Barrett

 

I’m not sure what I was expecting. From Presley’s explanation, I knew her parents weren’t warm, but I at least expected them to get her from the airport. When we landed there was a limo driver standing by baggage claim holding a sign with her name on it. Randy and I both exchanged looks of surprise, but Presley didn’t seem phased in the least. We loaded the limo with our bags and I spent the thirty minute drive trying not to get sick.

“Rich people have strong stomach must. Ride backward all time.” Presley burst out laughing, like holding her stomach, leaning over laughing.

“Well, B, you broke her.” This of course causes her to laugh even harder, holding her sides and wiping the tears from her eyes. At our look of confusion, she finally sits upright and explains.

“R E F R E S H I N G, you two. Nice not have pretend ride limo all time normal. Get pick up by stranger after not see family for months normal. Always hate pretend me. Not have pretend you two.”

Randy leans forward and extends his hand, which she takes.

“Never, P. You one us now.”

“That means poor you,” I joke to keep things light and fun. A hysterical Presley is never good, but funny hysterical I’ll take over crazy hysterical any day. Randy picks up on the trying to keep it light theme and adds his own joke.

“Yep, that means you have to hand in your money at the door like a cult.” We joke all the way to her parents’ house, and by the time we reach our destination, we all are feeling relaxed and at ease…until the moment the driver pulls up to the monstrosity they call a house. I instantly feel inadequate. I look over at Randy to see if he is feeling the same, but blast that easy-going good nature of his, I can never tell. He doesn’t seem to care one way or the other and just hops out of the limo.

“Nice digs,” he says to Pres in such a Randy-like manner that even she rolls her eyes.

We go through the security check point. That’s seriously how ridiculously big this place is, they have their own check point. The last time I went through a check point was to cross the freaking border.

“Hi Bernie. Merry Christmas.”

“Hi Miss Sinclair. Merry Christmas to you as well. It’s nice to have you back, you’ve been missed.” She gives him a sincere smile and then introduces Randy and I. I’m half expecting to be frisked down, but Bernie just nods.

“Looks like we are not in K A N S A S anymore, Dorothy,” Randy signs, or at least tries to, anyway. We make our way to the front door, where I expect Presley to let us in. She lets herself in at Randy’s house now, but she stops short and takes a deep breath, smiles over at me, then rings the doorbell and waits. A severe looking older woman answers the door and stops a beat, taking Randy and I in.

“Good afternoon, Miss Sinclair. Your mother will receive you in the sitting room. I trust your travels went well.”

“Yes, Sue, they did, thank you. My companions, Mr. Hawthorn and Mr. Donovan.” I look to Randy, who is frantically trying to interpret what is going on, but he gives up halfway through and signs, “Robot question M A I D. Robot answer P.” Whatever that means.

We follow the housekeeper into the monstrosity of a house and she takes our coats at the door. Presley has a fake smile plastered on her face, which is a travesty, because the real thing is breathtaking and game changing. We go down a long corridor that opens up into a grand sitting room. I look at Presley wide-eyed and she just shrugs.

“Family money.”

“Sure. Big deal not.” I grin, and for the first time since we entered she graces me with a genuine smile. The woman sitting on a couch that probably costs more than my car stands as soon as we enter, and I realize this must be her mother, even though I don’t see a resemblance there. The woman is tall and slender, light in all manners. Blue eyes, blonde hair, cream colored skin. She smiles in greeting, and now I take back my original thought. Presley’s fake smile was learned from this woman.

“Presley, dear, I’m so glad you made it home safe.” She doesn’t hug her, but touches her hands to her daughter’s briefly and lightly kisses both checks. She turns to us now and I can see the disdain as she takes in our appearance. I smile as genuinely as I can and reach out my hand. She grasps it lightly for a second, then immediately lets go to repeat with Randy.

“Your father was called in for an emergency and was flown to D.C., but he will return in time for dinner.” Presley is interpreting the best she can and I grasp most of it. What I don’t understand is the lack of feeling in the room. What I would think would be disappointment on Presley’s part for such a cold welcome isn’t even present. The door opens again and in walks a man in his mid-thirties. He has chestnut colored hair and the same eyes as Presley. The moment she feels his presents the ice thaws. She runs to the door and throws herself at him. He embraces her for a moment, then has her take a step back so he can look at her. Now this is how she should be greeted. I’m glad she has at least one member of the family smart enough to realize how precious she is.

“B, come.” She beckons and I walk over for introductions.

“Meet Robert, my brother.” She then turns and voices, but continues to sign for me. “This is Barrett Donovan and his uncle, Randy Hawthorn.”

“Nice to meet you.” Robert extends his hand and gives a warm handshake to both Randy and myself.