Over hot cider, the adults watched the kids and talked about the weather. The snow had come closer than anyone expected. Scattered flurries had been reported in southern Georgia, close enough to give them hope for next year. Alissa was from Maryland and missed an occasional snowfall but had no desire to return there. She taught school and was taking a couple years off to raise the kids. Their finances had been tight, but there was good news. Lenny had finally found traction in the building boom and maybe, just maybe, he had his first big break.
Lydia had seen something in the newspaper or online about Old Dunes, but thought nothing of it. Another development was hardly headline-worthy in their world. For her, the big news was that Lenny had signed contracts to build at least eight upscale condos in the second phase of Old Dunes. The massive development just might keep him busy for years as he built his company. They were so optimistic about their future, they were already talking about moving closer to the job sites.
And closer to Sally!
After a long lunch of turkey, creamed potatoes, and stuffing, they loaded the kids into their car seats, and with Sally sitting on the rear bench between them drove a few miles east toward the coast. The entrance to Old Dunes was blocked by a gate, but Lenny had an electronic pass, which he waved at a sensor. The streets had been paved for several months. The curbs and gutters were finished. Dozens of buildings were in various phases of being framed — apartments, condos, zero-lot-line homes, vast mansions, a central square lined with stores for the future, the harbor and marina. Lenny pointed here and there and relished being so involved with such an impressive project. He proudly stopped in front of the first condo he was building, a sprawling townhome that would hit the market for almost a million bucks. There would be plenty of them, he was certain.
With both kids napping beside her, Sally couldn’t help but be impressed. Her son had struggled mightily to get his little construction business off the ground. Now, he was building million-dollar homes. And she could spend more time with her grandkids.
Having made so little progress with the painting, Mercer was reluctant to waste another day, even though it was Christmas. Thomas balked and threatened a strike. His cell phone said forty-eight degrees, two shy of the threshold. Instead of bickering, they agreed to go for a long walk and enjoy the afternoon.
Warmer days were coming. They’d get it painted sooner or later. Why hurry? They were on beach time, right?
On the first Monday of March, Judge Salazar held her quarterly docket call to review pending cases, schedule hearings and trials, and check the status of the many guardianships and conservatorships under her jurisdiction. With everything now fully digitized and available online, the docket call was more a ritual, a throwback to a simpler era when the lawyers enjoyed gathering in their grand courtroom early on a Monday morning to have coffee and pastries, pass along the gossip, and act important. Judge Salazar still expected them to show up, though attendance was no longer mandatory. After each docket call, the lawyers and judges moved down the street to a private dining room in the rear of an upscale restaurant and held their quarterly bar meetings. Some of them would later move on to a saloon across the street for another version of a bar meeting.
When Judge Salazar called the case,
Sid Larramore from
The lawyers agreed that discovery was on track and they could not foresee anything that would interfere or delay the trial, set for May 18.
Judge Salazar thanked them and moved to the next case. The morning dragged on. Steven hung around and planned to attend the bar lunch, something he did only once a year. At 11:30, the judge adjourned court and encouraged the lawyers to regather at the restaurant down the street.
