So Long, Summer Camp

Part 5: Jul 1996 – Nov 1997

On Sunday we packed up and said goodbye to my parents and Susan, although it felt like we were saying goodbye to the Pines as well. Most of our friends had left, and the Retreat would soon be empty. The main camp was only a month or two away from becoming a ghost town as well.

Susan wasn’t going to reinvent the place as a resort for ecotourists and corporate events, but she didn’t have a plan for the future, either. Part of me was happy, because I wasn’t going to lose the camp of my youth. But another part was disappointed. The place would eventually become a curiosity, a hand-written letter in a world full of email. And I couldn’t imagine my daughters coming with their own children in twenty years.

Not surprisingly, I was in a melancholy mood as we climbed into our cars for the trip back to Atlanta. Tom had a radar detector, so he led the way in his Porsche. Mark followed in their SUV, while Trip and I brought up the rear in our rented minivans.

Christy read me perfectly and cheered me up in her usual way. She loaded an Alanis Morissette CD in the minivan’s player, and the girls joined in for an impromptu concert. They sang and danced in their seats, and their good mood was so contagious that I couldn’t help but smile. Christy loaded a mix CD next, one that Trip had made for her with the Cranberries, the Breeders, and No Doubt. Then we crossed into Georgia, and she put in a 10,000 Maniacs CD from MTV Unplugged.

I was actually singing along by the time we reached the outskirts of Atlanta and the Perimeter. At that point Tom slowed down until his car was alongside ours. Erin waved and blew kisses from the passenger seat, while the girls behind me shouted and waved goodbye. Then Tom sped up, and they continued down I-85 with Mark and Leah toward their house in Midtown. Trip and I peeled off and followed I-285 to Alpharetta and a hotel, our home in between homes for the next week.

* * *

In the morning I called the realtor, a woman named Penny Powell.

“Yes! Leah’s friends. You’re moving from Boston, right? She said you might give us a call.”

“That’s us.” I mentioned that Trip and Wren were looking as well. Then I told her what kind of houses and neighborhoods we were interested in.

“Wow,” she gushed, “that’s a lot more information than I usually get.”

“We’re architects. And we used to build houses.”

“That explains it,” she laughed. Then she paused to review her notes. “Hold on, Whitman and Hughes? Architects? Don’t you guys own a company…?”

“Used to,” I said with suppressed bitterness. “A few years ago. But yeah, that was us.”

“I just sold one of your houses!” She told me the address.

“Yep. The Greek Revival in Buckhead. If you don’t mind me asking, how much did it sell for?”

She told me.

“Oh, wow. The market’s up.”

“Strong economy,” she said. “And it’s a beautiful house.”

“Thank you.”

We chatted for a few minutes longer and arranged a time to meet her and her husband, who was also a realtor.

“We have our kids with us,” I said before we hung up. “Okay to bring them?”

“Sure! We have a little play area here in the office.”

“Perfect, thanks. We’ll see you then.”

“Great! See you then.”

We arrived a couple of hours later and introduced ourselves.

Penny looked exactly like she sounded on the phone, a former cheerleader, although she was the tall version instead of the pixie. She’d probably been a bleach-blonde back in the eighties, but her hair was more natural now, a darker blonde with highlights from a salon instead of a bottle. I suspected that her body had gone through a similar change over time, the skinny girl who’d become an attractive thirty-something woman.

Kurt was dark-haired and handsome, quiet only by comparison. He was the base of the pyramid, the platform that supported her rah-rah energy. Penny was about my height, while Kurt topped six feet by several inches. He had a boyish face and a tan that rivaled Christy’s. He was outgoing and friendly as well, but Penny was clearly the dominant one.

I thought about what Leah had said, that they might be interested in swinging. I hadn’t told Wren and Trip, but I glanced at Christy.

Well, what do you think? I asked.

I like them. My radar hasn’t gone off, but… She shrugged and left the decision up to me.

I wasn’t in a rush. Besides, we needed to find a place to live first.

We started with listings on the computer. Trip and Wren looked at the one on Kurt’s desk, while Christy and I did the same with Penny. We narrowed them down to a half-dozen promising ones, and Penny printed them for us to look at back at the hotel.

“We’ll start making calls,” she said, and Kurt nodded. “We should be able to see them all tomorrow. Do you want us to arrange day care for your kids?”

“Absolutely!” Trip said, which earned a tight smile of irritation from Wren.

“No, but thanks,” I said. Trip looked at me like I was crazy, so I explained, “Erin and Leah offered to watch them. They’re going to come to the hotel and hang out by the pool.”

“Whatever,” Trip said. “As long as we don’t have to haul them around all day.”

Wren’s nostrils flared and she wanted to pinch him. He didn’t notice, which was probably for the best. Penny watched everything and smiled. Then, like a good negotiator, she changed the subject.

“No problem,” she said. “Do you want to look at them together?”

“Or divide and conquer?” Kurt finished seamlessly.

“Divide and conquer?” Trip asked me. “It’d be faster that way.”

“Sure.”

“Okay,” Penny said with bubbling enthusiasm, “we’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

Penny and Kurt greeted us with a tray of pastries when we arrived at their office. Christy systematically devoured a danish and then a bear claw, while the rest of us made small talk about plans for the day. Penny’s eyebrows rose with amusement when Christy unfolded a paper napkin and piled it with two doughnuts and another bear claw.

“Second breakfast,” I explained with a completely straight face. “She’s a hobbit.”

Wren rolled her eyes but smiled fondly.

“Sorry, inside joke,” I added for Penny’s benefit. She and Kurt hadn’t been nerds in high school. “Anyway, we’re ready when you are.”

Kurt headed out with Trip and Wren, while Christy and I rode with Penny. We looked at houses, yards, and neighborhoods for nearly six hours. Alpharetta hadn’t changed much in the three years we’d been gone.

Penny, however, grew steadily more friendly with each house. At first I thought it was just her personality, but then I realized that she and Kurt must have been interviewing us, exactly like we were doing to them. I didn’t actually use the word “swinger,” but I dropped a couple of hints and said we’d like to get to know them better after we moved.

“We were thinking the same thing,” she said easily. “We live nearby, and our kids’re about the same age.”

We eventually returned to the office and met up with the others. Trip and Wren couldn’t decide between two houses. One was in the same neighborhood as the house that Christy and I had decided on, while the other was several miles away.

“Well, that settles it,” Wren said.

“What?” Trip said. “No, it doesn’t.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” she told him.

“No,” he sighed, “you’re right.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I laughed. “Who’re you, and what’ve you done with the real Trip?”

“What?” He actually managed to sound wounded. “I can change my mind.”

“Yeah, but never without a fight.”

“I change it all the time. Besides, Wren’s right. I mean, we’re only going to live there for a couple of years.” He turned to her and added, “Yeah, I like that bonus room in the first house, but the yard’s better at the second. Besides, Paul can design me a real studio in the new house.”

“Write that down,” Wren said to me.

“What? Studio in the new house? Or Trip said you’re right?”

“Both!”

* * *

We quickly adjusted to life in Atlanta. Our new house wasn’t as nice as the one we’d owned before, but it was good enough for the time being. Besides, it was several times larger than the apartment in Boston, with plenty of room for everyone.

We went shopping for cars, and I found a late-model Toyota Land Cruiser. It was twenty years newer and far nicer than the one I’d had in college. Now it was a luxury model instead of an off-road workhorse. I didn’t mind the change, but I had to remind myself not to treat it like I had in the past.

We started shopping for Christy next. She wanted a convertible, and a new one at that.

“I can afford it,” she insisted. “I have my money from Nana.”

“It doesn’t matter. You need something more practical. You can’t haul the girls in a convertible.”

“Can too.”

We didn’t exactly fight about it, but she dug in her heels. I finally decided to prove it to her, so I took her to the Mercedes dealership. The girls were part of my plan, so we loaded them into the Cruiser and brought them with us.

Christy told the salesman what she wanted, and he showed us a red SL 500 convertible with all the options. To absolutely no one’s surprise, it was love at first sight.

Purely out of curiosity, I checked the sticker price and actually laughed. Out loud. The car cost as much as a house. Granted, not as much as ours, but plenty of people could’ve bought a comfortable place to live for the cost of the Mercedes.

Christy didn’t even notice the price, of course, and the poor salesman thought he had an easy sale. Lucky for him, I wasn’t mean enough to prolong things with a test drive.

“Okay,” I said instead, “let’s make sure Susie’s car seat will fit. The older girls’ booster seats too.”

“I’m sure they will,” Christy said breezily.

The salesman looked confused, which was understandable. The car was a two-seater, with a luggage well behind. Christy hadn’t noticed that little detail. In her defense, her mother’s convertibles had had rear seats.

“Let’s check,” I said, “just to be sure.”

At that point the salesman looked at me. He glanced at Susie. Then his eyes fell to Laurie and Emily. They smiled politely, of course, and I actually felt a little sorry for the guy as he realized he wasn’t going to get a fat commission after all. He sighed and nodded in resignation.

Christy wasn’t very happy when she figured it out. The salesman rallied and tried to sell us a sedan instead, but I thanked him and apologized for wasting his time.

“You could’ve just told me,” Christy sulked as we drove to the Honda dealer.

“I tried.”

“Fine. We’ll do it your way. Stupid mommy van.”

* * *

We had our next argument about schools.

Laurie had gone to Catholic school for kindergarten and first grade, and Christy wanted her to continue. I wanted her to go to public school, especially since our local elementary was the best in the area. I had an ulterior motive as well. I didn’t want Laurie and the younger girls to grow up in the same conservative environment that Christy had.

“Sister Prune,” I reminded her.

“Quality education,” she shot back.

We both dug in our heels that time. Trip and Wren were on my side—they’d both gone to public schools, after all—but three against one made Christy even more stubborn.

“Why don’t we compromise,” I said at last. The first day of school was approaching quickly. “Let’s look at private schools that aren’t Catholic.”

Wren thought that was a good idea, but Trip was Trip.

“Seriously? It’s a waste of money,” he complained. “Besides, we don’t have to send our kids to school with theirs.”

Wren gave him a look that could’ve seared steak.

“What?” he said defensively. “We don’t.”

She ignored him and started working on Christy. She eventually convinced her, but Christy was a bit of a sore loser.

“First the stupid mommy van, now public schools.”

“It isn’t a public school,” I said patiently. “It’s the best private academy in the area.”

“It isn’t Catholic.”

“Quality education,” I countered.

“Fine. Ugh.”

The academy was expensive and exclusive. We had to jump through some hoops to get Laurie admitted, but we made it work. They had a pre-K program as well, and they gave preference to younger siblings, although it didn’t matter in Emily’s case. She scored so high on the admission test that they practically fell over themselves to enroll her.

Trip grumbled almost as loudly as Christy, although Wren ignored him and went through the process to get Davis and Missy admitted. Trip still balked at the cost of tuition, so Wren wrote the check herself.

“Our kids are going to school with theirs, and that’s final.”

* * *

Our lives settled into a routine once the kids were in school, so we began making concrete plans for the new design company. Wren took a page from her mother’s playbook and offered to invest. She insisted on it, actually.

“I’ll match Trip’s share of the startup capital.”

“I can do the same,” Christy said to me. “With your half, I mean.”

I resisted the urge to point out that the amounts were the same, so it didn’t matter whose half was whose. Then I started doing the math. She had money in the trust fund from Nana C., but I didn’t think she realized how much. The startup investment would almost clean her out.

I glanced at Trip, but he’d never been the type to turn away money. And his utter lack of surprise convinced me that I was the “one” in this three-on-one discussion. I shouldn’t have been surprised, since I’d done the same thing to him five years earlier, when we’d started our first company. He grinned smugly when he realized I’d figured it out. Fortunately (for him), Wren started up again before I could say anything.

“If you guys want us to play Suzy Homemaker, then we want an equity share in the company.” She was talking to me, of course.

“Yeah!” Christy agreed.

“We don’t want a say in the day-to-day operations, but we want the financial security.”

“Yeah.”

“Besides, you guys can’t do your jobs if we don’t do ours.”

“Yeah. Wait, what?”

Wren looked at her. “What’s the matter?”

“Your job doesn’t have anything to do with theirs,” Christy said.

“I meant at home. Watching the kids. Cooking and cleaning.”

Christy frowned. “Hold on, I thought you were—”

“I am,” Wren said quickly.

Trip’s smugness faded as he sat forward. “Um, babe…? Is there something you wanna tell me? Have any of the headhunters called?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head.” He hated the phrase, which was why she used it. “Christy and I are going to keep the home fires burning while you guys get the new company going.”

“Home fires?” Trip countered. “But you don’t have anything to do at home. Not without the kids there.”

“I have other plans,” she said evasively.

Trip knew he wouldn’t get anywhere by arguing, especially if Wren didn’t want to discuss it. He decided to feign indifference instead, which was his way to annoy her.

“Whatever,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be successful. Let me know when you’re ready to share.”

Wren eyed him suspiciously. He was never that agreeable.

They were playing games with each other, and I was happy to leave them to it.

* * *

Trip and our attorney handled most of the paperwork for the new company, but the rest of us still needed to review and sign the articles of incorporation. We sat around the dinner table one evening, and Trip handed out copies.

Christy bounced with excitement when she received hers, although I thought I knew why. This was the first time she’d ever been a shareholder in one of our companies.

I was wrong, as I found out almost immediately.

“Hold on,” I said, “what’s this?”

“What’s what?” Trip asked, a little too coolly.

“Here, the name of the company, Paul+Hughes Design. I thought we were going to call it Whitman-Hughes.”

“We were,” Trip said, “but I decided to change it. Whoa. Let me rephrase. It was Wren’s suggestion. We discussed it and all agreed to the change.”

Christy beamed and nodded enthusiastically.

“We didn’t tell you because we wanted it to be a surprise,” he finished.

“Well, you succeeded! But… why? Change it, I mean.”

“Several reasons. But it was Wren’s idea, so I’ll let her explain.”

She thanked him with a smile and took up where he’d left off. “First, we don’t want any whiff of Trimble—”

“Scumbag.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “So… we haven’t moved on?”

“Nope. He’s a con man, a grifter, and a scumbag. Always was, always will be.”

“I agree, but… whatever. We don’t want the association with… him… or the defunct company.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “But what’s the second reason?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“It’s obvious that it’s my name. But… why?” I repeated. “And what’s with the plus sign? Never mind. We’ll get to that. Why change it to just my name? The company is both of us.”

Wren glanced at Trip.

“Dude, I hate to play down my own importance, but I’m…” He searched for the right word and winced. “I don’t wanna say I’m ‘irrelevant’ to the company, but I’m not the reason people are going to hire us.”

“The hell you aren’t,” I said.

“Thanks, but… I’m not. I’m the reason we’re going to make a profit. Also the reason we’ll get repeat business, but my name isn’t why they’re going to walk through the door.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have a reputation. The owners love your houses. They go up in value. They’re on the covers of magazines, for God’s sake.”

“That was only once,” I protested, “and it was a local magazine.”

“Our business is local too… for now.”

“Okay, but… the other things are just good design.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But they’re also good marketing.”

Wren nodded and used Leah’s argument, “Your name is your brand.”

“And now it’s our brand,” Trip agreed. “I’ll admit, I’m a bit disappointed that I’m not the star of the show, but I shine behind the scenes.” He paused and then laughed in mild annoyance. “Have I ever told you I hate working with you sometimes?”

He was kidding, but I suspected that some part of him really did resent that I was a better architect. Oh, he’d accepted it long ago, but he still wanted to be the best at everything.

“Anyway,” he continued, “changing the name puts you out front, where you belong.”

“What if I don’t want to be out front? What if I want Whitman-Hughes?”

“Then I’ll convince you to see things my— our way.” He chuckled and gestured at Christy. “Actually, she will.”

“I’m very convincing, you know.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. “You are, Little Bit. But still… I’m not sure I like the new name.”

“Tough,” Trip said, and the women agreed with nods.

“Okay. Then… why the plus sign?”

“Me again,” Wren said. “I wanted a bit of modern flair, something to make you stand out.”

“I think you stand out enough already,” Trip teased, “but Wren likes the plus.”

“The new name has another benefit,” she said. “The company tag line practically writes itself.”

I frowned. “How?”

“PHD. We’re smart design.”

“Oh, you’re good.”

“Mmm, I know. Thanks.” She flicked a finger at my little notebook. “But feel free to write it down.”

* * *

Paul+Hughes Design officially went into business on October 1, 1996. We signed a lease for office space and hired our first employee. Shari had been our office manager before, and we shamelessly poached her from the rival firm where she’d gone after we’d closed Whitman-Hughes.

“I knew you’d be back,” she said when I met her in the parking lot of the new office.

She was a big woman, six feet and solid, with a personality to match. Clients and contractors were always surprised when they met her in person, not only because of her size, but because her voice was different too. On the phone she was soft and feminine, smoothly professional. In person she was pure Georgia, a good ol’ girl.

I unlocked the door and ushered her into the lobby. She pulled up short, and I had to skip sideways to avoid bumping into her.

“Where is everything?” she said.

“That’s your first job.” I handed her an envelope. “Cash and a company credit card. Forge my signature for the time being. You can still do that, can’t you?”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. We’ll stop by the bank and sign the paperwork so you can get your own card.”

“No… I mean, seriously, I can go on a shopping spree?”

I chuckled. “Of course. We need everything. Desks, chairs, phones, computers—”

“Hold on. Let me get something to write on.” She set her purse and lunch bag on the lobby counter, the only piece of furniture in the whole place. Then she surveyed the bare office. “Y’all really are starting from scratch.”

“Yep. And you get to set up the office.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Anything I want?”

“Within reason. Trip’s going to look at the receipts, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “He still pinching pennies?”

“Afraid so. But he wants a nice office. I’ll help pick out the furniture and art, but the rest is your department. Please.”

“What’s my budget?”

“I’ll need to sign any contracts. As far as the rest…?” I pointed to the envelope. “Let me know when you need more cash. The card has a pretty high limit. Stop if you hit it. Duh.”

“Oh, I’m going to like it here.”

“Mmm. I thought you would.”

We had a fully functioning office a week later. We also had three new clients.

“For real? Hold on,” I said, “how come this is the first I’ve heard of it? I didn’t do designs or proposals or anything.”

“I told you,” Trip said smugly, “your name would bring ’em running.”

“He’s right,” Shari said. “We’re getting calls already.”

“From who?” I demanded. “Never mind. Who’re these clients?”

Trip told me. I recognized one of the names from before. We’d built his house in Buckhead, although I couldn’t imagine why he wanted a new one so soon. The other two were new.

“Penny Powell sent them,” Trip explained. “We need to thank her properly. Kurt, too.” That was code for “we need to get to know them better.” He’d figured out that they were potential swingers.

“Of course.”

“In the meantime, she’s sending us people she’s sold to in the past. Now they want something custom. They want a Paul+Hughes home.”

I heard the plus sign but ignored it. “For real?”

“Yep. And I have a bunch of commercial leads from before. I kept ’em just in case. I’ll tell you more when we do the proposals. In the meantime, why don’t you and Shari put ads in the papers. We need to staff up.”

She took out her notepad.

“We’re gonna need a draftsman and a project manager for sure. You all can decide who else. Probably a construction manager. Oh, and who do you know who’s a landscape architect?”

My eyebrows hit the ceiling. “What? Why?”

“Country club,” he said cryptically.

“I know someone,” Shari said. “You’ll like him.”

“Is he cheap?”

“No, but he’s good.”

“I’d rather have both.”

“Too bad.”

Trip shot her a grin. Then he paused to relish the moment.

“Well,” he said all of a sudden, “what’re you waiting for? Time is money!”

* * *

Once I started working full-time, Christy took over the garage at home and turned it into her studio. I was mildly annoyed that I had to park in the driveway, but she was happy, so I lived with it. She set up a little play area for Susie on one side and turned our dining room table into a work area on the other.

“That’s nice,” I said when she showed me, “but… where are we going to eat?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I bought a new one.”

“A new one what?” I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Then again, maybe it was just a reaction to my wallet feeling suddenly lighter.

“A new table and chairs! Wait till you see them. They’ll be delivered next week. Don’t look at me like that. We needed a new one anyway. The old one was all scratched and beat-up.”

I couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed because she’d bought furniture I’d never seen, spent thousands of dollars without discussing it, or was completely unconcerned about both. I decided to go with Option D, None of the Above.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad you took care of it.”

Part of me really was glad. I was so busy at work that I didn’t have time for anything else. Christy was a good partner at home, even if she didn’t have a firm grasp on the household finances.

“So, what’re you working on?” I asked.

“Nothing yet, Mr. Nosy Parker.” She turned and pushed me away from the garage. “Let’s open another bottle of wine. I saved you some dinner. The girls want some princess time before bed. After that, I need some time.”

“Oh?” I teased. “Do we need to look at furniture?”

“A certain bedpost, yes.”

* * *

Trip knocked on my office door about a week later. It was open, and he didn’t wait for an answer before he sank into the chair across from me. It was one of those conversations, so I saved my work and turned to face him.

“What’s up?” I said.

“I think you might be onto something with this tree-hugger nonsense.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “would you repeat that?”

“It’s a unique selling proposition, and we can use it to our advantage.”

He’d been calling me a tree-hugger for years, since before our Master’s degrees. He usually did it whenever I climbed onto my soapbox about the environment and sustainable design. He called me Mother Paul whenever I talked about social responsibility and architecture.

Part of me wanted to blame him for being an asshole, but he was mostly a reflection of the people around him. Harvard had been a hyper-competitive program, and his friends had been old-school capitalist types. The words “social” and “progressive” were anathema in any combination. Case in point, they thought Gordon Gekko was the hero of Wall Street, not the villain.

Fortunately, Trip knew me well enough to realize I’d eventually punch him in the face if he kept calling me a tree-hugger or Mother Paul. And I knew him well enough to stay off my soapbox when he was around. Our unspoken truce had kept the peace for years, although time away from Harvard had clearly changed him.

“Yeah, okay,” he conceded, “I might have been a jerk before, but I’m serious now. I think we can use it to differentiate ourselves from the competition.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, “then maybe you should stop calling it ‘nonsense.’”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll do better. So, tell me more about this green building thing.”

“That’s a pretty broad question. What ‘thing’ in particular?”

“Start at the top.”

“The Green Building Council?”

“Yeah. I need to be able to sell it. As far as I can tell, none of the big firms are doing it, so it gives us a huge competitive advantage.”

“Okay. Here goes…”

* * *

I didn’t think Trip was serious about selling our services as environmentally conscious architects, but he surprised me. He brought in more work over the next month than I thought possible, and almost all of it was green.

Even better, our new clients weren’t just people who wanted houses. We signed a contract to design a three-story office building for a health food company, and an outdoor equipment company wanted us to design a 23,000-square-foot store to anchor a new shopping center. We weren’t big enough to manage the construction as well, but it was a huge step in the right direction.

I worked eighty hours a week and still couldn’t keep up.

“Hire someone,” Trip said when I complained. “That’s your department, anyway. Personnel. You’re way better at it than I am.”

Oddly enough, it didn’t bother him that my people skills were better than his.

“Why can’t you help?” I argued.

“Hiring?”

“No, with the design. You still have your license.”

“Uh-uh. Division of labor. I hunt, you gather. Speaking of which, we need to go to Alabama. Can you fly us?”

“Alabama? What the hell for?”

“Country club. Oh, and what happened to that landscape architect I asked you about?”

“I don’t know,” I snapped. “I’ve been working nonstop.”

“Well, find someone. We’ll need him in Alabama. Hustle up. Time is money.”

“Time is money,” I griped under my breath as I left his office. Still, I caught Shari’s eye on the way past her desk. “Grab your notepad.” I settled behind my own desk, and she sank into the chair opposite. “Sorry,” I said. “I should’ve said please.”

She smiled and nodded toward the wall that separated my office from Trip’s.

“Mmm,” I agreed.

“Anyway, what’s up, boss?”

I smiled at that. She never called Trip “boss.” He was always “Trip” or “Mr. Whitman,” depending on who she was talking to.

“You remember Whitney Arden?” I said without preamble, and Shari nodded. “Is she still with Barbara McKay?”

“I don’t know, but I can find out.” She made a note.

Whitney had been my last intern at Whitman-Hughes, and she had a mind for details. I’d sent her to Barbara to finish her internship. I’d even offered to pay her salary, but Barbara had found the money in her budget. Whitney would have her license by now, and I needed her organizational skills.

“On second thought,” I said, “just get me Barbara’s number, please.”

Barbara was a great architect, but she didn’t have Trip’s talent for business. I suspected she was still eking out a living, just like she’d been doing when I’d sent Whitney to her.

“You got it,” Shari said.

“We’re going to need an interior designer, too. I can do it myself, but…”

“You have bigger fish to fry.” She made a note. “I know someone. You’ll like her. She’s just your type.”

“Um…”

“Not like that,” Shari laughed easily. “I mean professionally. Besides, you aren’t…” She nodded again toward Trip’s office.

“No.”

I didn’t think Trip had ever slept with anyone who worked for us, but I wouldn’t have ruled it out. He wasn’t the type to cheat on Wren, either, but he probably wouldn’t consider it cheating if it only happened once.

Shari read my expression and nodded ruefully.

“Moving on,” I sighed. “Give me your friend’s name. That’ll take care of the interiors. Now, let’s talk about a structural engineer. Do you know anyone?”

“A few,” she said as she wrote, “but I’m not sure how happy they are where they are. I’ll ask around. We might have to put ads in the paper.” She lifted her pen and studied me for a moment. “Do we have the money for all this hiring?”

“We should,” I hedged, “but that’s Trip’s department. I’ll need to talk to him about salaries. We have money in the bank, but…”

“We don’t have the cash flow yet,” she finished.

“Exactly. Anyway, I’ll talk to him. In the meantime, let’s keep going. What happened to that landscape guy? Drake something?”

“Robert Drake. Goes by Bob.”

“Can you call him? Tell him I’m sorry I didn’t get back to him sooner.”

“No problem. I’ll handle it.”

“Also, let’s find someone to take over the phones and front desk.”

Shari raised an eyebrow.

“You have more important things to do.”

“Such as?” She grinned. She was enjoying herself.

“Being a real office manager, not just a glorified receptionist. First things first, though. If we hire all these people…”

“We’re going to need a bigger office. I’ll talk to the landlord. The space next door is available.”

“Okay. Thanks. What else?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. Let me start making calls.”

* * *

The phone rang on Christmas afternoon, and I heard Laurie answer it. I went looking when she didn’t yell for Christy or me. We’d already talked to Christy’s parents and the Carmichael side of the family. My own parents were coming for dinner, so it probably wasn’t them either. I figured it was Erin. Sure enough, Laurie was chattering away.

“Uh-huh, three of them. Labrador retrievers. No, little ones, puppies. They had bows and everything, just like regular presents. They were from Santa Claus, but he must’ve told Daddy and Mommy, ’cause they were waiting for us with the video camera. Oh my gosh, they’re so adorable! The yellow one’s a girl. We’re going to call her Molly. The black ones’re boys, Spike and Bucket. No, Bucket. Susie named him.”

We were still scratching our heads about that one. At least the other two made sense, as Laurie was happy to explain.

“Daddy says they’re good swimmers. The dogs, I mean. So I named mine Molly, ’cause of the Unsinkable Molly Brown. I did a report on her. Emily named hers Spike. He’s the dog in Rugrats. Do you watch Rugrats? Oh, you should. It’s really good. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right, I wanted to call him Doug, but Daddy said it was Em’s choice. We don’t know why Susie picked Bucket, but Daddy said we can call him Buck, so that’s his name.”

She talked for a little while longer and thanked Erin for the gifts she’d sent.

As she did, I surveyed the living room. Kids and dogs had left toys, boxes, and bits of wrapping paper that radiated outward from the Christmas tree. Laurie’s presents sat in a haphazard pile where she’d opened them by the hearth. Emily’s were stacked neatly under the tree, with the boxes in ascending order of size. Susie’s were all over the place, wherever she’d left them, although she at least had the excuse that she was only two.

“Hold on, Daddy’s here,” Laurie said. “Okay. I love you too. Merry Christmas. Bye. Only, don’t hang up. I’m going to give the phone to Daddy. Don’t hang up, okay?” She hopped off the couch and passed me the handset. “It’s Aunt Erin,” she said politely. “Where are the puppies?”

“Asleep with Em in her room. I think you wore them out.” She ran off, and I called after her, “Remember to knock if her door’s closed.”

I listened for a ruckus but didn’t hear one, so I relaxed and sank to the couch. I raised the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Er. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. Laurie was telling me about the puppies. She sounds so mature. And so articulate!”

“It runs in the family,” I chuckled. “You doing okay? Did you and Tom have a good Christmas?”

“We did. It was low-key. Sounds like the opposite of you and the girls.”

“Yeah, it was pretty crazy around here. Everyone’s worn out at this point—kids, dogs, and grown-ups too.”

We chatted for a couple of minutes and caught up.

“Okay, let’s get serious,” she said at last. “I wanted to talk to you before Mom and Dad get there.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I have news.”

“You’re pregnant?”

“Oh, God, no!”

“Just checking,” I teased.

“No, but Tom and I are talking about getting married.”

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you. We moved in together in August. Sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to tell Mom.”

“Seriously? You know I don’t tell her things unless you say it’s okay.”

“I know,” she admitted. “But… I guess I wanted to make sure before I told anyone. Anyway, I’m not going to mention the wedding to Mom until we decide a few things.”

“Such as?”

“We’re thinking spring break.” She told me the date. “Does that work for you?”

“I’ll have to check the school calendar,” I said, “but it should.”

“Awesome. Next, we want a small ceremony, just family and a few close friends. Something like Leah and Mark had. But Mom’s gonna try and talk me into a lavish affair. Tom’s publicist wants the same thing, but he can handle her. I need your help with Mom. I mean, I don’t want a big all-day thing like you and Christy had.”

“Well, you aren’t Catholic, so you’re off the hook there. The rest is up to you. I mean, yeah, Mom would like to do the whole mother-of-the-bride thing, but she knows it’s your decision.”

“I hope you’re right,” Erin said.

“Trust me.” I paused, and we shared a long-distance smile. “I’m happy for you, Er.”

“Thanks. I’m happy too.” She laughed softly. “I was beginning to wonder…”

“Nah. We always knew it would happen. Leah even called it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she said you’d be thirty before you settled down.”

“Eh, thirty… thirty-one.”

“Exactly. Close enough. So, what’re you thinking? Beach wedding and the Macarena? Sesame Street and Tickle Me Elmo? Oh, I know…!”

* * *

Paul+Hughes Design continued to add clients and employees at a blistering pace, which created a different kind of problem.

“I think we might be growing too quickly,” Trip said one evening over a glass of whiskey, our standard debrief at the end of the day.

“Is that really a thing?”

“Absolutely. If we spend all our time getting new clients, we can’t take care of the ones we have.”

“Makes sense. Even with the new people, my group’s been going full-throttle since Christmas. We haven’t missed any deadlines, but we’re looking at serious burnout if we keep it up.”

Trip and I had taken a short break for Erin’s wedding, but we’d returned to the same workload we’d left.

“Yeah,” he said judiciously. “I think I’m going to slow down on the new business front.”

“We also need a break,” I added, “something like a company picnic. And maybe bonuses for everyone, for all the hard work.”

“Profit sharing? Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

“Let Shari plan it. The picnic, I mean.”

“That’s your department.”

“Mmm. And speaking of Shari, I think we need to elect her to the Board of Directors.”

“No,” Trip said immediately, although he frowned and thought about it. “Why?”

“The Board has to represent the whole company,” I said. “It can’t be just the principals. The regular employees need a voice.”

“That isn’t technically what the Board is for, but it doesn’t matter. You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“You know this isn’t a democracy, right?”

“It’s an oligarchy,” I said. “But we live in a democracy, so it’s what people expect. We need to listen to them.”

“So you’re a politician now, too?” he laughed. Then he paused and eyed me curiously. “When did you become such a socialist reformer? I mean, you used to be a good capitalist like me.”

“I’m still a capitalist,” I said, the verbal equivalent of a shrug. “But I also know how to build a house.”

“So do I. But… what the hell does that have to do with capitalism?”

“My designs are just pretty pictures without the people who swing the hammers.” I waited for him to make a snarky comment about sickles, but he didn’t make the connection to the old Soviet Union.

“That’s true enough,” he said instead.

“So we need to add Shari to the Board,” I repeated.

“Gimme a sec.” He stared into space and considered it. “Do you trust her?”

“Completely.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “She’s friends with everyone, and she understands the business side.”

“She’s totally loyal, too.”

“To you or the company?” he snorted. Then he quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you aren’t…?”

I didn’t dignify it with an answer.

“I’m just kidding,” he laughed. Then he turned serious and considered the question. “Yeah, okay, you’re right,” he said at last. “How about this, let’s compromise. We need to keep the Board for its intended purpose, which is to protect shareholder value. It does other things, but that’s our main fiduciary responsibility.”

“Even though we’re the only shareholders, you and me and our wives?”

“The only shareholders for now,” he pointed out. “Still, I agree about the employees wanting to feel like they have a say in the company’s direction. But that’s your job. You’re better with people anyway, and everyone trusts you.”

“What about Shari?”

“We don’t need to elect her to the Board, but we can invite her to attend the meetings. She can take notes and keep the minutes. Our actual discussions are confidential, but she can write something for the newsletter about what the Board decides. Are you comfortable with that?”

I considered it and then nodded.

“Good. Then let’s go back to a point from a minute ago, about the business. We need to split the roles of CEO and President.”

“Okay. If you say so.”

“You don’t even know why, do you?”

I stole his line. “That’s your department.”

“Yeah, but this is exactly what we were just talking about. It’s about perception. The CEO sets the mission, vision, and strategy of the company. The President handles day-to-day operations and logistical details.”

“And you’re doing a great job. With both,” I added.

“Thank you, but… the CEO is also the most visible representative of a company, inside and out.”

“Okay. And…?”

“The inside perception is obvious. If I’m both, we have a hard time convincing the regular employees that you represent their best interests.”

“Makes sense,” I agreed.

“The outside perception is similar, but for different reasons. I don’t actually believe all this green stuff we’re doing. Hold on, let me rephrase. I don’t believe it like you do. Yeah, we’re making tons of money because we have a competitive advantage, but money is the only green I really care about.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Thanks, but I’m serious. And I recognize that me being CEO is a business liability. Well, not exactly a liability, but not an asset, either. Being President? Yeah, absolutely. But Wren’s been after me for a couple of months, and she’s right.”

“About what?”

“We’re getting big enough that we need to start worrying about our public image. Maybe not this year, but certainly next. People are bound to figure out that I’m not a real tree-hugger. We need a guy out front who actually believes. That’s you.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, “but what does it mean for the company? I can’t make business decisions like you. I mean, I’m just an architect.”

“That’s basically what a CEO is. You have the vision. I make it happen.”

“Fine by me,” I said. “I never really cared about titles anyway.”

“Well, it’ll make Christy happy. And that’s never a bad thing.”

“Ha! You can say that again!”

* * *

I’d been building my dream house since college, although it had only ever existed in my head. That all changed once the pace at work slowed to something manageable. I still didn’t have much free time, but I started going through my old notes and drawings. They were scattered through more than a dozen sketchbooks, so it was a trip down memory lane as well.

My tastes had evolved over the years, but I’d never lost my enthusiasm for good design. My skills as an architect had grown, and I had a much better understanding of what worked in the real world (and what didn’t), but my passion was the same.

My house ideas hadn’t changed very much either. I’d fallen in love with the American Craftsman style on the first project that Trip and I had done together. And I’d spent enough time in San Diego to find even more reasons to love it: the Marston House in Balboa Park and the entire North Park neighborhood, which was full of Craftsman bungalows.

The house I wanted would technically be an ultimate bungalow, which was much larger than a normal Craftsman home. The smaller ones were fine, especially as starter homes, but my family wasn’t a starter anymore. We were two adults, three kids, and three dogs. We needed way more space than a modest bungalow.

I still worked best with pencil and paper, so I began a new sketchbook. I showed my early designs to Christy, who asked her usual off-the-wall questions. She was more creative in many ways, and her questions made me see things from a new perspective.

She also added ideas of her own, things that made the house ours instead of just mine. Sometimes I’d open my sketchbook and find two or three pages of new drawings, everything from decorative elements to sketches of how she wanted her studio and workshop laid out. She signed the first ones with her usual chop, CMH, but then she came up with a new one, PCH.

“I still think it’s weird to sign my name like that,” she laughed.

“Why? It’s who we are.”

“Yeah, but— Oh, right. Sometimes I forget. You aren’t a real Californian.”

“Neither are you,” I shot back.

“I am too! Never mind. PCH is the Pacific Coast Highway.”

“Oh, that. Well, it’s also Paul and Christy Hughes.”

“Mmm, I know.”

“Besides, all roads lead to my heart.”

“Oh my gosh,” she laughed brightly, “you’ll say anything to get lucky.”

“Of course, especially when it works. But it’s true in this case. Now, I have a certain P that wants a little CH. Are you interested?”

* * *

I showed my house designs to Bob Drake, our landscape architect. He and I had similar feelings about how a building should exist in harmony with the land instead of trying to dominate it.

“This is for you, isn’t it?” he said. “I mean, it’s a personal project.”

“Yeah.”

“For the Lake Lanier property? I thought that development was dead.”

“It is. We may resurrect it, but for now it’s just this.”

“Let me walk the land,” he suggested. “I’ve seen the plats and topos, but I need to put eyes on the ground.”

“Sure. How about this weekend?”

He grinned and checked his watch. “How about now?”

“Hold on, lemme check my schedule.” I picked up the phone and dialed Whitney.

“Yes?”

“Hey, it’s Paul,” I said unnecessarily. She could read my extension on her own phone, but old habits died hard. “What’re we doing this afternoon?”

“Working.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. “What’s on my schedule?”

“It’s on your computer.”

“Yeah, but my computer doesn’t have details.”

“Okay. I’ll add them.”

“No! I mean— No, thank you. Just give me the highlights. I’ll ask if I need details.”

“Why not check your computer?” Her implication was clear: Instead of wasting my time.

“Just humor me,” I said. She sighed, and I could imagine her accessing the computer in her head.

“You have a two o’clock meeting with Darci to go over the Paces Ferry designs. You have a three o’clock meeting with Barbara…”

“Okay, thanks,” I said when she reached six o’clock. “Please clear everything. I’ll be out of the office the rest of the day. I’ll stop by Darci’s desk before I leave. Tell Barbara…”

I finished and chuckled silently when Whitney didn’t ask what I’d be doing instead. She was an exceptional project manager, my de facto right hand, but she didn’t understand subtext at all.

“Is that all?” she asked.

I resisted the urge to suggest a raise. Anyone else would understand it was a joke, but not Whitney. She was too literal, and I’d spend ten minutes explaining.

“No, that’s it,” I said instead. “And thank you.”

“Of course.”

Bob and I spent the rest of the afternoon hiking through woods and thickets. We dodged mosquitos the size of pterodactyls and sweated like Pat Robertson at a gay pride parade. We were tired, itchy, and dehydrated by the time we returned to the SUV and its air conditioning, yet we were both upbeat.

“Well?” I said. “What do you think?”

“The second inlet’s the best site. It has good drainage, and we won’t have to take down too many old-growth trees.”

“What do you think about a pool?”

“Sure, you could put one there. Although you probably wanna check with civil and have them do some tests. My advice doesn’t go below the topsoil.”

Ross Deegan did a site investigation a couple of days later, and he confirmed what Bob and I suspected.

“The site’s fine. You can build whatever you like. Soil strength and compressibility are good, and ground water won’t be an issue. You might have a problem with erosion during construction, but you can mitigate it with silt fences and a turbidity barrier.” He paused and studied me for a moment. “Is this for the big development you guys started a while back?”

“Sort of. You heard about that?”

“Bob was telling me. Sounds like a big project.”

“It is. A lot of civil engineering.”

“Mmm.”

“We’d probably need a full-time civil department. In-house, I mean.”

“Yeah. We’re spending 76 percent of our time on your projects already.”

I chuckled at the engineer mentality. I’d have said three-quarters.

“It gets old,” he added after a moment.

“What does?”

“Looking for new business all the time.”

“Trip’s good at it.”

“Mmm.”

“Maybe it’s time to talk about bringing you and Alex into the company?” I suggested. “For real, I mean, full-time, with profit sharing and everything.”

“How would that work?”

“No clue,” I replied honestly. “That’s Trip’s department. But I’ll mention it to him.”

“Yeah. Definitely time to hitch our wagon to yours.”

* * *

Trip appeared in my office a week later and set two crystal tumblers on my desk. They were new, probably gifts from Wren, and he poured from a bottle of Jack Daniel’s that wasn’t his usual Gentleman Jack. I saved my work and checked my watch—it was after five but early for our usual chat.

He was in a good mood. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Find such great people. I mean, all of your hires are MVPs. First Bob and Darci. Now Alex and Ross. Even Whitney, as hot and weird as she is. And now that I think about it, Shari’s here ’cause of you.”

“Treat people right.” I sat forward and accepted the glass of whiskey.

“Whatever it is, keep doing it.” He clinked his glass against mine and sank into the chair. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” I swallowed and felt my eyelids peel back.

“Sorry,” Trip chuckled, “I should’ve warned you. It’s Single Barrel… ninety-four proof.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” In case I ever need to strip fancy paint.

“It’s new.” He admired the bottle. “Thought I’d give it a try. Anyway, let’s talk about Alex and Ross. I hope you don’t mind that I worked out a deal without you.”

“No problem.”

“The Board will have to ratify it anyway. We’re buying them out. We worked out an all-stock deal, so we don’t have to dip into our cash reserves.”

“Awesome.”

He pretended to study the amber liquid in his glass, but he was really looking at me.

“So,” he said at last, “when were you planning to tell me about the other thing?”

“What other thing?”

“Your new house?”

“What about it? It’s just a few ideas at this point.”

“Wren says it’s more than that. You have drawings and everything.”

Sometimes I hated that Wren and Christy were girlfriends. I couldn’t keep a secret unless I went out of my way to tell Christy not to share.

“A house, a pool, a hot tub,” he mused, “plus a bunch of other buildings. Sounds like a whole complex, dude. Are you gonna start a cult?”

“Ha! No, it’s just for us.”

“Wren’s gonna want the same thing. You know that, right? And it’s gonna cost a fortune.”

“So? You can afford it. Besides, if it makes her happy…”

“You got that right. So, what’re you thinking, cost- and schedule-wise?”

I loaded a spreadsheet, dragged it to the left monitor, and angled it toward him.

He leaned forward and studied it. “That isn’t so bad,” he said at last. “Is that everything?”

“Just the house.” I clicked to a second sheet. “That’s everything.”

He let out a low whistle. “That’s a jumbo loan.”

“No kidding. We’ll probably use some of our savings instead of financing the whole thing.”

He nodded judiciously.

“Either way, I promised we’d start by our anniversary.” He grew thoughtful, and I sat forward in alarm. “Oh, no… I know that look.”

“What!” he protested.

“You want an anniversary present for Wren.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Dude! That’s next month!”

“So? You did yours in a month.”

“A month! Are you kidding? I’ve been working on this for fifteen years.”

“So? I’ve seen you do a whole design on a cocktail napkin over drinks.”

“Yeah, when I’d been thinking about it for a while!”

“Listen,” he said reasonably, “you already know what we want. Pool, office, music studio. We’ve been telling you for, what, two years?” He mimicked Wren, “Write that down.”

“You’re serious?”

“I know you can do it.”

“Fine. But… gimme a sec.” I checked my schedule for the next month, on the computer and everything. Whitney would’ve been proud. “Yeah, okay,” I said at last, “I’ll make it work.”

“Awesome! Wren’s gonna be stoked.”

“Happy wife, happy life,” I said halfheartedly. Then I took a deep breath and adjusted my attitude. The house really would make Wren happy, which would make Trip happy, and my own wife as well. Happy wife, happy life. “Okay,” I said with considerably more enthusiasm, “let’s start with the style. Any idea what you want?”

“Something like the Hermitage. D’you know it? In Nashville? Or Granville’s place. You’re—”

“No.”

He blinked at my sudden change in attitude. “Excuse me?”

“I know the Hermitage. It was a plantation. A real one, with slaves and everything. Granville’s was built after the war, but it was meant to evoke the same image.” I felt a stab of irritation that I didn’t even have to say which war. We were in the south, after all. “The war” to southerners was always the Civil War, because it had never really ended.

“So?” Trip said. “Plantations are kind of a thing around here. It’s our heritage.”

“I’m not going to build a plantation-style house in Atlanta. No, scratch that. I’m not going to build one anywhere. No way, no how.”

“Why not?”

“Why not! It’s a symbol of slavery and oppression!”

“Oh, brother,” he sighed. “You’re gonna get all politically correct, aren’t you?”

“I shouldn’t have to. Look around. We live in a city that’s 60 percent Black!”

“Maybe downtown,” he protested. “But not where we live.”

“I don’t care. I’m not building a house that reminds people of slavery.”

“Reminds people of slavery?” he repeated incredulously. “A house?”

I took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. “No. And that’s final.”

“Whatever. I didn’t wanna argue anyway.”

Then you shouldn’t’ve asked for a plantation house, I thought testily.

“What style would you suggest, Dr. King?”

I clenched my jaw and resisted the urge to punch him in the face. After a moment I took another deep breath. Trip did the same and got his own temper back under control.

“Classic or modern?” I said at last.

“Modern. But nothing funky. I don’t want anything weird like… I dunno…” He searched for something that wasn’t likely to offend me. “That wavy thing Gehry’s building in Spain.”

“The Guggenheim? No problem. You aren’t gonna get that anyway.” I fell silent and let my mind wander. “How about Mid-century Modern? Something post and beam, with lots of glass?”

Trip nodded. “That could work. What’re you thinking?”

* * *

A couple of weeks later, Trip came into my office with his bottle of expensive paint stripper. He swung the door closed and began pouring.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I said dryly.

He passed me the heavy crystal tumbler, settled into the chair, and inhaled the fumes of his own whiskey. Then he took a healthy sip and smacked his lips.

“So, I’ve been thinking…”

“Always dangerous.”

“Are you in a pissy mood?” he asked without heat.

“Not really. Sorry. Just being a jerk.” I’d been acting like he usually did, and I didn’t miss the irony when he shrugged it off, just like I would have.

“That’s cool,” he said. “Anyway, let’s catch up. I stopped by Darci’s office earlier, and I like what you’ve done with the house designs. Mid-century really works. Oh, and thanks for not going overboard. I mean, we don’t need a whole compound like y’all.”

“I didn’t go overboard. On ours, I mean.”

“How many houses d’you need?” he teased. Then he did a pretty good Tommy Lee Jones impression, “I want a hard target search of every main house, pool house, guest house, warehouse, and boathouse in the area.”

“We aren’t building the boathouse,” I said, a touch defensively. “We’re just running the utilities in case we want one later.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Besides, Christy works at home. And she needs more than just an office and a computer. The ‘warehouse’ is her workshop. The ‘guest house’ is her studio.” Evidently, I was still in the mood for a fight. Fortunately, Trip wasn’t looking for a real one.

“Yeah, I know,” he conceded. “I guess I’m being a jerk too. Sorry about that.”

Note to self, I thought, get back to the gym. Hit something that deserves it, not your business partner.

“The boathouse utilities are a good idea,” he continued. “Might want to do the same for us. In the meantime, we love the house. Wren took the watercolor you did to her office at work. You really hit it out of the park. As usual.”

“Thank you. Although… I’m guessing you didn’t come here just to tell me that.”

“No. Well, yes, but…” He drained his whiskey, sat forward, and poured another two fingers. I declined politely when he tilted the bottle toward me. “No problem,” he said, mellow already. “More for me.” Then he sat back and gathered his thoughts.

“Lemme guess,” I wondered aloud, “you’ve been looking at the work we need for the houses and you’ve figured out a way to get someone else to pay for it.”

He pursed his lips in a grin and rolled his hand for me to continue.

I did. “We’re going to need a ton of site work. Not just for the houses themselves, but all the infrastructure. The utility runs will cost a fortune, especially from the main road.”

“Yep.”

“So, you want to resurrect the whole development project.”

“Golf course, condos, retail, everything,” he agreed.

“And if we do that, the development will pay for the majority of the excavation and site prep. It’ll pay for the road, utilities, and everything else, right to our new doorsteps.”

“Great minds think alike.”

“Mmm. But… can we do it? Financially, I mean.”

“We’ll need investors…,” he ventured.

“And we don’t want another Scumbag.”

“No.”

“Speaking of which… Can he cause problems?”

“I’d like to see him try,” Trip scoffed. “We aren’t broke like last time. We have money to go to court.”

“Okay, but what about all the work we did? He could make the case that he owns it.”

“Any contract between us would be invalid. We never received consideration. That means he never paid us.”

I remembered all too well. And I still seethed about it if I let myself.

“He can try to make trouble,” Trip continued mildly, “but he knows we’ll fight. And we’ll probably win.” To his credit, he paused and considered the different angles. Then he shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think he’ll bother. Besides, I’ve heard he has money problems. Seems he’s a lousy businessman when he isn’t defrauding investors.”

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” I muttered.

“Whatever,” Trip said. “The best revenge is living well. So, let’s talk about our project, and especially investors. I wanted to make sure you’re up for it before I start looking.”

“Go for it.”

“Okay. I’ll put together a proposal. But let’s get started on the plans. Do you still have all your old drawings?”

“Yeah. They’re on backups at the house. We’ll probably have to update them for the new version of AutoCAD, but I’ll put Whitney on it.”

“You still don’t like the computer?” he chuckled.

“I don’t mind it, but I have other priorities.”

“I never understood that,” he said. “I mean, you’re the guy who’s always pushing for more tech—email, a website, upgrading our servers—but you still don’t like drawing on the computer. While Christy’s an actual artist, and about as scatterbrained as they come. No offense,” he added quickly, “but she uses a computer like one of those hackers.”

“It’s a language thing,” I said. “She has a talent for it. Anyway, moving along…”

“Yeah, whatever. You and Whitney can update the plans. Ask Bob to look at—”

“My department,” I said before he could tell me how to do my job.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“And if we’re serious about doing this,” I added, “we’ll need more people.”

“Yeah. Also your department. I’ll find a way to make the money work.” He paused and then grinned. “We’re gonna be rich, dude.”

* * *

Trip came into my office one day in September and closed the door. It was the middle of the afternoon, so it wasn’t time for our usual chat.

I held up a finger, and he sat patiently as I finished my changes and saved the file. Then I opened Whitney’s tracking spreadsheet and flagged the project. I checked the boxes for what I needed, a schedule of materials and an updated cost estimate. She actually enjoyed crunching the numbers, and I was happy to let her.

“One last thing,” I said to Trip. I brought up my schedule on the other monitor. “Whitney’ll kill me if I don’t show up where I’m s’posed to. I can reschedule if— Never mind, we’re good. I’m free for another hour. Sorry about that. What’s up?”

“How do you feel about selling part of the company?”

My eyebrows twitched upward.

“That was my reaction,” Trip agreed. “I should probably start at the beginning.”

“Please.”

“So, I just got off the phone with Susan. I’ve been in touch with her since we decided to move forward on the Lake Lanier development. At first I just wanted her advice, but I also had her on the short list for investors.”

“Of course.”

“I faxed her the budgets and projections we did with Trimble—”

“Scumbag,” I said automatically.

Trip rolled his eyes and continued, “I sent her the numbers we did last time. She spotted red flags immediately.”

“She would,” I said. “She has way more experience. But she also knows what happened. She has the benefit of hindsight.”

“True. Anyway, she looked at the numbers, and they weren’t inflated too badly. Trim—” Another annoyed eye-roll. “Scumbag didn’t lie too much on the deal he sold us. He screwed us on the back end.”

I rolled my hand in a “get to the point” gesture.

“Yeah, whatever. You were there.”

“Mmm.”

“Anyway, I used his numbers as a starting point, and Susan helped me update them. She gave me some really good advice from an investor’s perspective. We talked some more, and she’s definitely interested in the development.”

“That’s good news,” I said, “but I’m a little confused. I don’t remember any of this. When was the last time we discussed it?”

“It’s been a while,” he admitted. “You’ve been busy with other things, so I handled it myself.”

“Got it. I remember when we made the decision, but…” I thought back and then stiffened in disbelief. “Holy crap! Has it really been two months? Time flies when you’re having fun.”

“I guess,” he said dryly. “Meanwhile… d’you mind if I get back to my story?”

“Yeah, sorry. Go ahead.”

“Okay, so… she’s probably going to invest in the development, enough that we should be able to cover the rest.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. But that’s only half the news. Last week she asked about company earnings, so I faxed her an estimated year-end P&L. She looked it over, and today she dropped a bombshell. She wants to know if we’re looking for investors in PHD itself.”

“She wants to buy part of the company?” I said incredulously. “That’s what you meant before? How would that even work?”

“Legal and financial stuff that you don’t care about,” he said with a wave. “She suggested a 25 percent stake, but there’s a catch. Two catches, actually, but I can use the second one to our advantage.”

“What’s the first?”

“We’d have to assign 10 percent of the company to the non-shareholding employees.”

“We can use that to our advantage as well,” I said immediately.

“Yeah, I figured you’d be fine with it. It’s a big chunk of change, but it appeals to your socialist side.”

“I’m not a socialist,” I said mildly. “I believe in private ownership and the free market. I don’t believe in unregulated capitalism. There’s a difference.”

“Now you sound like Leah,” he said.

Because Leah understood how the world worked—the real world. Trip and I lived in a bubble of privilege. Men like us, with money and power, could do whatever we wanted and usually get away with it. Scumbag was a perfect example.

I offered a tight smile and kept my thoughts to myself. Trip liked his privilege and power. I did too, if I was being honest, but I didn’t have any delusions about our success. We’d both worked hard, but we’d also had a head start from birth.

“I’m not a socialist,” I repeated aloud, “but people work harder if they own a part of what they’re working for.”

I listened to what I’d just said and had to suppress a smile at the contradiction. (That was exactly what socialism was, a system where the people owned the means of production. Fortunately, “socialism” was just a bugaboo for Trip, a word he used to extol the virtues of capitalism. He didn’t understand or even care about the reality. Still, I digress.)

“Whatever,” he said. “I can live with the 10 percent. But I wanted to clear it with you before we proceed. We’ll need to talk to the girls as well.”

“I don’t think they’ll have a problem with it.”

“Probably not,” he agreed.

“What’s the other catch?”

“We’d have to start doing nonprofit work, a percent of net, every year.”

My eyebrows did their thing again, although I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Habitat for Humanity?” I said.

Trip snorted. “I knew you’d have a suggestion straight off the bat.”

“It’s good for the community.” It was my “socialism” again, and he waved it away. I returned to the original question. “So… you really think it’s time to look for investors for PHD?”

“I didn’t at first,” he said, “but Susan convinced me. It’ll jump-start our next round of growth. We can also build a new headquarters building.” He gestured around us. “Something more befitting a company of our size and ambition.”

“No kidding.”

We had thirty employees, and we occupied five spaces in a building that had been designed for businesses much smaller than ours. As an added headache, the landlord wouldn’t let us knock down walls to add interior doors. So we had to leave one space and walk outside to an adjoining one any time we wanted to meet with another department.

Worse, we couldn’t hire anyone new unless we wanted to lease offices in nearby buildings or rent mobile office trailers. The trailers would keep people within walking distance, but then half of our employees would have to park somewhere else. Besides, our IT guy already complained about the networking situation in the building. I was pretty sure he’d blue-screen and lock up completely if I asked him to run Ethernet to the parking lot.

“Besides,” Trip was saying, “we’d always planned to bring in investors and go public one day. That’s why we filed as a C-corp instead of— Never mind. More business stuff. Anyway, we always planned to do this, although I didn’t think it’d happen so soon.”

“Are there any downsides?” I asked. “To doing it now, I mean.”

“Plenty. I know about most of them, but the unknown unknowns still worry me.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it work,” I said with a level of confidence that I actually felt. “How can I help?”

“Keep doing what you do,” he said. “Although… I need to borrow Shari for a couple of weeks.”

“No problem. What for? Just out of curiosity.”

“To help with a business review. Then I’ll have to find similar companies so I can do a comp analysis.” He started thinking out loud. I understood most of it, which surprised me.

“How much are we talking about?” I asked when he finished. “I mean, what’s the company worth?”

“I’ll know more once I do a real comparison, but I can estimate based on earnings. Depends on the multiple, but… ten to twelve million.”

“I’m sorry. Did you say million?”

“Yep. Ten to twelve.”

“Seriously?”

He chuckled. “Business has been good, dude.”

“You can say that again.”

“Business has been good, dude.”

* * *

Susan’s business manager arrived in October. Vonda Jarvis was an unimposing Black woman in her mid-fifties, neat, trim, and soft-spoken. Her clothes were more Reagan than Clinton, and I probably would’ve thought she was someone’s sweet old auntie if I hadn’t known who she really was. I discovered in the process that her appearance and manner were deliberate camouflage, a way to make people overlook and underestimate her. In reality, she had a business mind that rivaled Susan’s.

Vonda and two assistants spent several days in a hotel conference room with Trip and Shari, where they went through our entire business with a magnifying glass, an X-ray machine, and a scanning electron microscope. In fact, I suspected that Vonda’s bulky, unfashionable purse held a dual-column gas chromatograph, Hewlett-Packard model 5710A, with flame analyzing detectors. And hers would’ve been the turbo-charged floor model.

We’d provided her with bank statements, payroll numbers, and signed contracts, but Shari had to return to the office several times for more. Vonda wanted to see things like equipment leases, phone and internet bills, and even how much we spent on food and entertainment.

I was surprised and annoyed at the same time. Didn’t Susan trust us? Did she think we were serving lobster and caviar at staff meetings? As if! We ate doughnuts! And I paid for them. Personally! Trip was more laid-back about the whole process.

“Dude, it means she’s treating us like a real business.”

“We are a real business.”

“Yeah, I know. And so does she. But they want to make sure there aren’t any surprises. It’s called ‘due diligence’ for a reason.”

“I know,” I sulked, “but still… food and entertainment?”

“Relax. This is normal, especially for the amount we’re talking. I mean, this is textbook stuff, exactly what we did in B-school.”

“I suppose.”

“Besides, it makes me feel better that they’re asking for little stuff like that. It means they haven’t found any problems with the big stuff.”

“Why would they? You’re good at your job.”

“Yeah, thanks. But I still feel like an imposter sometimes, like I’m lucky no one’s figured out I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“But… you do.”

“I think so, yeah, but… The review’s forced me to get serious. Well, more serious. I mean, I have to justify every number, every decision. What if I’m wrong? That’s what happened last time. I screwed up, and a bunch of people lost their jobs. You and I lost a lot of money.”

I felt a glimmer of hope that he’d mentioned the people before the money.

“Anyway,” he continued, “the whole process has been worthwhile. I’d forgotten how much I like working with Susan. She’s really good. Like, Warren Buffet good.” He paused for a moment of speculation. “Any idea what she’s worth?”

“No clue,” I said. “Twenty or thirty million, for sure.”

“No way, dude. More like a hundred.” He considered it. “I’d say two or three, at least.”

“Hundred?”

“Million,” he added, in case I didn’t realize how many zeroes we were talking about. “It’s hard to tell with people like her. I mean, she’s investing three million in us, and this Vonda woman is too businesslike for it to be a large chunk of Susan’s net worth. This is single-digit drama. She’s putting two mil into the Lake Lanier project. So, five mil without batting an eye. That’s someone who’s worth two or three hundred.”

“Oh, wow. Okay.”

“And while we’re on the subject… you and I need to cough up at least a million.”

I blanched. “Each?”

“No, together. Brett said he can do a half-mil too.”

They were still partners in the property, even though he’d been traded to the Cleveland Indians.

“We’ll need to secure more funding for phases two and three,” Trip said, “but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“If you say so.”

He nodded with more confidence than I felt. Then again, it was his department.

I mused aloud, “Did you ever think we’d be talking about millions of dollars like it’s nothing?”

“Of course. I mean, yeah, we had a few setbacks along the way, but I’ve always known we’d be successful.”

“Still… millions of dollars?”

“Dude, we knocked it out of the park last year. We’re way ahead of our initial projections in the business plan. PHD should be worth twenty-five million in two years.”

“Twenty-five—? Two years—?”

“Yep. And that’s just for starters. We’ll slow down after that, but our five-year projections are pretty ambitious. We’ll have to work our asses off to make it happen, but you’re up for it.”

“Hell, yes.”

“And you know I am.” We shared a grin before he continued, “Anyway, we’ll need to fly to Columbia in a couple of weeks to meet with Susan and her people. Can you borrow your dad’s plane?”

“I’ll ask. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Let’s talk about buying one of our own. Hold on, can you lease them?”

“Like a car? Probably, but I’m not sure.”

“Find out. I’ll look into the tax implications and let you know.”

“Will we really need it?”

“Absolutely. Susan wants a lot of work in South Carolina. And we have the Alabama project.”

“Yeah, but owning a plane is still pretty expensive. A lot more than a car.”

“Well, how much is a day of your time worth? That’s what it takes when you fly commercial, especially with layovers and the connecting flights to smaller airports.”

He was right. And they were usually long days—I flew out in the morning and returned around midnight. Worse, I spent the next day recovering and didn’t get much work done.

“And for what?” Trip continued relentlessly. “A two- or three-hour site visit? You don’t travel alone, either. Sometimes you take an entire team with you. Now, how does that compare to the operating cost of a plane?”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“I have. Besides, we may have even more reason to travel soon.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m following up some leads. Guys I went to B-school with. One up near Lexington and another in Denver. Huge tech and aerospace business out there,” he added, “lots of opportunities.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? We aren’t gonna hit our projections if we don’t go for it. We’ll have to make sure we don’t grow too fast, but I think I can find a good balance.”

“Better you than me,” I said with genuine relief.

“Yep. You just keep doing what you do. On that note, have you thought about what kind of building you wanna design for our new global headquarters?”

“Global headquarters?” I grinned. His enthusiasm was infectious.

“Yeah. I wanna take us international. Eventually. We need to diversify. Trimble— Sorry, Scumbag screwed us because we put all our eggs in one basket. I’m not gonna make that mistake again.” He slapped his thighs and stood. “Anyway, I’ll warm up the bullpen for South Carolina.”

“And I’ll get back to work.”

“Time is money,” he agreed.

* * *

In November we flew to South Carolina and met with Susan and her people, including Vonda Jarvis. Susan greeted us and made a round of introductions. In addition to Vonda, she’d brought a smaller than usual pack of attorneys, only three. Trip made the introductions for our side. Then he moved off with Shari and our own attorney to talk business with the others. I hung back with Susan.

“You look good,” she said.

“Thanks. You too. Very Van Gogh.”

She was dressed in a stylish Prussian blue pantsuit with a yellow and gold patterned scarf. She looked down at herself.

“You’re going to have to explain that one,” she said. “You’ve always seen the world a little differently, but… how do you get Van Gogh out of this?”

“Starry Night,” I said. “Your scarf is the color of the moon, and your suit is the same shade of blue. Well, mostly. The painting has some cerulean in it too.”

“Really? The outfit’s supposed to be Navy colors.”

“No, sorry. Navy blue doesn’t have any green in it. Not like that.”

“I think you’re right.” She pursed her lips, and her eyes glinted with affection. Then she glanced at the conference table and changed the subject. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah. But nervous too.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “This is all just a formality. Besides, your mom made me promise to be gentle with you.”

I blushed at the innuendo but then felt a stab of doubt. “Is that why you’re doing this? Because you and Mom—?”

“No, not at all. I’m doing it because I believe in you.”

“Thanks.”

“And don’t worry. Vonda wouldn’t let me spend this much unless the numbers made sense. We need a company like yours,” she continued. “We’re going to be paying for design and construction anyway. We might as well benefit from it.”

“True. But… why now?”

“You mean, why not before? With your first company?”

I nodded.

“Honestly? Because you hadn’t failed yet.”

I wrinkled my forehead, and she answered my unspoken question.

“You rarely learn from your successes. You learn from your mistakes.”

“No kidding.”

“So I was heartbroken when your company went under, but I waited to see what you’d do.” Her eyes crinkled with pride, and I felt like I was fifteen again. “You picked yourself up, dusted yourself off, and came back stronger than ever.”

“We didn’t have a choice.”

“Sure you did. Lots of people fail and never try again. They learn the wrong lesson, or don’t learn at all. But not you.”

“It was mostly Trip. He’s the driving force.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” she said. “You were right there with him, every step of the way. That’s what a good partnership is about.”

“True.”

“You and Trip have a very bright future. I plan to be a part of it for a long time.”

The youngest attorney approached us and waited respectfully. She had a moon-shaped face that made her look younger than she probably was.

“Are we ready?” Susan asked her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

We spent the next thirty minutes signing documents. The whole thing reminded me of selling a house. In a way, that’s exactly what it was. Then Susan’s half-pack of attorneys and our lone one conferred and nodded their approval.

“Well, that was easy,” Susan said.

Vonda opened a leather portfolio and withdrew a check. She handed it to Susan, who slid it across the conference table to Trip.

“Don’t spend it all in one place.”