Page 93 of The Long Way Home
“I think we’ll take another round, if you don’t mind,” Anderson says, lifting his nearly empty glass.
“Sure thing.” She pats him on the shoulder and heads off to the kitchen.
Wes takes out his phone and shoves it toward Connor. “Check this out. Dude passed out on my flight. I swear to you, he didn’t move the whole time. Thought I was going to have to check his pulse.”
“Oh my God, he looks embalmed.” Connor cackles.
Anderson snorts. “I’ve been there. That’s what thirty-thousand feet and three bourbons’ll do to you.”
The food comes ten minutes later. Hot, heavy and exactly what we all needed.
I lean back in the booth, dragging a fry through ketchup. “Anderson, does Margo still have the old lake house?”
Connor’s brows lift. “Wait—you have a lake house?”
Anderson nods once. “It was Josh’s, and after he passed, it went to Margo. But she doesn’t like going up there alone, so I’ve kept it up. Why?”
This is perfect. Rachel always loved that house.
I can still see her on the porch, feet kicked up on the railing. She was always laughing like the world couldn’t touch her if it tried. The lake air used to make her lighter. Freer. It was the one place she didn’t fold in on herself.
Out there, she was just Rachel—the one who cannonballed off the dock without thinking, who stayed up too late playing cards, who sang off-key and loud enough to wake the neighbors.
I’ve never seen her more alive than at that house.
I rub the back of my neck. “I need a break from work. I was thinking, what if we went up to the lake house as a group?”
Anderson shoots me a small grin. “Yeah, I think that’s a great fucking idea, Rhett. No work, no stress. My three favorite things: my wife, food and beer. Maybe some time on the water if the weather’s decent.”
“I’m in. When?” Connor leans forward.
“I’ll check the calendar, but sometime this month. Friday to Sunday. You, me, Rhett, Margo, Rachel and Slone too, if she’s free.”
Wes lifts his drink. “What, I don’t get an invite?”
“Sorry, I can’t keep track of your schedule,” Anderson adds. “You’re invited if you can make it. The more the better.”
Connor chuckles. “Does Slone know she’s being volunteered to join?”
“She’ll deal, or maybe she’ll bring a friend.”
I eye my phone for a second, then pocket it. “We should do Labor Day Weekend, the extended weekend would probably be easier for everyone’s schedules.”
“Perfect,” Wes agrees.
Anderson raises his glass toward the center of the table. “To a weekend off the damn grid.”
The rest of us follow suit, glasses clinking together with a solid thud. This is going to be great, as long as Rachel doesn’t bring Ben.
The rest of the time at Gritty’s flies by, the hours slipping past in a haze of laughter, half-finished drinks and Connor’s terrible jokes. By the time nine thirty rolls around, my body is exhausted, and I feel the familiar tug of home calling me.
“I think I’m gonna head home, guys,” I say, shifting in the booth until I can manage to stand. My legs feel like lead.
“Yeah, me too. I’m desperate for some alone time with Margo,” Anderson chimes in.
Connor scoffs dramatically. “Ew, Anderson, you’ve gotten so soft.”
“Just wait until you find your girl, Westbrook,” Anderson shoots back, grinning. “I bet you’ll be just the same. There isn’t anything in this world that will stop me from going home to her.”
