My parents drove the convertible the day they came to retrieve me. My father was fond of showing off his little luxury car and liked taking it for rides through the country whenever he got the chance. I had always found the purchase in poor taste. It was exactly the type of thing expected of a parvenu. They were all smiles as they exited the vehicle.
“Cham, tough old bird! I hope Ben wasn’t a handful,” my father said cheerily, patting me on the shoulder.
“I should say not,” Morgan replied in his amiable way.
It was all quite jovial as my father chatted with Morgan and my mother planted kisses on my check and filled me in on the comings and goings of the neighbors. After a minute or so of polite conversation, my mother beamed her radiant smile and told me that I had been accepted into Co
