I sighed heavily, slipping off my shades before glancing at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I'd been trying to contact Mack since the previous night, to no avail. I wasn't sure if he was ignoring my calls, but I was beginning to become aggravated. I knew he was outta town on business, but that didn't change the fact that I needed to talk to him. After getting a glimpse of how August was willing to change, I had made the decision to cut all ties with Mack. I wasn't sure how he'd take it, but I could only hope it'd end well. Despite the fact that I trusted him, I didn't wanna risk the chance of him becoming angry and escalating the situation further by telling August about us. That'd be a death wish for both of our asses.
Fluffing out my hair, I opened the car door, careful not to chip the french tips of my freshly manicured nails. After retrieving my cream-on-gold Saint Laurent 'Small Cabas' leather tote, I made my way up the cobblestoned path to the entrance of my parents' home, slightly surprised at the fact that I hadn't seen any of the gardeners, or lawn workers. I placed my shades onto the top of my head, surveying the shrubberies that lined the walk-way, which were in an unusually dire need of trimming. I was slightly surprised, due to the fact that there had never been a time as to where the lawn had come to this point. I shook it off, notrealizig that i'd already made my way into the house and was now standing in the foyer.
My mother had called me earlier this morning, insisting that I come over. Apparently, the three of us--her, my father, and myself--had something important to discuss that couldn't be put off any longer. The house was unusually empty, and quiet, as I made my way to the kitchen, where I would normally find her sipping on wine or browsing through catalogs. I sat my purse on the counter, flinching at the yelling that could now be heard throughout the entire house. There was an empty bottle of red wine o the countertop, along with a wad of what appeared to be used tissues. I shook my head in confusion as I made my way through the kitchen and to the large staircase. Theyelling became more profuse as I reached the peak of the stairs. I peeked into various rooms, eight to be exact, until it was evident that the arguing was coming from my father's study.
Gently pushing the door open, I saw that my father was seated at his desk with his head in his hands as my mother stood. They both turned at the sound of my entrance. I looked down at my mother's left hand, which held a lit cigarette. This had to have been the worst state i'd ever witnessed her in--her eyes were blood shot, her face was tear streaked, and puffy from crying, her make-up was running, and her blouse was stained with the remnants of red wine.
"What's goin on?"
I'd never known my mother to smoke, or carry on looking the way she was. If I hadn't known any better, i'd think some type of tragedy had stricken. She glanced at my dad, shaking her head before taking a drag of her cancer stick.
"Tell her, William."
My dad sighed deeply, glancing at my mom, who'd taken it upon herself to begin pacing.
"Where are all the workers? Daddy-"
He cut me off, speaking in a surprisingly stern voice.
"Sweetheart, we're broke."
