Page 32 of The Leaving Kind
“Are you putting in a hedge?”
“No, a tree. But Cam generally seems to know what he’s doing. There will be a reason why the hole is so big.”
“Cam?”
“The landscape guy.”
Victor could feel Sage’s attention like an itch on the side of his face. He turned to his son. “He delivered the mulch and trees and then offered to spread and dig.”
A hint of a smile twitched across Sage’s mouth. “Uh-huh.”
“It’s not like that. Besides, I’m still getting over Tholo.”
“I think you were over Tholo a while ago.”
“Then why did I spend a week crying into every bottle of wine in the house, hm?” Victor had tried to inject a tone of you think you’re so smart into his retort but succeeded only in sounding petulant.
“Because you live for excuses to swan around in silk and faint onto nearby couches, a bottle of whatever clutched in your hand.”
“That’s ...” Victor spluttered for about ten seconds before giving into laughter. “Entirely true. For the record”—he sought a contrite expression—“I’d been sober for at least twenty-four hours before Billy’s party. I was sleeping it all off when your mother found me.”
“She told me.”
Victor’s phone burbled with a familiar ringtone. Anticipation warred with lightly buttered dread as he retrieved it from his pocket and woke the screen. “Jazmine! How lovely to hear from you.” Victor arched his eyebrows at his son.
Sage returned a smirk. He knew Jazmine. She’d been Victor’s agent since about the time Sage had started kindergarten.
“Hallo, Victor.” Jazmine had a smooth voice that always reminded Victor of Lindor chocolate ads. “Is this a good time?”
No small talk? A prickle of unease touched the back of his neck. “It’s always a good time. You know that. What’s up?”
“Natali Wirth is bumping your show.”
Victor parsed each word twice and still didn’t quite understand what Jazmine had said. “What do you mean?”
“The official word is that they’ve been presented with a one-time opportunity to showcase an emerging talent and the only dates they can accommodate her are September fifteenth through the thirtieth.”
“But that’s when they’re supposed to be accommodating me.” He’d been exhibiting with Natali Wirth ever since they opened in New York. “I’m a cornerstone. They can’t bump me.”
“Actually, they can.”
“But ... how?”
“The numbers for your last show dipped below contractual obligations.”
“They what?” At Victor’s screech, a bird startled out of the garden. Billy squealed, clapped, and tottered toward the edge of the patio. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“I told them it was a blip.”
“A blip.”
“A momentary—”
“I know what a fucking blip is. What I’m asking is why no one told me about this fucking blip.”
Sage put a finger to his lips and jerked his head in Billy’s direction.
With a frustrated wave, Victor strode to the opposite side of the patio. He’d need to burn off some energy soon. He’d start by circling the house a few times. Perhaps if he walked fast enough, he’d be too tired to see if there was any wine left in the dining room.