“Wow.” I shake my head as we drive down a winding hill toward the metal gate where I notice a sandy-colored Jeep with tinted windows parked just off the side of the road. As we get closer, the door to the Jeep opens, and a very attractive older gentleman gets out dressed in a pair of shorts and a linen button-down shirt, with a smile on his face aimed in our direction. He walks across the road as our car comes to a stop, and Maxim rolls down his window.
“What’s up, man?” Maxim reaches out the window to give him one of those complicated man handshakes that he returns with ease.
“Work as usual,” he says, then continues. “Your mom told me this morning you were bringing your girl by for a visit.”
“Yeah.” Maxim’s gaze comes to me for a moment and softens. “Baby, this is Aye. Aye, this is April,” he introduces us while his hand lands on my thigh and squeezes.
“Nice to meet you.” I lift my hand and wiggle my fingers, more than a little curious about why he’s sitting outside the gate in his Jeep instead of inside like a normal person.
“You too.” He smiles, then looks at Maxim. “Fair warning—Frank’s here.”
“Shit,” Maxim groans. “I thought he was out of town.”
“He came back early.” Aye laughs, then taps the edge of the window. “Have a good visit.” His gaze meets mine. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, April.”
“Yeah,” I say, not sure if he’s right, and he steps back with a lift of his chin, then pulls something out of his pocket, and the gate in front of us opens. A moment later, we are driving toward the house, which looks just as beautiful from the front, with wide steps that lead up to a covered front porch and double doors that from a distance seem to be about fifteen feet tall.
“Who’s Frank?” I ask as we head around the circular driveway to a covered parking area where there is a Benz Jeep and a convertible parked.
“My dad’s uncle.” He glances over at me. “You’ll love him, but he’s a little crazy at times.”
“And Aye?”
“A friend of the family.”
“A friend of the family who randomly sits outside your parents’ closed gate in his Jeep?” I raise a brow when he stops and looks at me.
“You caught that?”
“I’m not blind,” I point out the obvious.
“He works security for my dad and mom, has since before I was born.”
“Is your dad a drug dealer or something?” I laugh, but the question is one hundred percent serious, because I can think of no other reason someone would need private security for themselves and their kids, who are all grown. I don’t even think movie stars have private security. Then again, they might. What the hell do I know?
“No, but the situation is complicated.”
“Complicated, as in you don’t want to tell me about it, or complicated, as in you can’t tell me about it?” I ask.
He puts the car in park and turns to give me his full attention, his hand on my thigh somehow seeming heavier than before. “Complicated, as in there isn’t enough time to explain the situation properly right now.”
“Right,” I mutter, knowing he’s giving me the brush off and has no intention of ever telling me, since we’ve had a lot of quiet moments together, so he’s had plenty of time to explain things. Really thinking about it now, it’s comical that he was pissed that I didn’t ask questions, since when I do, I get no answers. I reach for my bag at my feet, then turn for the door, disappointment curling tight in my belly.
Without looking at him, I get out, placing my espadrille wedges down on the asphalt, hearing his door slam shut. Once I’m out of the car, I straighten my black linen shorts with their folded hem, then make sure my cream tank top is tucked in as he comes around to meet me.
“We’ll talk when we get back home. I’ll explain things about my family then,” he says close to my ear as he rests his palm against my lower back so he can lead me toward the house.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him we don’t need to talk, but before the words are able to form, one side of the front doors opens, and a large, very round, very old man steps outside. I take in his slicked back gray hair, his bright-pink Hawaiian shirt, the layers of gold necklaces around his neck, and the gold-tipped cane in his hand, thinking he must be Frank.
“Maxim.” He laughs, walking toward us with his arms open wide. “Look at you, you slick motherfucker.”
“Hey, Uncle Frank.” Maxim captures my hand as we head up a short set of steps. “I thought you were out of town.”