Hope Over Fear (Over #1) (4 page)

“Oh, it’s always different! Don’t even act like that was your first mishap. You are a woman of many talents, but marrying off your children is not one of them!” Alex teases.

I can’t help but wonder if Sue Ellen would find me to be a suitable match for her son if she knew I grew up in a house about a tenth of the size of this one. My mother and I are rich in many ways, but money was always tight in my house growing up. My dad was a police officer who died in the line of duty when I was three years old, and my mother tried to save every penny of his pension for me to go to college. Instead of silver spoons and china, it was paper plates and Tupperware. I’m extremely proud of the way I was raised and the work ethic my mother instilled in me. I’m just not sure Sue Ellen would feel the same way.

“Momma, I’d like to take Sara on a tour of the grounds, if you don’t mind …”

“Of course, honey, of course. The golf cart is in the garage with the keys inside,” Sue Ellen offers helpfully. “Why don’t you and Sara be ready for dinner about six o’clock? Daddy would like to take us for dinner at the club. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great, thank you,” Alex answers after glancing at me for approval.

Alex and I hop into the golf cart and take off onto the course. “Since I’ve lived in Oakborne Country Club my entire life, I don’t think you’ll find anyone, aside from my father, to give you a more thorough tour.”

Now, I know jack shit about golf courses, but it must be said that this place looks top notch. The course itself is immaculately groomed, with an Olympic-sized swimming pool and tennis courts near the clubhouse. There are other homes on the golf course, all beautiful and imposing, but none as magnificent as Alex’s family home. The valets in front of the clubhouse stand at attention, ready to serve the wealthy clientele of Oakborne.

When Alex finishes the “official” tour, she drives our cart to the 18
th
hole and parks. Right past the putting green is a pond with a beautiful water oak situated right beside it. The tree has sprawling branches dripping with Spanish moss that reach down and touch the ground in several places like nature made benches for us to sit on. I can almost picture a young Alex sitting on the branches—dangling her legs and daydreaming.

“Take a seat with me?” Alex offers, smiling.

“Sure thing. What a beautiful spot. I’d love the solitude.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve come here and spent the day more times than I can count. This was my favorite drawing spot as a child. Some of the most memorable times of my life happened under this oak tree. But I can imagine you’d rather me explain a few things than just enjoy the silence, am I right?”

“Well, now that you mention it …” After taking it all in this afternoon, I’m bursting with curiosity.

“My family has owned Oakborne Country Club for three generations. It would be accurate to say that I had a … privileged … upbringing. But with privilege comes responsibility; something that my father reminded me of often. My parents had my life planned out for me from the time I was a little girl. I’m going to lay out the condensed version for you, okay?” Alex inhales a deep breath. “Okay, here goes. I was to attend Riverside Preparatory School, where I would, of course, excel. When I wasn’t studying, I was supposed to spend my free time learning “suitable” hobbies, such as piano, painting, and tennis. After graduating at the top of my class from Riverside Prep, I was to be introduced to society as a Cedar Ridge debutante. I would attend Tulane University—go Green Waves—to earn my degree. It doesn’t really matter what type of degree; what did matter was that I find a “suitable” husband. We would be married at St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans, a 300-400 guest affair, followed by a month-long honeymoon traveling through Europe. Upon our return, I would begin my wifely duties. What do wifely duties consist of, you may ask? Well, I would need to sit on the board of several prestigious charities, be the perfect hostess for my husband’s business associates and friends, and most importantly, start having children right away. Are you tired yet? I’m fucking exhausted just thinking about it.”

I can’t help the fact that I’m looking at Alex like she’s just sprouted two heads and a tail. I can’t imagine Alex doing any of the things that she just laid out for me. The Alex I know and love is as far from a Stepford wife as it gets.

“Alex, none of that sounds like you … I mean, I’m sure you were at the top of your class, but all the rest of that crap, no. It just sounds so shallow and pretentious, and you are
not
either of those things.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Alex giggles.

“You should, because that’s how it was meant.”

“Well, anyway, I’m sure it’s obvious that I had a hard time fitting into the mold that was pushed upon me. My parents’ plan wasn’t even close to what I imagined for my life. Luckily, I found my true passion while learning one of my “suitable” hobbies—painting. So I did the only thing I could do … I rewrote my story.” Alex grins, and I can’t help but laugh. Only she could make defying her parents look cute.

“Just like that, huh?” I chuckle.

“Okay, so there was a little more to it than that. Without telling my parents, my guidance counselor and I sent in an application to The Art Institute of New York. Not only was I accepted, I received a full scholarship. Bye bye, Green Wave!” Alex said as she waved her hands back and forth.

“I bet that went over like a box of fuckin’ rocks with your parents … am I right?” I ask.

“You would be correct. That was a really hard summer, but I stood my ground. They told me I was on my own in New York; I shouldn’t expect any financial help from them. I knew it would be very expensive, but my tuition, room and board, and meal plan were paid. I felt sure that I could get a part-time job to help with incidentals. And as time wore on, their resolve started to waver. I think their acceptance was helped along by one thing in particular—well, two things actually.” Alex explained, “First of all, of course, my parents love me. I don’t mean to make them seem like bad people, because nothing could be further from the truth. My parents are wonderful people who just have a certain way of looking at things. They loved me enough to let me explore my dreams in New York. It just took a while to come to that conclusion.”

“And the second thing?” I ask.

“Ah, yes, the second thing. My paintings didn’t suck; it’s just that simple.” She shrugs and snickers.

I throw my head back, laughing out loud. What an understatement. It’s amazing that Alex can create such beauty from nothing. Talent like that shouldn’t be suppressed.

“And it’s not like you’re a bag lady pushing your shopping cart up and down the street. You’re a successful artist who runs her own gallery. That’s got to count for something in “the land of the boring and pretentious,” right?”

“That’s true, but they didn’t know that at the time. I’m sure they pictured their sweet little girl hustling people on the streets of New York City to sell $20 portraits. What a travesty!” Alex jokes sarcastically.

“Well, it seems to have all worked out for the best. Your mom seems like she’s bursting with pride over her beautifully talented daughter.”

“We’ve come a long way,” she states simply.

Alex rests her head on the tree branch and closes her eyes, swimming in her thoughts. I follow suit, and let the sun warm my face as I contemplate all Alex has shared today. I think most parents have a vision about the path of their children’s lives. I think we all hope that vision is slightly more abstract than what Alex’s parents dreamed up. I admire the eighteen-year-old girl who stood up for what she wanted out of life.

I open my eyes and turn to Alex. “So I have to ask … how are you liking your story so far?” I smirk and raise my eyebrows up and down.

“I’m pretty pumped about it, if I do say so myself,” she says as her eyes light up with laughter, but I notice a slight strain in her smile.

Alex quiets down and stares at me curiously—like she’s trying to figure something out. If she’s trying to figure out my messed up head, she’s in for quite a conundrum. That’s one mind fuck of a puzzle, and she shouldn’t waste her time.

“You know, my mother’s right. I never bring friends home with me,” Alex states cryptically.

“Hey, were you afraid we would embarrass you?” I joke, taking Alex off guard. “I may not be a debutante, but I promise I’ll use the right fork. Well, most of the time, anyway … that shit can get a little confusing!”

“Of course I’m not embarrassed of y’all. I just want people’s opinion of me and my art to actually be about
me
. If people knew the type of family I came from, one of two things would happen. They would buy my art or be my friend because I come from an affluent family. Or they would never buy my art or be my friend because I come from an affluent family. I just want people to make their decisions about me based on how I make them feel and how my art makes them feel. Because of that, I’ve compartmentalized my life. I didn’t mean for it to happen; it just did.”

“Well, you know I love you, babe. Without you to balance us out, what would Marlo and I do? Post bail several times a year, that’s what!” I exclaim.

“I’d expect nothing less from you two! But seriously, I brought you here with an ulterior motive. I hope you won’t be angry with me, but I’m kind of staging a little one-woman intervention.” Alex cringes. Well, this doesn’t sound like very much fun …

“Just hear me out, Sara. I’ve been waiting for you to get out of this funk for months now. I’ve been biting my tongue, but I can’t anymore. I don’t think I’m doing you any favors by pretending everything is fine. So here goes …” Alex sucks in a deep breath and then exhales loudly. “I don’t like the story you’re writing for yourself.”

Alex sighs in relief, like this news is a ten-ton weight lifted off her chest. Unfortunately, I feel like she’s taken it off her and thrown that weight directly onto me.

“Well, Alex, I apologize if my choices in life are disappointing to
you
,” I reply stiffly. I feel myself bristling even more as I digest Alex’s words.

“I’m sorry, this isn’t coming out the way I had planned. Let me try to explain. I just told you that my parents decided who I was, and they expected me to fit that mold. But they obviously got it wrong. Well, ever since you and Mason split up, I think you have decided that you’re the villain and you don’t deserve to be happy. And you have it all wrong, too. You’re messing up your story. You are not a villain, Sara.”

“Well, let’s face it, I’m definitely not the good guy …”

“I don’t believe there are good guys and bad guys in this instance. You are a beautiful, kind, and loving person who made a hasty decision—which just makes you human. All these months, you just keep your head down and your mouth shut. You don’t even defend yourself when people make assumptions about you. I know they would feel differently if you would just tell them the truth. I think you’ve punished yourself enough, don’t you?”

Alex holds eye contact with me, not allowing me to look away. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to spill over. “I feel like today is the turning point for me, ya know? Mason has moved on, and I am willing myself to do the same. Honestly, I don’t care what
people
think about me. I won’t be able to change their mind—do you think they give a shit about semantics or my motivation? I won’t need to defend myself with the people who are my true friends. They know that I’m a good person who made a bad decision for all the right reasons … and I’m finally starting to get that, too.”

“I’m going to make changes in my life—changes that will make me proud of who I am. I don’t want to feel ashamed anymore. I’m tired of feeling guilty. I know you’re right. I’ve bowed out of life and let things just keep on going around me. I’m going to try to change that, I promise. I guess I’m a work in progress …” My lips turn up in a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.

“You’re already someone I’m proud of, and I love you for it, babe!” Alex replies, attempting to lighten the mood. She lies back onto her branch and closes her eyes again, soaking up the sun. “I have a suggestion for both of our future stories. We both need to put a hot man in the mix … and very soon!”

“Not just any hot man,” I joke. “A hot fireman!”

“With an extra-large hose, if you know what I mean! Ha!”

“Wow, that got raunchy quick.”

We spend a good part of the afternoon resting on that water oak, napping and relaxing. If I plan on all these life changes, I figure I should get my rest while I can.