“Okay, add them to the list. What about Kirk and Dawn?”
“They’re a bit more traditional, I’m afraid. But I’ll invite them anyway. They can stay in the main camp with the normal folks.”
“You should probably call my mom and dad,” I added. “And the Coulters. Maybe some of the other couples from the old days.”
“So it’s ‘the old days’ now?” she teased.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes. And I’m one step ahead of you. I already made a note. If this is going to be the last year of the camp as we know it, we might as well go out with a bang.”
“It’s like you read my mind,” I chuckled.
* * *
We returned to Boston after Thanksgiving and celebrated Susie’s first birthday. I called Erin the next day and wished her a happy birthday as well. She was thirty.
“Are you doing anything special?” I asked.
“Dinner with friends,” she said vaguely.
“Guy friends?” I hinted.
“Sorry, Mom, I have to go.”
“Ha! Sorry, couldn’t resist. You know I’m kidding, right?”
“Yeah, I know. But she’s really starting to get on my nerves.”
“Eh, it’s what she does.”
“Yeah, I know,” Erin repeated. “I’ll get married when I’m ready. I need to meet a guy first.”
I heard something in her voice but couldn’t decide what it was. She continued before I could ask.
“I’m so busy with work. I swear, Paul, you have no idea how much money is here. Palm Beach gets all the headlines, but it’s really a small pool of clients. I mean, the big-name millionaires live there, but we have way more people on this side of the state.”
“And lemme guess,” I chuckled, “they all want trusts for their money.”
“It’s the best way to shelter that kind of wealth. Speaking of which, you and Christy need to let me set one up for you. Well, several, but we’ll get to that.”
“Why? We aren’t millionaires.”
“You’re probably closer than you think,” she said. “And what happens when Christy’s grandmother dies?”
“All her money is in trusts already. We get the statements every year.”
“Yes, but you need a trust that’s tailored to your needs, and especially to the girls’. There are some serious tax implications if you don’t. I mean, what would happen to them if you died? Do you even have a will?”
“Whoa, slow down, Clarence Darrow,” I laughed.
“Darrow was a criminal attorney,” Erin said with exaggerated patience. “It’s a completely different kind of law. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know. But he was the only lawyer I could think of.”
“Whatever. You need a will.”
“For the record, we have one. Nana C.’s lawyers wrote it for us.”
“Then I need to look at it. I guarantee it has—”
“Relax,” I told her. “You can look at it later. I just called to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Yeah, sorry. And thanks.”
“Now, you said you work too much? Seriously, Er, I tried calling you at home first.” I checked my watch. “It’s after eight. What’re you still doing in the office?”
“Working, you big dork!” she laughed. “But you’re right, I need to go. I’m meeting my friend at nine.”
“I thought you said friends, plural.”
“I did,” she lied. “Friends. So, I’d better get a move on. Love you. And thanks for calling. Give Christy a hug for me. And big kisses for the girls. Okay? Love you,” she repeated. “Bye.”
The line clicked, and I stared at the receiver.
Christy stuck her head into the bedroom. “Everything okay?”
“I think so,” I said after a moment. “But… Erin’s up to something.”
“Oh? What?”
“No clue. I’m pretty sure it involves a guy, though.”
“A guy? Oh my gosh, seriously? Do I need to call her?”
“No. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I said.
“Okay. In the meantime, I know three little girls who’d love some princess time.”
“Sounds good. Does the queen need some attention later?”
“She might,” Christy said coyly.
“Good. ’Cause I’m in the mood all of a sudden.”
“Then you’d better hurry up and get the girls to sleep.”
“Yes, your highness!”
* * *
A week after New Year’s, we survived the biggest nor’easter in years. The storm dumped eighteen inches of snow on Boston, although we were luckier than most. Some places received nearly four feet. Then the weather turned warm, and torrential rain washed away the snow like it had never been there.
Trip and I returned to school, and the weeks passed in a blur. We celebrated Emily’s fourth birthday in February, but I barely had time for anything else. March and April were the same, a rush of classes and work. Christy spent a week editing and typing up my master’s thesis. Trip tried to get her to do the same for his business case study, but she said she was too busy.
“He can hire someone,” she said. “They can afford it. Maybe some poor undergrad.”
“Yeah, but you know Trip,” I chuckled. “He’s… um… frugal.”
“He’s cheap, you mean. Besides, I already watch their kids. What else do they want me to do?”
“Fair enough.” I shrugged. “He’ll probably get one of Wren’s interns to do it.”
“Ugh! Don’t get me started on her, either,” Christy said.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know!”
* * *
In May we began planning our next career move. Trip wanted to move back to Atlanta and start a design company, and I was all for it. Christy was too, which left Wren as the lone holdout.
In true Wren fashion, she’d been promoted twice at the sporting goods company, to the point where she currently managed an entire team of PR specialists who handled athlete endorsements, product placement, and sponsorship opportunities. Her salary had grown accordingly, and she was on track for a director’s job in a few years.
“Why do you always do this to me?” she accused Trip.
“Babe! I swear, I’m not doing it on purpose!”
“Just when I get settled in a job and see a real opportunity for advancement,” she huffed.
“You always knew this was a two-year gig,” he said. “We’re here for school, that’s it.”
“What about me? What about my ‘gig’?”
“What about mine?” Christy said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wren snapped. Then she heard herself and softened her tone. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m just upset that—”
“I know why you’re upset,” Christy said, “but at least you have a job. What about me?”
“But… the kids’re your job. I thought you liked being a stay-at-home mom.”
“Since you asked… I don’t. I do it because I don’t have a choice.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“What good would it’ve done?” Christy griped. “You work all the time. Paul and Trip are in school. And I’m the one who’s stuck with the kids all day. I don’t have a studio! I don’t have a job! I don’t have anything! And I’m tired of you complaining about your life and your career! What about me and mine? Ugh!”
We sat in stunned silence.
“I don’t think you understand what it’s like for me,” Christy continued in a tone that was only slightly calmer. “You leave for work every day and don’t think twice about the kids—”
“I do too!” Wren cried.
“No, you don’t,” Christy said implacably. “You have a job and people under you and a million things to keep you occupied. You even bring work home with you. I’m surprised you aren’t on your phone right now!”
Almost on cue, Wren jumped as if she’d been stung by a wasp. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her buzzing phone. It was new, one of the little ones that closed like a clamshell. She opened it and stared at the incoming number. She agonized for a moment but then closed it. The phone buzzed rhythmically until the call went to voicemail.