Michael picked me up at eleven. When he saw me standing on the sidewalk in front of my building, his face moved through several expressions in the space of about two seconds — surprise, worry, something close to embarrassment he immediately tried to hide.
“Dad. Um. Maybe you want to change? It’s the Brookshire Country Club. They have a dress code.”
I patted his shoulder as I climbed into the passenger seat. “Don’t worry, son. I called ahead. They said a jacket was fine for lunch service.”
That was technically true. I had called. I simply hadn’t specified which jacket.
Michael’s jaw tightened, the way it always did when he was holding back something he didn’t feel he had the standing to say, but he let it go and didn’t push. We drove most of the way in silence, his hands gripping the wheel of his Toyota a little tighter than the traffic really called for. I could see him rehearsing conversations in his head, probably already preparing to defend his old man against whatever polite condescension was waiting for us.
The Brookshire Country Club sat on two hundred acres of manicured lawn overlooking the harbor, the kind of view that costs more per square foot than most people’s entire homes. The main building was a colonial mansion that had been expanded, wing by careful wing, over two centuries into a sprawling complex of dining rooms, ballrooms, and — I knew from a membership I’d let lapse twenty years ago — an Olympic-sized pool and eighteen holes of championship golf.
I’d resigned that membership the year Sarah died. Didn’t see much point in any of it after that.
As we pulled up the long gravel drive, I noticed Michael’s hands were trembling slightly against the wheel.
“Dad, I should tell you — Jessica’s family can be a bit traditional.”
“Traditional,” I repeated. “That’s a generous word for it.”
“They’re good people,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “Jessica’s amazing. I love her. It’s just — her parents have certain expectations, and I know I don’t exactly meet them.”
He glanced over at me then, really looked at me, in a way that made my chest ache a little.
“That’s not what I meant. I just want this to go well. Jessica means everything to me.”
I squeezed his shoulder. “Then let’s go meet the Bradfords.”
