How (Not) to Fall in Love(13)
“That Tri!Umphant! crap is such total bullshit. I saw that Covington guy speak and even bought his CDs. I listened to the first two but then I couldn’t stomach any more of his vomit. What a SCAM!” –DaveInDenver
“All that motivational stuff is a joke. Save your money and just get off your butt and get a job. There, I said all you need to hear in one sentence. Where’s my million-dollar speaking fee? HA HA!” –JoeKnows
“Just because it didn’t work for you DaveInDenver doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. Some of us have the attention span to listen to ALL the CDs and it was LIFE CHANGING!! Don’t hate on something you don’t understand.” –MissKT
“MissKT you are a freaking MORON! Your hero is in hiding. Dude even bailed on his family. What kind of ‘positive harvest’ is he unleashing for them?” –DaveInDenver
“Even Jesus spent forty days alone in the dessert, DaveInDenver! Ty is coming back soon. I believe he will return to his fans and his family in TOTAL TRIUMPH!” –MissKT
“Learn to spell MissKT. Jesus spent time in the desert, not a cherry pie. You’re an idiot to think Covington is coming back. He’s on some island no one has ever heard of, with plenty of cash to live out his life in style. Cash that idiots like you shelled out!” –DaveInDenver
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Mom and I sat in the family room together with our laptops. We’d closed all the drapes on the first floor of the house. Vans from the local TV news stations lined our street. I’d snuck around to the back of the house, ducking behind hedges when I got home from school so that no reporters would spot me. Every so often, one of the reporters rang the doorbell and Toby barked until he was hoarse. I knew he sensed our anxiety. Our fear.
J.J. called Mom to ask if she wanted him to come over and make a statement to the local press to get rid of them, but she told him no, he’d already done enough damage, thank you very much.
“The cat’s completely out of the bag now,” Mom said, staring at her laptop. “No more pretending he’s got laryngitis.” She snorted in disgust. I’d tried to convince her to stop reading all the horrible rumors online but she ignored me. “I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got a new job.”
I gaped at her. “You do? Doing what?”
“Working for Pam Hendricks, as her assistant.”
No way. Fake-Bake Pam? Chloe’s mom? Crap.
“I’m going to help out in her office while I study for my realtor license. Do open houses once in a while.” She shrugged. “It’s a foot in the door, I guess.”
Even the smallest seed can blossom into an unexpected harvest. I heard Dad’s voice in my mind. Tend to all your plants and opportunities, no matter how small. Personally, I’d like to mow down this opportunity, or weed-whack it out of existence.
“So what about Harvest?” I asked, changing the subject from Mom’s awful new job. “I don’t understand why J.J. is in charge.”
She closed her eyes and sighed, then set her computer on the coffee table. “I don’t know. It was a decision made by the board.”
“How is that possible? Dad invented Tri!Umph.” I had a sudden craving for ice cream. I was turning into Pavlov’s dog. As soon as I heard bad news, my mouth watered for Ben & Jerry’s.
Toby pawed at my jean-clad leg, whining his unhappiness. I massaged his ears. “It’s okay, buddy,” I whispered. “Don’t freak. Leave that to the professionals.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Mom said, answering my question with another sigh. “Your dad and J.J. both created Harvest. They each have different strengths.”
This was news to me. As far as I knew, my dad was Tri!Umphant! Harvest. J.J. did boring stuff in the background like arrange Dad’s speaking schedule and produce the DVDs. Dad called it “administrivia” so I had the impression it was grunt work anybody could have done, but my dad had picked his oldest friend. Sort of did him a favor.
I closed my laptop. “Mom, can we not talk about this for a while? I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
Mom turned the TV to the classic movie channel. We watched Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, and a baby leopard while overdosing on Cheetos and peanut M&M’s. I slugged down soda and Mom slugged down wine.
To each her own poison.
Sometime around nine o’clock, the reporters gave up and left. Toby collapsed in his dog bed, exhausted from his front door vigil.
“Do you think they’re gone for good?” I asked hopefully.
“Let’s hope so.” She refilled her wineglass, which wasn’t even empty. “Damned reporters.”
“Maybe Brad and Angelina’s secret quadruplets will be revealed and take the news focus off Dad. I hear they were born with Brangelina tattoos.” I waited for her laugh.
“You can save the vulgar humor for your friends.” Her eyes were slits. Back to non-swearing proper mom, just like that.
“Mom, I think our Downton Abbey days are over. Our lives are turning to crap. We’ve got to laugh at something.”
She ignored me, flipping the channel from Cary Grant back to the local news. A perky reporter chirped into the camera. “No signs of life today at the Covington residence. If Tyler Covington is there, he’s not coming out to talk to us.”