separate three-car, heated garage. The doors are painted a dark, pine green. The real estate agent said the owners billed the house as perfect for modern-living and entertaining. I don’t entertain. I don’t socialize. It’s bullshit. It would only give the leeches a chance to try to suck from me. No, thank you.
The back of the house has floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake, which is my favorite part. I love the natural light and the views of the lake, especially at night. Stillness like black onyx. I like ocean-front property, too, but the constant motion of the waves sometimes unsettles me. When I’m at my lake house, and it’s nighttime, with no boats to disrupt the water, the surface is still and reflects the sky. Calm and smooth, it draws me in. I can spend hours out on the deck, staring at the silence. Between the lake and the property full of trees, I’m surprised I don’t spend more than the summer here. But after two or three months, I get the itch to move on. If I don’t keep moving, I’m reminded too often of the things lacking in my life.
My phone rings, and I pull it out of my pocket. My neck tenses. It’s Jackie, my mom. She’s FaceTiming me. A sense of dread washes over my gut when I accept the call and her face appears. Her deception years ago swims fresh in my veins. And all because I saw Aspen today. Otherwise, I don’t think I’d have batted an eye at her call. I can’t hide my annoyance, however, and I bark my hello when I answer.
“Hey, handsome. What’s wrong with you?” she asks.
I’m not getting into this with her. “Hey, Jackie. Nothing. I just couldn’t find the bottle opener. How are you?”
“I’d be better if you didn’t call me by my first name,” she says, with a pointed look. “Anyway, I’m excited you’re back in town. Was your flight nice?”
“Yes.”
“Of course it was. That’s how first class is,” she confirms haughtily. “Though I have no idea why you insist on flying commercial, when you have more than enough to buy your own Gulfstream.”
“That would be silly,” I say.
“Anyway, I wanted to let you know the family will be at Spring Hills on Thursday, and no doubt some of your friends. So we’ll see you there, right?”
My family has belonged to the Spring Hills Country Club since I was born. Filled with the same boring, rich assholes, generation after generation. I suppose I fit right in—I might be a rich asshole… though I don’t consider myself boring. I sigh. I’m such a recluse these days, I expect others share a different opinion of me. They don’t know anything about me.
“Yeah, I’ll see you there. Sax already told me he’ll be there.” Sax is my best friend from high school. He’s the only real friend I have, and half the reason I come back to hang out in Michigan every summer.
“I’m glad to hear that, honey. You boys will have fun.”
Eager to finish the call, but not wanting to appear rude, I keep the conversation going a bit longer. “How’s Mark?”
“He’s fine,” she replies, clipped. I’m not surprised by her tone.
Even though my parents divorced, they both remarried—Mom, twice, now—and because this town is small, it only has one good country club, and they both had to maintain their memberships to keep up appearances. Though, Dad gets a pass. He’s a lawyer, and he drums up business on the golf course. Mom, though? Just for appearances.
“Hm,” I reply. It’s all I can manage. Mark is a fine man, but he’s number three and on his way out soon. That is, if the rumors Sax told me last week are true.
“OK, well, I’ll talk to you later. Ciao, sweetheart.” She blows me a kiss.
I end the call, and I rub my brows as if I have a headache, which I don’t. I’m just pissed all over again. I want a beer. I go to the refrigerator and see Patrick found someone to stock the house with food. I grab a Belgian-style Witbier from the fridge and three chicken breasts for the grill. I’m on my own for dinner tonight, but starting tomorrow, I’ll have a housekeeper here to clean and make meals. Not that I have anything else to do.
After searching three drawers, I find the bottle opener I wasn’t looking for when Mom called. Karma?
Or maybe if I stayed anywhere longer than a season, I’d know where things are.
I step out onto the patio and enjoy the warm Michigan summer night as I heat the grill. I stand there for a moment and focus on the darkness beyond, looking, waiting… and then I see one! Fireflies. I love those. Nature’s glowing oddity, they’re one of my favorite summer attractions.
Satisfied, I go back inside and season the chicken breasts with black sea salt and a sprinkling of cayenne pepper. While I wait for the chicken to warm to room temperature, I open my laptop and scroll through email at the kitchen counter. Nothing
