“Reminds you of home, huh? After all this time, you still think of Louisiana as home?” I don’t know why this surprises me, but it does.
“It will always be home, Ry. Even if it’s too hard to live there. Don’t you feel that way about London?”
“No.” My answer is quick and without hesitation. The accent is the only part of me that is British. The rest is American. If it weren’t for my grandfather, I’d never set foot in England again for anything beyond work, and even concerts there are hard for me. My teeth grind at the thought of being there. I hate that godforsaken place. The only thing there is bad memories.
“Your mother lives here too, Ry,” he points out.
“But she killed Rayna there,” I spit, turning to look out the window.
Truth is, London was never my home, butshewas. That little pixie was my heaven and peace and everything. Then she ripped it away like it was nothing.
He doesn’t say anything else, knowing my mood has gone from pissy to pissed. We drive up the snowy highway without a word. There isn’t much to see this time of year. The world appears devoid of life. Snowand ice coverthe ground, trees are absolutely barren, and any form of nature has the sense to avoid this wintery hell. I just wish I could.
Two hours later, we are driving through a small town past several older homes and a few local stores. It doesn’t look like there is anything to do in this town but watch the grass grow. And even that’s not happening right now.
“What the hell, Madsy? Are we soccer moms now?”
He chuckles without answering me. He leaves me to my worries that he’s entered Stepford. If I see a minivan at this house, I am calling an uber to get me out of here. He keeps driving and my paranoia that he’s been taken over by pod people only increases when we pass anold-fashioneddiner. I can’t deny that this place is probably beautiful the rest of the year, but right now it looks like a cold, freezing, and as Maddox would say, yeeyee, hell. When he finally pulls up to the gate that separates a private road from the public one, I wonder if we aren’t entering the scene of a slasher film.
He enters a code at the entrance, and the heavy iron gates swing open. As we travel up the two-mile long driveway, I see the appeal it has for him. Even if it looks like the perfect place to bury bodies.
Woods surround the first few hundred feet of the road on each side before slowly thinning out, exposing trails for walking. Another half-mile and itopensto pastures fenced on each side. Several horses gallop, heading in the same direction we are going. A little bit further, stables come into view, then finally a wood and stone house with floor to ceiling windows. Off to the side is a separate garage which I assume is where Maddox had the recording studio installed.
If it had cypress trees and alligators, Maddox could literally be back home. Except it is a tenth of the size of his parents’ home in south Louisiana.
“Fucking hell, Mads. All this really necessary?”
“I wanted some place we could all come to,” he shrugs. “If any of you want, there’s enough room for everyone to build their own house. If not, they have a place to get away.”
“Get away is right, mate. What’s anyone supposed to do here?”
“Same things I took you to do in Louisiana when we were kids.” His grin is wide. For a moment, I almost think this is exactly what he needs to be happy.
“Come on then. Show me the inside.” I open the door of the SUV and climb out.
He walks me through a very modern interior. Slate floors offset the stone fireplaces. Stainless steel cabinetry and appliances line the chef’s kitchen that is lit up with modern fixtures and recessed lighting. Not that they’re needed given all the windows on nearly every exterior wall and the skylights scattered throughout.
“Getting a ‘Twilight’ vibe, Mads,” I mock as I walk toward the grand piano sitting just off the living room.
“Screw you. I hated that movie,” he scowls. “Besides, if anyone here is a broody vampire, it’s you.”
“That makes you the pathetic werewolf pining after —” I stop myself before I finish that sentence, finding some semblance of a filter a second too late.
He waves me off, but I can see the words cut.
We spend the next few hours checking out the rest of the place. There are a few quads in another garage that we use to explore the rest of the place. Lake Copake sits just behind the property bordering the entire eastern property line. A tennis court sits just off the trail from the pool that’s been made to look like it belongs there. “Who the hell is going to play tennis?” I stretch my hand out gesturing to the green concrete.
“Yeah, that has got to go,” he laughs. “Although it would be hilarious to watch them try.”
We leave the quads when we get to the stables. There are eight horses galloping in the pasture, headed for the stables. They must think it’s feed time. Inside the stables are four more, bringing the total to twelve.
Maddox walks up to a beautiful blond mare, offering her a few apple slices.
“They come with the place too?”
“People who were selling, were selling everything.” He rubs the horse’s forehead then up to her ears. “I know it’s not practical for me, but this is their home.”
I can only shake my head at his bleeding heart. Part of me wonders how much more he can bleed before he bleeds out.
