I laugh at the barrage of questions. “Take a breath. I haven’t seen him and I didn’t see the offer, but Mom isn’t going to sell it to anybody, never mind a Reilly. And I doubt he’d come back and buy our house just to burn it down.”
A familiar growl of frustration vibrates through the phone. Georgia doesn’t have a lot of patience when it comes to our mother. “I’m tempted to burn the place down myself.”
“If you do, we’re coming to live with you and Tony. Both of us.” Her husband is a graphic designer with flexible office and work-from-home hours. And they have a studio apartment. It’s a good threat.
“Why don’t you just leave?”
I’ve lost count of how many times she’s asked me that. The first time was the day after I graduated from high school, and I think we’ve had maybe three conversations over the years since then that haven’t included my least favorite topic.
“I can’t,” I say for the umpteenth time. Because she left first and now I’m stuck here.
“Yes, you can. Just throw some stuff in your car and start driving.”
I laugh, even though that’s basically the dream. “Have you seen the price of gas? I’d be lucky to make it to the state line.”
“I won’t give you a dime for that damn house, but I’ll send you a bus ticket to get here. Or gas money, if your car’s in any better shape than the house.”
“Barely,” I confess. It probably isn’t going to pass inspection in September, even with Mel’s husband—the town’s mechanic—giving me a wife’s-BFF discount.
I won’t start losing sleep over that until mid-August or so, though. The things that keep me up at night make for a long list, so worries have to wait their turn.
“I know it’s hard to leave,” Georgia says, her voice softening. “But it’s worth it.”
I want to. But I don’t feel like I can, and we both know I won’t. “If I go, she’ll be alone in that house and it’ll crumble around her.”
“Or maybe she’ll be forced to do something about it.” Georgia’s voice goes hard again. “And her life choices are on her, not you.”
“She’s our mother.”
“Which means she should have cared more about us than about that town and a bunch of gossipy shit and a promise she made to Dad when he was barely conscious. She doesn’t deserve you, Cara.”
She’s not wrong, but I can’t bring myself to acknowledge that truth out loud. Luckily, I see the Ecclestons’ SUV doing a slow drive past the window, looking for a parking space.
“My client’s parking now, so I have to run.”
“Do whatever you have to do to get her to accept Reilly’s offer,” Georgia said in her stern big-sister voice.
“Sure, because I’ve had so much luck influencing her in the past.”
“Cara, I’m serious. I know our family and the Reillys don’t get along because there’s nothing better to do in a small town but nurse grudges you can’t even remember the origin of. And I know Hayden Reilly is an asshole. But you might never get an opportunity like this again—an offer on a house with a value that’s dropping faster than a smartphone depreciates at this point. This is your chance, so do whatever it takes.”
My client is about to walk through the door, so I promise her I will and get off the call, even though I have no idea how to keep that promise.
She’s not wrong, though. I have to do whatever it takes or all of my tomorrows will look just like my yesterday. And yesterday sucked.
Chapter Four
Hayden
I’m not a patient man where business is concerned, so I’m frustrated by twenty-four hours—give or take—passing with no news from Matt Woodrow, the real estate lawyer I hired to deal with Gin Gamble. Though it’s tempting to nudge him before leaving for dinner at my brother’s house, I resist the urge.
There’s a very slim possibility her straits are dire enough she’ll consider selling—even to me—and the best thing I can do is let her come to that conclusion on her own.
I’m almost to the front porch of Aaron and Hope’s brick Colonial when my phone rings and my smartwatch flashes Matt’s name. “Mom, I need to take this. Go ahead without me and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
She sighs and waves her hand. My workaholic ways are usually at the top of her maternal complaint list, but everything got bumped down a notch when I mentioned Gin Gamble’s name yesterday. “Five minutes, and then we’re sending the kids out here after you.”
I nod and slide the bar to answer the call before it can go to voicemail. Penny sighs dramatically and plops down with her face on my shoe. “Talk to me.”
