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When I first came here, I was blown away by how big it was. Bookshelves line three of four walls and a huge window overlooks the city, letting sunlight splash in on the cozy plush sofas and chairs in the center of the room.
“Here,” I say, nodding to the wall beside the door and the photos I’ve glimpsed before.
They range from old black-and-white images to grainy color to sharp modern photographs.
“Why don’t you give me a quick tour of your life? Tell me about these pictures.”
He sighs but reaches out and taps one of the black-and-white ones.
“These are my great grandparents,” he says. “My great grandfather was at the beating heart of the Kansas City machine in those days. He helped make Harry Truman a senator, and then a two-term president. He was the only man not in the military or the administration to know something was brewing with the Manhattan Project before the bombs dropped.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded.
“You realize that’s insane, right?”
He shrugs. “It’s my life. We’ve had money and influence for a long damned time in this town. I suppose it’s like anywhere, though, thriving off connections and cliques. Here, there was always a Rory in the middle of the web.”
I can’t imagine.
Having his money or a history that involves that much crushing wealth and influence.
“So, these photos are like every generation of your family?” I ask, nodding to the next set in faded early color. Grandparents, parents, then finally the three Rory brothers. They’re younger in the photo, separated by a few years, but Dexter still stands out.
He’s this lanky boy, perched between his brothers. A perfect middle child in a striped shirt. Archer wears a tight half smile, and little Patton has the cheesiest grin ever.
“That’s right.” Dex pauses in front of the picture of his parents. They look like they’re on vacation or something and definitely not here. They’re skiing in the mountains, their glasses pushed up on their heads, huge smiles shining against a snowy backdrop.
From the way her hair looks, it must’ve been the nineties.
“They look happy,” I say.
“They were.” He glances down at me, his fingers tightening around mine. “I know how it looks to someone like you, Junie. All this wealth and prestige, ready to serve us the second we snap our fingers.”
“It’s a little crazy,” I admit breathlessly. “But you’re so levelheaded about it. And, um, big house aside, I think you could flash your money a whole lot more if you wanted to.”
He nods thoughtfully, his eyes still glued to the makeshift gallery.
“We were all born with silver spoons in our mouths, but my brothers and I never settled for the easy life. We had good parents and decent childhoods. We did well enough in school. We could’ve glided on our trust funds forever, and maybe that’s what would’ve happened once. Then fate intervened.” He pauses, a frown slashing across his face. “My father died in a plane crash when I was nineteen. Nothing was ever quite the same after that. The shock, I guess, it gives you a visceral idea of just how short life can be. You start to wonder what you’re doing here.”
I nudge a little closer, my own throat tightening.
“I’m sorry. I know how hard it is, losing a parent…”
“The shitty thing is, he insisted on flying that thing, this ultralight that could barely get off the ground. Terrible hobby and stubborn asshole. A lawnmower with cardboard wings would’ve been safer. Mom told him no and he went and did it anyway. It’s one of the reasons Archer’s so against taking big risks. He remembers it like I do, better than Patton.”
Catness strolls into the room just then, mewling loudly and swishing his tail as he looks at us. It’s like he can read the room as he struts over and twines between our legs before settling on the floor.
“What about you?” Dex asks, his voice low. “What about your folks?”
“Oh. Nana didn’t tell you?” I lose a breath. It’s been a long time now, but it still hurts like yesterday. “My dad, he… he left when I was young. After my mother died, I guess he couldn’t take it. He wanted a different life. He worked a lot and came home to me and one day he just snapped. About eight or nine years ago now. He dropped me off at Nana’s and never came back.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s fucking despicable.”
Now it’s my turn to shrug and look away.
The less I think about my dead mom and daddy abandonment trauma, the better.
“What made you choose rentals?” I ask, relieved my voice is still steady. “Why real estate? Of everything you could’ve done with your brothers and that money, you chose this.”
