Apotheosis

by Joshua Edward Smith

  “Your ass a little sore from last night?” Patrick asked.

  Deena glared at him, then broke into a smile. “Seems that way,” she said. “Daddy wasn’t too pleased I was texting at the dinner table.”

  “I knew it!” Cynthia said. “I thought I saw that dynamic between you two.”

  “Really? I’m surprised,” Deena said. “Most people are oblivious.”

  “But Patrick obviously knows,” Cynthia said, her face on the floor between her legs.

  “Well it’s not like we keep it a secret. I mean—we do from the kids. But it’s just who we are, you know?”

  “I don’t really. Only what I’ve read in romance novels,” Cynthia replied, moving to the next position.

  The three did their yoga silently for a few minutes.

  “How old is this tape?” Deena asked. “They all have nineties hair.”

  “Exactly as old as you think,” Cynthia said.

  “Well this has been fun, but I’m going to go for that run now,” Patrick said. “Have fun you two.”

  Ten more minutes passed. Deena had no trouble with the positions, so Cynthia assumed she did yoga regularly as well. “You have great balance,” Cynthia said.

  “Comes in handy sometimes,” Deena replied with a wink. “Say, you wouldn’t be interested in joining us, would you? Daddy loves it when I bring him someone to play with.”

  Cynthia blushed. “Oh, that’s… flattering I guess? But no. Definitely not my scene.”

  “Probably for the best,” Deena said with a little laugh. “I think Patrick is into you anyway. Probably turn into a whole big thing.”

  “Patrick and I had a nice moment last night on the swing,” Cynthia said. “He seems like a really great guy.”

  “He’s a flake. But with a body like that, who cares, right?” Deena said.

  Cynthia laughed. “Does Phillip know you talk about his brother that way?”

  “Yeah. As long as it’s just talk, he allows it.”

  The two continued in silence until the tape ended. Cynthia set the tape to rewind and turned off the TV. She and Deena rolled up the yoga mats and put them away. Then they headed out into the main lobby. Emma was putting out a breakfast buffet like it was any other day at the inn.

  “You don’t have to do that, Momma!” Deena said.

  “I know. But it’s my way. I got my routine, you know. Don’t worry. I didn’t make too much. Just what we’d normally need for five adults and three kids.”

  “Bacon!” Phillip the third was running down the stairs, chanting “Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!”

  “I guess he likes bacon,” Cynthia said.

  “What gave it away?” Deena asked. She knelt down and gave her son a hug, then helped him collect a plate of bacon and cantaloupe, and got him settled at a table while she found him some juice.

  The other two children came down the stairs with less enthusiasm. Cynthia poured herself a coffee and found a place to watch the activities of the morning. Soon everyone except Patrick, who was still running, was downstairs getting breakfast and talking about the day ahead. The plan seemed to center on taking the kids to visit the Point Reyes Lighthouse as early in the day as possible to avoid the afternoon crowds.

  Emma sat down next to her. “I’m so happy,” she said, giving Cynthia’s leg a squeeze. “I don’t know how you made this happen. My kids almost never visit, and when they do, it’s certainly not at the same time.” She sat with Cynthia and watched the action awhile. “In a way, it’s like they never left. Except where’s Patrick?”

  Right on cue, Patrick came in the front door. He was shirtless and sweaty and looked like he belonged on the cover of a romance novel. “Put some clothes on, boy!” his mother called.

  “Yes, Momma,” he said, and headed straight for the stairs to the guest rooms.

  “That boy is too pretty for his own good,” Emma mused. “I think he might have taken a shine to you.”

  Cynthia smiled. “Seems that way.”

  Emma looked at her and studied her expression for a moment, then smiled and nodded and turned back to watch her brood.

  ¤

  “So what’s it cost per night?” Phillip asked. The three siblings, Emma, and Cynthia were seated around the kitchen table with Cynthia’s laptop and Emma’s paper ledger.

  “The rack rate is three-fifty, but nobody pays that. We average about two-fifty,” Cynthia explained.

  “So with what… nine rooms?” he asked.

  “Yes, the maximum we could gross is about eight hundred K” she replied, anticipating his next question.

  Phillip nodded. “And occupancy?”

  “About sixty-five percent. So we’re on track to gross five hundred for the year,” she said. “Maybe a little more.”

  “Op-ex?” he asked.

  “Two, two-fifty per annum. Hard to say exactly, since there’s so much deferred maintenance.”

  “And bats,” Emma chimed in.

  “Oh yeah. Those fucking bats killed us. But I’m anticipating annual EBITDA of around three hundred, give or take,” Cynthia said.

  “Do you have any idea what they are talking about?” Paula asked Patrick.

  “Not a clue. But it’s fun to listen to,” he replied.

  Phillip said, “EBITDA is earnings before—”

  “Nobody fucking cares, big brother,” Paula said.

  Cynthia and Emma laughed.

  “Okay,” Phillip continued, “so that explains this monster bank balance then.”

  “Isn’t it something?” Emma said. “Miss Cynthia got here and I was basically living hand-to-mouth. Never quite sure how I was going to pay the next bill that comes in. And now look at us. She even gave Billy and the girls a paid vacation! I don’t know how she done it.”

  “And you reorganized?” he asked.

  “Yes. Phillips House LLC. She was running it as a DBA all these years, which was killing her with liability insurance,” Cynthia said.

  The three children ran into the kitchen, followed closely by Deena. “Sorry for the interruption,” she said. “The grown-ups are still busy kids, let’s go play some cornhole out back.” The children cheered and ran back out.

  “But,” Phillip continued unfazed, “LLC needs at least two members, right? Or did they change that?”

  “Cynthia is my partner,” Emma said. “I was going to go fifty-fifty, but she insisted we go sixty-forty. Said I should have a bigger slice because of my sweat equity.” Emma held up her arm to show off her bicep muscle, which was not the least bit visible.

  “Hold up,” Paula said. “I don’t understand much of what y’all are saying, but I think you just said she owns a forty percent stake in the inn.”

  “That’s what she said,” Phillip replied. “And I assume that you both take a small salary, and rely instead on profit distributions from the LLC, in order to avoid payroll taxes?”

  “Exactly,” Cynthia said. “I looked at how much Emma was living on before I got here and used that as the basis for our salaries. It’s not a lot, but the accountant said that was a perfectly valid approach if we ever get audited. She’s saving a ton in self employment taxes this way.”

  “I bet,” Phillip said. “Well, I can’t argue with the results. How come you’re leaving so much in the bank?” he asked.

  “As I said—deferred maintenance,” Cynthia replied. “The roof, the siding, the sills, who knows what giant bill is going to hit us when we don’t expect it. So it just seems safer that way. We can do distributions whenever Emma feels like it. It’s up to her, because of her controlling share.”

  “Not to be crude, but Momma gave forty percent of my kid’s inheritance to this woman,” Paula said. “I’m not sure I’m okay with that.”

  “Funny how that works,” Emma said. “You don’t get a vote.”

  Phillip smiled and chuckled. “Listen, Paula. The way things were going here before Cynthia arrived, your kid wasn’t getting an inheritance. With all the deferred maintenance, the building probably
would have just covered existing debts. It was securing a fairly big line of credit, which has been dragging this place down since Poppa died.”

  “Hmph,” Paula replied.

  “Now, assuming Momma’s splitting things equal between the grandchildren, and nobody has any more kids, Maddy is looking at getting a twenty percent piece of a going concern, instead of a third of a hot cup of nothing.”

  “What do you think?” Paula asked Patrick.

  He shrugged. “It’s Momma’s business. She can do whatever she wants.” He turned to Emma and asked, “How’s that work with the inheritance? Kids can’t make business decisions, right?”

  “My interest in the Phillips House goes into a trust when I pass. Phillip’s agreed to be the trustee, which means he’ll make the business decisions,” Emma explained.

  “And then there’s the codicil,” Cynthia added.

  “The what now?” Paula asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Emma said. “The way the LLC is set up, when I pass, Cynthia has the option to buy up to a quarter of my interest at a fair market price. That would give her a controlling stake in the inn. My lawyer suggested that, because he said having a trustee making day-to-day operational decisions usually turns into a big mess.”

  “That’s a really good idea,” Phillip said. “As trustee, I don’t think I’d really have time to look at every expense.”

  “This discussion has turned super morbid,” Patrick offered. “What’s the dinner plan?”

  “I’m making dinner tonight,” Emma said. “In fact, unless you all have any more questions, I really need to get cracking. There’s a lot to do.”

  “I’ll help you, Momma,” Patrick said. “Just tell me what to do.”

  “Go out to the vegetable garden and get whatever’s ready. We’ll figure it out from there.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and headed for the back door.

  Everyone else got up from the table, and Cynthia gathered the ledger and computer. As they walked out, Phillip put his hand on Cynthia’s back. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done here. It’s like heaven delivered an angel to take care of her.”

  Cynthia blushed. “It’s kind of the other way around. I was pretty much a disaster when she took me in. And I’ve had some serious health issues since then. She’s been taking care of me more than I’ve been taking care of her.”

  “Symbiosis, maybe,” he said.

  “Yeah. I like that. Symbiosis,” she said.

  Paula rolled her eyes.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Patrick volunteered to help Cynthia wash dishes after dinner. She washed and he dried. He kept brushing up against her, and every time he did, she got a flutter in her belly. The kitchen was small—she entertained the possibility that it was accidental, but she thought it unlikely. She was reasonably sure he was flirting.

  After they finished, they stepped out to the lobby. Everyone was in the game room. The kids were watching Bedknobs and Broomsticks on DVD, Matthew was sitting in the high-back chair reading a book, and the rest of the adults were crowded around a table working on a jigsaw puzzle. “Let’s go for a ride,” Patrick whispered in Cynthia’s ear. “I’ll show you my old haunts.”

  “I bet you will,” she said as she put her arm around him and guided him toward the door. Cynthia had no idea what she was doing. She had gone from full-on spinster to having two real male prospects in what felt like no time at all. She wasn’t ready for it. But she also didn’t want to squander her chance. Whereas Charlie had some long-term boyfriend potential, Patrick was fling material. He didn’t live nearby. She wasn’t sure if he even had a real job—Paula certainly didn’t think he had one. But he was so nice to look at.

  They settled into his car. Cynthia wasn’t sure what kind it was, but it was sporty, and when the engine roared to life she nearly had an orgasm from the vibrations. She melted into the leather and grinned, turning her head to watch the sinew of Patrick’s forearms as he gripped the wheel and dramatically pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

  He clearly knew the roads well. In no time they were speeding through the dark around tight corners, up and down small hills, and between trees that threatened to leap into their path at any moment. “That’s where I went to school. That was my Cub Scout den mother’s house. My best friend lived there, but he moved away in fourth grade.” The peculiar memoir/star-tour continued for a while, until he seemed to run out of places to point out. Cynthia felt like they might be lost, since it was dark, there were no signs anywhere, and the roads felt more like forest paths than actual roads. However, Patrick seemed to know what he was doing. He grew up here. Of course he knew.

  The car slowed, and Cynthia thought they were going off-road, but then realized Patrick had turned onto a dirt road that shot off the main road at a funny angle. He drove slowly over the bumpy ground and stopped when the trees opened up. In front of them was a wide open area, and she could see the stars when he turned off his headlights. There was no light pollution at all.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “Yeah, nature’s drive-in,” he replied.

  “Was this your destination all along?”

  “Yeah. I used to take girls here, back in high school. Nobody else knew about it. The road isn’t labeled or anything.”

  “How’d you find it?”

  “Just out running one day. I was in cross country in high school. I’d go on these super long runs, and I noticed the old logging road or whatever this is. And came down here.” He reclined his seat and opened the windows. Cynthia reclined hers to match. He put his hand on her thigh.

  “I bet you’ve had a lot of car sex out here, huh?” she asked.

  Patrick didn’t answer. She glanced over at him and saw him smiling.

  “I’m too old for car sex,” she said. “In case you had any ideas.”

  “You do yoga. I bet you’d be able to manage,” he said, his hand sliding up her thigh, getting dangerously close to discovering her level of arousal.

  “Yeah. You’re probably right,” she agreed.

  The two lay there, reclined in their seats for a few minutes, silent. Patrick’s hand continued to wander. Cynthia didn’t object, although she really wasn’t sure she wanted things to proceed past the heavy petting stage.

  “I’m probably not ready,” she confessed. “I’m not telling you to stop, but I’m also warning you that I’ll probably tell you to stop.”

  Patrick rolled onto his side, facing her. She rolled to her side, mirroring his pose. Patrick reached over and unbuttoned her blouse halfway, then ran his fingers gently along her bra line. Cynthia felt her nipples pressing against the fabric, and the wetness released between her legs. “Oh fuck,” she said.

  “Shh,” he said, sliding his hand under the bra, moving it ever so slowly toward the nipple.

  “Okay, stop now,” Cynthia said.

  Patrick looked at her. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’m in a funny place. My body wants you to climb on top of me and fuck me senseless. I’m absolutely sure you’re capable of completely wrecking me. But I’m just not the fling type. It would feel great and then feel really hollow. And then I’ll see you in a year when you visit your Momma again, and it’ll be all weird.”

  Patrick smiled, as he retracted his hand and started to button Cynthia’s blouse. “It’s fine. I understand,” he said.

  “Do you… I don’t know. Do you want me to relieve the pressure I created?”

  He burst out laughing. “Jesus Christ, we are both back in high school, aren’t we? No, I’m a grown-ass man. I can relieve my own pressure if I need to. It was sweet… weird, but sweet of you to offer.”

  Cynthia could feel herself blushing and covered her face with her hands. She rolled onto her back in the seat. “I have no idea what I’m doing! I am too old to learn how to date boys.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Patrick said, starting the car. Cynthia felt the engine rumble between her now dripping
wet legs.

  “I really like this car,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he replied, turning to back carefully up the road they had taken to the clearing. “Let’s get a drink someplace,” he said as he pulled onto the main road.

  ¤

  “I found a dive bar not too far from here,” Cynthia offered.

  “Yeah, I know which one you mean. We used to try to sneak in there when we were kids. They never served us. Anyway, good plan.” Patrick drove them to the place Cynthia was thinking of, and soon they were sitting at the bar. Cynthia had a Tanqueray and Tonic, and Patrick ordered a local microbrew they had on tap.

  “Do you think they’re wondering where we are?” she asked.

  Right on cue, Patrick’s phone started buzzing. “Yup.” He picked it up and had a short text chat. “Paula and Matt are coming to join us.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.”

  “She said the kids dug in to a second movie, and Phillip and Deena will keep an eye on things. I think they get a little stir crazy there.”

  “I never feel that way in the inn. Although I often see my desk and think of twelve dozen things I could be doing. Living at the office is not always so great,” Cynthia said.

  “I don’t really have an office,” Patrick said. “Well, maybe my car is my office. I mostly do house calls.”

  “What do you do, exactly?” she asked.

  “I help people with too much money stay healthy. It’s a mix of life coaching, physical training, and diet. I plan meals for people so they avoid eating out. I do the personal trainer thing, where I make them do twenty more squats or whatever. I talk through their problems with them, although I’m not a licensed therapist, so I need to tread carefully there.”

  “That’s a pretty cool gig. How’d you end up doing that?”

  “I just kind of fell into it. I started as a personal trainer, and then I noticed that some of my clients were undermining their own progress with a terrible diet, or unmanaged stress, or whatever. I show people how to meditate.”

  “That’s great. Emma cooks most of my meals, so I’m not eating processed junk, but you know your mother.”