Page 36 of Destiny

“Mother?”

I turn the corner into my bright office and see her stoic figure inspecting one of the many plants I have.

“You’re overwatering this one,” she says without turning around. Her straight, dark hair with flecks of silver still cascades down her back. It’s almost as long as Bea’s, but not quite.

“Okay . . .”

We just sit there in awkward silence for a moment before she finally faces me.

“May I ask what you’re doing here?”

“A mother has to have a reason to visit her son?”

“For a world traveler like you, I’d say your presence in Hazelhurst is a little jarring, yes.”

“Well, I’m a little concerned myself.”

“About what?” I widen my stance and cross my arms.

“This little tryst you’re having with a young hippie woman.”

“What? How the hell—” I shut my mouth and answered my own question. I was never quite sure how she did it, but my mother always seemed to know all.

“What’s her name again? Bea?”

“Yes. But I don’t see why my relationship is any concern of yours.”

“Well, we have family money to worry about, Marco. Thank God that Clara didn’t manage to get her dirty hands on it.”

I sigh loudly before sitting down and gesturing for her to sit across from me. “Bea isn’t like that. And it’s not like I’m proposing any time soon in the first place.”

She flicks her hair over her shoulder before having a seat. “I understand that. But if what my sources tell me is correct—she works at a record store that her parents own?”

“Yeah. So, what?”

“Well, I don’t know. But that just seems a little . . . beneath you.”

Our age gap already made me feel weird enough at times; I didn’t need the pressure of our socioeconomic differences to factor into that as well. It’s not like I’m some old guy in a wheelchair and hooked up to an oxygen mask with a young, big-breasted blonde on my lap.

I have to shake my head to even get that image out of my head.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” I ask after my vision focuses again.

“I’m just asking you to be careful. That’s all.”

“I appreciate that.” Although my mother could come off kind of cold, I knew that at the heart of everything, she loved me and cared for my well-being. She was just raised from a young age to be hard and emotionless whenever possible. Fortunately, my father, Elio, was not like that at all, and he encouraged us to emote. However, I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge that I had a little bit of my mom in me when it comes to certain scenarios.

For instance, as much as I wanted to break down and sob after seeing both of my daughters’ gorgeous faces for the first time, I stopped myself in fear of looking “weak.”

“But I’ll be just fine,” I continue, “trust me.”

She swallows hard. “Okay. If you say so . . .”

“I do.”

“And keep my darling granddaughters’ interests in mind here.”

“They don’t even know about our relationship. As far as they’re concerned, she’s just a dear friend of the family who helps me out with watching them from time to time.”

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