Well Played by Vi Keeland
CHAPTER 2
Presley
Hours later, Levi stood on the porch of the B&B as I opened the door to let him in.
“You don’t have to knock. This is your home.”
He pointed to his bandaged head. “Eight stitches says otherwise.”
I covered my mouth. “Oh my God. Eight stitches? I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did that to you.”
“It’s fine. Doc Matthews said I’m good as new.”
I squinted. “Doc called five minutes ago. You left your wallet at his office. He also mentioned that you really should’ve been admitted to the hospital and need to be watched closely for forty-eight hours for signs of slurred speech and vomiting.”
Levi shook his head.“I forgot no one gives a shit about things like HIPAA and privacy laws in Beaufort.” He looked around the living room. “Do you know where my suitcase went? I left it in the hallway earlier when I went to see where the music was coming from.”
“Oh. Yeah. I put it in the Woodward Suite.”
His brows drew down. “Aren’t you in there?”
“I moved to a regular room. I don’t need that much space.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll stay in any room that’s open.”
The Woodward Suite was a full efficiency apartment on the ground floor of the B&B. It was never rented to the public and always available to whatever family member or friend might be in town visiting. “It’s your family’s room, Levi. I’m fine.”
He glowered at me and walked over to a locked box on the wall where all the room keys were kept. Fishing a set of keys from his pocket, he unlocked the box and grabbed a key.
“Room thirteen.” He scoffed. “Fitting for me. You take the suite.”
***
The next morning, I was cleaning up breakfast in the kitchen when Levi came downstairs.
“Do you think we can talk for a minute?” I asked.
“About what?”
I eyed the open envelope sitting on the kitchen counter. Last night, after Levi went to bed, I’d sifted through a large pile of mail I’d brought down with me last week. I hadn’t had a chance to sort through it all, much less open any of it. But I’d found the letter from the lawyer Levi had referred to yesterday.
He nodded. “We’re not going to get a better offer than that for this place. It’s falling down. Only one of the outlets in the room I stayed in works, and the AC is blowing hot air.”
“I know. It’s a lot of money—an awful lot of money.”
“Good. I’ll tell my lawyer to get the ball rolling.”
“Actually…” I bit my nail. “I know it’s a really good offer and all, but I don’t want to sell The Palm Inn.”
Levi’s eyes narrowed. “Why the hell not?”
“Because it’s been in your family for three generations. It’s a landmark and a special place, Levi.”
“It was fifty years ago. But there’s a very nice chain hotel five minutes out of town now, one where all the amenities actually work. People don’t need to stay here.”
“The Palm Inn isn’t about needing a place to sleep. It’s about experiencing Beaufort.”
He scoffed. “What do you know about experiencing Beaufort? You didn’t look back when you got your meal ticket out of here.”
I blinked, taken aback. Tanner had never been my meal ticket. We’d been a couple all through high school and then for four years of college. “Excuse me?”
He shook his head. “Whatever. I don’t understand why my grandfather left half to you anyway.”
“He didn’t leave half to me. He left it to my son.”
“With you as trustee. Why not leave my brother in charge, so someone reasonable would be making the decisions?”
My face grew hot with anger. “He did leave someone reasonable in charge. Me. And as for why your grandfather didn’t put Tanner in charge, the answer is because he was a very smart man.”
“When was the last time you even spoke to my grandfather?”
“The week before he died. I spoke to Thatcher just about every Sunday, and so did Alex. Why don’t you ask your brother the last time he spoke to him?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you speak to my grandfather every Sunday?”
“Because he meant a lot to me, and I wanted my son to know him, too. He was an amazing man.”
Levi looked skeptical.
“You think I’m lying or something?”
“I don’t know what you’re up to. And at this point, I’m not sure I care. Just tell me what it’s going to take for you to agree to sell. Will an extra five percent do it? Ten? I know you have a number. If you didn’t care about money, my nephew wouldn’t be deprived of his father.”
I blinked a few times rapidly. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Save the insulted act and just let me know what you want, Presley.”
I was seething. “You know what I want?”
“What?”
“I want you to go screw yourself, Levi.”
***
I spent the majority of the afternoon stewing over my ex’s brother and his attitude. Maybe it had been naïve of me to think he’d want to preserve his grandfather’s legacy rather than sell this place to the highest bidder. But I damn well wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
As I went in search of my son, I thought about how big The Palm Inn was. We’d been here for several days already, and I’d barely run into the little old woman who inhabited one of the rooms. Fern was an old friend of Tanner’s grandfather. I suspected she might have been a little bit more than a friend to Thatcher from time to time. He’d let her pay a reasonable rent to live here. Aside from a quick greeting on my first day, the only sign of her thus far had been the size G bras she’d left hanging to dry in one of the bathrooms. Despite the fact that she’d been close to his grandfather, I assumed Levi would have no trouble kicking Fern out on her ass, if it meant selling the place for top dollar.
After much searching, I finally found Alex in the backyard—throwing a ball back and forth with his uncle. Levi might have been a dick, but it warmed my heart for a moment to see him playing ball with my son. This was always what was missing in Alex’s life—male camaraderie.
Tanner and Levi had grown up with a father who was constantly paying attention—almost too much attention—vested in their every move as he groomed them for careers in football. Up until Jim Miller’s death a few years back, he’d been heavily involved in both sons’ lives. That’s why it made little sense that Tanner was an absentee father. Considering the examples he’d had growing up—between Thatcher and Jim—you’d think he’d want to be closer to his son. But Tanner lost a little of his mind when his football hopes were shattered after an injury only a couple of games into his NFL career.
As much as my cheating ex had treated us poorly, I did feel for what he’d been through. Though that was no excuse for his behavior. While he’d remained close to his dad until his death, Tanner’s relationship with Levi had changed. They’d grown more distant, probably because Tanner was reduced to living football vicariously through his older brother; and that was hard.
I took a spot under a tree behind where Levi and Alex were playing and listened in on their conversation.
“You play a good game, but you’re not perfect,” my son told him.
Levi’s brow lifted. “You watch me play, eh?”
“Yeah. All the time. I like telling people you’re my uncle. It’s more fun when you’re winning, though.”
Levi bent his head back in laughter. “For me, too, buddy, believe me.” He passed the ball back to Alex. “So tell me. How can I do better?”
“A lot of people say you’re too focused on staring down your target. You’re not paying attention to the other players who can intercept you. That’s what happened during the last game in Philly.”
Levi nodded, catching his nephew’s return throw. “Yeah. You’re right about that. But you know, making mistakes is good sometimes, because they help you realize what you need to work on to get better.” He tossed the ball back to Alex. “Anything else I can fix?”
Alex threw it. “You’re not that great of an uncle.”
Levi caught the ball, but then froze. My heart clenched.
He blinked, looking like he was trying to figure out a response.
“How come you never came to visit me in New York?” Alex asked.
Levi was silent for a bit. “I don’t have a good answer for that. Adults sometimes get too wrapped up in their own lives and forget what’s important. I’m sorry if you’ve been waiting for me to come visit. Hopefully we can make up for some lost time while I’m here, though.” Levi walked over, knelt down, and ruffled Alex’s hair. “Seriously. I’m sorry I’ve been a crappy uncle.”
“You’re a cruncle.”
“What’s that?” Levi squinted.
“Crappy uncle—cruncle.” Alex laughed. “Actually, you’re a better cruncle than you are a quarterback.”
Levi flashed a rare, genuine smile, seeming amused at the little ball-buster his brother’s son had become. “Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome, Uncle Levi.”
***
Late that night, when I caught myself ruminating about whether I was right to fight Levi on selling The Palm Inn, I decided I needed a reminder of why I’d come back to Beaufort in the first place. So I took out the letter I’d written to myself years ago. I’d penned it right around the time I’d moved away to attend college at Syracuse with Tanner. At the time, I’d had no clue just how messed up things would get between us, or with my life, in general. I’d always kept the letter tucked inside an old book in the hopes that I’d find it at just the right time. It had come in handy a lot since finding out Thatcher had left Alex half of The Palm Inn. When I was considering whether to move home, I’d referred to the letter several times.
The thick, stiff paper crinkled as I unfolded it. Sitting back on the bed, I let the gentle night breeze coming in through the window comfort me.
Dear future self,
I sure hope you haven't screwed up your life. Because as of right now, as a high school senior, it's really great. You have no reason to have gone and messed it up. Maybe you haven’t—maybe you’re extremely successful. If that’s the case, this might be an even better opportunity to remind you of some things you might have forgotten over the years.
No amount of success in the world is worth forgetting what's really important. So, either you’re doing really well and need to hear this, or you’re in a bad place and need to hear it. Either way, you NEED to hear this.
Where is this all coming from? Well, from Mamaw, if you recall. You just had a long conversation with her out on the porch. And something told you that you needed to write it all down so you’d never forget any of the things she talked about tonight, because she might not be around by the time you read this. God, I can’t even fathom that. Anyway, I've documented everything for you here in this letter. So, here are all of the things Mamaw wants you to remember about life:
Be the type of woman who gives up your seat on the bus for someone who needs it. Even though this should be obvious, don't get so wrapped up in your own head that you don’t notice when someone needs a seat. That’s just one example. Bottom line, don’t be self-absorbed.
Next thing is that there's no such thing as not having time for the people you care about. You can always make time. Any excuse is bullcrap. Someday when you're old and gray, it's not gonna matter how much you worked or how much money you have. All you'll have left are the memories you made time for.
Remember, if you're not where you think you should be in life, it's never too late to change. But you don't need to be successful to be happy, because happiness IS success.
Find your purpose. It doesn't have to be anything grand. Even the man who shines shoes on the corner has a purpose. People walk away from him with an extra pep in their step, with an air of confidence they didn't have before. Maybe that person went on to ask out the future love of their life that day or took a job that would start their career. All because of that shoe shine.
That said, shine shoes or clean floors for a living if you have to—just don’t become dependent on a man. Always work hard so you can support yourself and never have to rely on anyone.
Don't go to bed angry. Because you might not wake up. And that would just suck.
Pick up your trash. Because who are you to pollute the Earth?
In summary, be nice to others, work hard, but also recognize that money and success aren’t anything if ya ain’t happy.
And most of all, according to Mamaw: never, ever forget where you came from.
A place where people say hello when they walk by you.
A place where connections with the people around you are more important than the type of car you drive or the brand of watch on your wrist.
Never forget the comfort of just sitting under an oak tree and watching that amazing southern sunset.
Never forget the taste of sweet tea made right.
And down-home cooking—if you don't find someone who can make it like Mamaw, make it your damn self! (Or learn if you still don't know how.)
And if for some reason you're reading this and missing home, maybe it's damn well time you went back.
Love,
You
Wiping a tear from my eye—as I always did when I thought about my grandmother—I carefully folded the paper and placed it back in my hardcover copy of I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou. Mamaw had passed away a couple of years after Alex was born. I liked to think she would have been proud of my plans to revive Thatcher’s place.
After I put the book back on my shelf, I looked out the window and noticed something moving out front. It was Levi. He was using a tree branch to do pull-ups. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who was restless and unable to sleep tonight.
