All In (15 page)

‘Did you just come from work?” she
asks, and by the way she spits the word, you’d have thought work
was a different kind of four letter word.

Lane looks down at his outfit,
embarrassment on his face. “No, ma’am,” he says, releasing my hand
and fiddling with his white shirt even though it’s fine. He looks
handsome and is dressed no different than Andrew would be when
meeting a girl’s parents, except for possibly wearing a dress coat.
Nice casual.

Nervous chatter bubbles up in my
throat. “Lane also works at the lighthouse,” I say to alleviate the
momentary silence that has filled the room and to highlight Lane’s
work ethic.

“Yes, Ashley we are well aware that he
works at the lighthouse considering that is where you were
traipsing home from yesterday morning,” my father says, crossing
the room.

Oops.

He pours himself and my mother a glass
of wine before motioning us to sit down. My legs feel like jello
from all my pacing, so I’m happy to oblige.

“So, Lane,” my father says, still
standing when he speaks, causing us both to crane our neck, “tell
us a little about you.”

“Uh, well, sir,” Lane stammers. “I
grew up here on the island, in Oaks Bluff, and I…uh…well you
already know I work at the club and the lighthouse,” he finishes
abruptly, seeming unsure what to say next while wringing his
hands.

“And your family? What does your
father do?”

Lane’s eyes settle on his feet. “Uh,
my dad…isn’t really around.”

“Oh,” my father says like he’s not at
all surprised by this admission and maybe even a bit smug that all
of his assumptions are seemingly spot on in his mind.

“Lane lives with his mom and grandpa,
and he’s great,” I say. “He owns the McCarthy Fish Co.
downtown.”

“Well, my mom actually owns and runs
it now because my grandpa has some health issues,” Lane clarifies
for my parents. “But…yeah my grandpa started it over 30 years ago.
He’s one of the island’s biggest employers.”

“Well it sounds like your grandfather
is quite the accomplished business man,” she sips her wine, seeming
to choose her words carefully, “for a small town. And do you plan
on going into the fishing trade as well?” my mother asks, walking
to my father’s side. Both of them still standing, looming above us,
intimidating and formal.

“Actually, Mother, Lane is attending
Yale in the fall, just like I am,” I say curtly.

I look at Lane expecting to see him
right his spine with confidence at his achievements, but all I see
is shallow pallor. He looks positively green.

“I uh…have been accepted to Yale in
the fall, ma’am,” Lane says, staring at his feet again and I wonder
why he seems so uncomfortable. This is his golden ticket, so to
speak, to win over my parents. Yale is not only my father’s alma
mater, but also my grandfather’s and his father’s before him, all
Yale men. If anything is going to impress my parents into accepting
Lane, it’s this.

“Well, that is something,” my father
says slightly less judgmental.

It’s about time.

“Thank you, sir.” Lane says,
swallowing hard.

I sense his mouth must be as dry as
mine now that I’m able to finally take a breath; I think the worst
is past. “Do you want some water?”

Lane pulls at his shirt collar like
it’s suddenly too small. “That would be great. Thank you,” he
answers but there’s something in the way his eyes look that seems
sad. And scared.

I smile to reassure him he’s doing
great before getting up.

I feel a brief moment of relief away
from my parent’s judgmental eyes as I watch the ice crack and rise
in the glass of water, then immediately feel bad for leaving Lane
all alone. I take a small sip to wet my mouth before walking back
into the lion’s den.

“So, do you plan on rushing one of the
fraternities or any of the other social clubs?” my father asks Lane
when I walk back into the room. “You know Andrew is a Wolf Head, it
might do you some good to get to know him.”

“Actually, Daddy, Lane and Andrew are
already friends. That’s how Lane and I met.”

My father’s eye brows arch in surprise
and then settle into what looks like approval. “Is that right?” he
says, sitting down on the sofa, crossing his leg casually. The
tension in my shoulders vanishes. I knew Yale, and apparently my
brother, would be the way into my parent’s good graces.

“Andrew and Gregory were just saying
how Lane is Wolf material,” I add. Well, Andrew said so, but Greg
was there. So, close enough.

“That is fantastic,” my father says,
smiling.

Mirroring my father, I smile too. It’s
starting to go better than I’d expected.

“You know, Andrew’s going to be
President this year, so you’re a shoe in if he thinks you have what
it takes.”

“Well, sir. I…um…” Lane starts to say,
but he can hardly get a word out. “I’m not sure I will.”

“And pray tell why? How else do you
expect to make the proper contacts for networking in the future?”
my father asks. There’s no judgment in his question, it’s laced
with concern that Lane doesn’t know the real purpose of the social
aspects of collegiate life. In his opinion.

“Well, sir, I might not attend Yale in
the fall after all.” I stop walking and stare at Lane.

“I’m sorry?” my father asks. He isn’t
the only one who’s confused.

Lane looks at me instead of my father
when he clarifies. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to afford
it.”

His distress pinches my heart. Lane
has been working so hard to afford the cost of tuition not covered
by his partial scholarship, so I’m confused by his sudden lack of
confidence. He’s been positive with the work study program, it
would be tight, but he’d be able to make ends meet. I imagine it
still feels daunting to have the cost of school riding on his
shoulders.

“Lane has been working really hard to
earn money this summer to pay for his tuition. He’s just being
cautious because he’s still waiting to hear back about the work
study program.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Lane says
under his breath, every word laced with disappointment. “I… lost my
scholarship.”

The pinch in my heart feels more like
a vise grip now, making it hard to breathe. I immediately
understand what he’s said and the implications of what that means.
I inhale a clipped breath as the glass of water I’m holding slips
in slow motion to the hardwood floor and shatters into a hundred
pieces. Like my heart.

He lost his scholarship.

Lane

When the glass of water Ashley was
holding hits the floor, I shoot out of my chair.

“Baby, are you okay?” I scan her skin
to be sure she hasn’t cut herself. She looks fine except for the
blank expression on her face. “Don’t move,” I say with my arms
spread out, looking down at her bare feet for a way she can safely
avoid the shards of glass all around her.

“Oh, Ashley, could you be anymore
careless?” Mrs. Whitmore huffs, walking out of the room. I hope
she’s going to get a broom, or maybe call a maid; either way she
won’t be expending any more energy berating her
daughter.

Ashley wasn’t kidding when she said
tonight was going to be difficult, and I had wanted so badly to
make a good impression, but now that was totally shot.

In hindsight, I should’ve canceled as
soon as I received the letter this morning, but I didn’t want to
let Ashley down. And even with the few hours I had to process it,
it still doesn’t seem real that I lost my scholarship. The events
of this morning hitting me again, like a tidal wave.

When nothing was left in my stomach,
and the muscles in my shoulders and back were wracked with pain
from dry heaving, I forced myself up and back to the kitchen. I
grabbed the plate of food that was making my stomach churn and
dumped it in the trashcan before picking up the letter and reading
it. Again. Hoping between the bathroom and the kitchen it had
somehow changed its intended message.

Not the case.

Dear Mr.
McCarthy,

It has been brought to our
attention you have recently violated our strict code of conduct by
engaging in reckless behavior unbefitting of our scholarship
recipients.

We have a long proud
tradition of providing scholarships to students who demonstrate the
upmost character and high regard to the ideals of our fine
institution. We feel we can no longer extend this honor to you and
trust that your judgment is in line with our standards.

Your admittance has not
been revoked, as you were not found negligent, but we do hope you
can make better choices in the future, or we feel this prestigious
university may not be a good fit for you.

Cordially,

Edward K.
Davenport

Scholarship Honors Board
Chairman

I dropped the letter on the table and
called Ashley but got her voicemail, forgetting she was grounded,
and that included her phone. Shit. This was not something that I
wanted to leave a message about.

“Hey, babe, remember that
time I raced that ass-hat I thought was your boyfriend? Yeah, well,
apparently Yale found out that I got arrested that night and
decided to pull my scholarship. I guess your parents are right, I’m
a delinquent that’s going nowhere in life. Call me. Oh, and by the
way, I love you.”

Yeah, that sounds about
right.

“I’m so sorry, Lane,” Ashley whispers,
gently pulling me back into the here and now. I nod because I know
she means the scholarship and not my broken glass of
water.

“Let me help you.” Glass crunches
under my dress shoes as I pick Ashley up at the waist and set her
back down on the rug, out of harm’s way.

“What do you mean you lost your
scholarship?” she asks, trying to keep her voice low so her father
doesn’t hear. Either that, or she’s trying to not embarrass me any
more than I already am, having had to admit to her and her parents
what a failure I am. I guess it was too much to hope that the
subject of school could be avoided until I had a chance to talk to
her alone.

“Yes, that’s what I’d like to know,”
Mr. Whitmore says, standing again and crossing his arms.

This day has gone from bad to worse
and fast.

“Umm…well, I think there’s been some
kind of mistake. I’m looking into what can be done, sir,” I
explain, hoping that will suffice without having to get into the
details.

“Mistake?” Mr. Whitmore says
skeptically, his brows raised. “The only way I have ever heard of a
scholarship being revoked is when a student violates the ethics
code, typically by getting in trouble with the law.”

Everything in me is screaming. Lie.
Lie. Just make something up and cover your ass, but I can’t do it.
I’d never lie to Ashley or her parents, no matter how bad it’s
bound to turn out. It’s just not who I am.

“Well? Did you get in trouble with the
law, Mr. McCarthy?” Mr. Whitmore asks but it sounds more like an
accusation than a question, and he looks like a man who likes to be
right.

I suck in a deep breath and brace
myself for her parent’s wrath and Ashley’s certain disappointment
in me. “Sir, I promise it was a misunderstanding. It was a friendly
race that got out of hand.” I look at Ashley and see she knows I’m
talking about the race with Gregory at the bluffs.

“Oh, Lane.” She covers her mouth with
her hand. She looks so disappointed that my heart drops into my
stomach. Her parents be damned, it’s her opinion that matters to me
most, and by the look on her face, I’ve let her down.

Mrs. Whitmore returns with a broom and
dust pan and starts to clean up the glass all around us, unaware of
the last few minutes. “Is everything alright?” she asks as a
suffocating silence lies over the room like a heavy
blanket.

“Everything is not alright. Ashley, I
think it’s time for Lane to leave,” Mr. Whitmore says sternly.
“Please see him to the door and come back in here immediately so
your mother and I can speak with you. Alone.”

“But—”

Ashley’s mother cuts her off. “You
heard your father.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I say because what
else is left at this point.

“I’m sure you are,” Mr. Whitmore says,
his tone as sharp as the slivers of glass still covering the floor.
He turns his back to me and refills his glass of wine, letting me
know in no uncertain terms he’s done.

“Mr. Whitmore, Mrs. Whitmore.” I nod
at each of them politely, even though neither is looking at me,
before I walk out of the room, Ashley close behind.

At the front door I expect to see
Ashley as disappointed and distant as her parents, but she’s not.
Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are wet as she wraps her arms
around my neck.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure
it out,” she says encouragingly into my ear, then pulls back so our
foreheads are pressed against one another. “I promise.”