“I have half a mind to cut you off,” said Angus Applegate.
Cash had heard this threat many times before. “It’s up to you,” he said, in his most sincere voice. “I wouldn’t blame you.”
“What the hell happened?” asked Angus.
“It’s complicated,” said Cash.
“That girl, is she suing?”
“I haven’t heard anything,” said Cash.
Angus stood up. He’d been bent over a bed of irises, cutting out the dead stalks and pulling brown leaves from the undergrowth. When in bloom, the irises were a brilliant spring symphony of yellow, white, and blue. Now the little blue geranium blossoms were emerging between the stalks. It would be a quieter display, more soothing, and cooler for summer.
He took off his gardening gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of his grey trousers, which were baggy and none too clean. He liked getting dirt under his fingernails on the weekends, sweating into the band of the ratty straw hat he wore, smelling the earth, the bark mulch, the greenness, and the musty smell of dead leaves. He would spend all day in the garden, if he could. Constance wanted him to retire, but by Monday morning Angus was anxious to get back to work.
“What does daddy do at the office?” Cash asked, as a child.
“Daddy earns money so we can live in this house and eat this food and have people to take care of us,” said Constance.
Maybe his love of the stuff was why he named his son Cash.
Cash was a disgrace to his given name. And he was not exactly burnishing the Applegate family name, either.
“Virginia says hello,” said Cash.
Angus brightened, then attempted to conceal it. “Bring her over for dinner; Wednesday would work for me.”
“Ok,” said Cash.
“And when you take out the boat, forget about hiring your friends and use only my crew, and also forget about charging your friends for ‘private’ cruises.”
“Yes, sir,” said Cash, without sarcasm.
So, he was off the hook from that potential money-making venture cum disaster. He was forbidden from trying to earn while on the yacht. From now on he could only use it for pleasure.