Chapter Twenty-Eight
One year later…
The SUV limo slowly winds its way up the dirt road, turning at the gate, now open, wrapped in garlands and tulle. I can’t help but smile at the difference a year makes. Marcel’s home has been razed and replaced with a Frank Lloyd Wright inspired architectural wonder of wood and glass, an extension of its surroundings. It took all winter, and double overtime, but the buildings were ready before fruit set. Macey and I still disagree about money, but she can’t deny that my money makes s**t happen.
Beyond the main house - our home - is a series of outbuildings. One for Marcel, another, slightly larger, for visitors, of which there’ve been many since we welcomed a son in April. Drexel Arthur Case, four months old today, a chubby, gurgling, laughing, curly
