Sneaking a look at my brother, I assess his condition. He’s not slurring his words, and I don’t smell alcohol on his breath, so it seems like he’s having a good morning. I’m relieved. I worrysometimes because he pushes himself hard working twelve-hour shifts as a security guard outside the one bank in town.
But the drinking, well, that’s a different story.
Chad used to be a police officer here, but his hangovers hindered his sharpness, not to mention that he was in no position to be a responsible authority figure. I couldn’t save his job. It wouldn’t have been right to have him behind the wheel when I couldn’t guarantee he’d be sober. He’s been on indefinite leave for a while now, with the possibility of getting his job back if he gets sober and cleans up his act.
But Chad doesn’t do well with ultimatums. So here we are, me cleaning up his messes and him making new ones.
It is what it is.
“I’ll get on it today, hire someone to put them up.”
“At least get an estimate, is all I’m saying. Make some inroads.” He tears off a big hunk of muffin, swipes it through the butter, and pops the whole thing in his mouth. “Or better yet, just make something happen with the property next door. I hear there’s been some activity there. Visitors. Maybe the owners are finally ready to sell.”
This gets my attention. For as long as I’ve owned my land, there’s been an absentee neighbor on one side with an underground aquifer I’m dying to rent or buy.
“What do you know?” I ask.
He rubs a hand across the back of his neck and shakes his head. “Just that some inquiries have been made down at the city planner’s office about property lines, conditional use permits. They’re either planning to build or planning to sell.”
“Now they want to build something, after years of letting it rot?”
“Or they plan to sell. And you need to be first in line with an open checkbook.”
Buying that land could solve some of my problems, but those are a literal drop in the bucket compared to the much bigger water issue that hangs over the entire town.
Still, it’s enough for me to feel suddenly better about the day ahead of me. For the first time in a while, there’s a glimmer of lightness in my chest that I almost don’t recognize.
I think it’s called hope.
CHAPTER 8
Tessa
One MonthLater
In the weekssince we visited Loveland Ranch, all my sisters and I have done is argue. It’s what we do best, each of us digging our heels in and coming at a problem with our individual brand of stubbornness.
Sell, renovate, fulfill some ranching dream…At least the dreams are pleasant, especially the ones that include a cowboy named Fitz. Apparently, I was really nervous around him because the picture of his driver’s license that I sent to Callie might as well be blurry modern art. Good thing he turned out to be a good guy. Oh, so much better than good…
The memory of him was the one thing that kept me from losing my lunch on the drive to Oceanside because Dylan thinks she’s Mario Andretti behind the wheel.
I still don’t feel so great, sitting on the worn yellow sofa in our grandparents’ living room, where I’m focusing on the horizon outside their house, which is perched atop a hill in a retirementcommunity. The distant view of the ocean settles my nerves a tiny bit.
“You okay? You look a little green.” Callie leans away to observe me and raises an eyebrow in concern.
“Oh yeah. Fine. But I need to make a pharmacy run for tampons later.”
“Ah, is today the day? I probably have one in my purse.”
I nod. “Cool. Thanks.” It’s probably not helping my stomach that I’m supposed to get my period any day now. My uterus has declared war.
Meanwhile, our grandparents, just back from an Alaskan cruise, only want to talk about puffins.
“They are the cutest little things. Just like on the box,” Grandma Ann says, clasping her hands together and giving us a closed-mouth smile.
“What box?” Callie asks.
Grandma Ann flicks away the question like it’s a bug on her hand. “The cereal. Puffins. You know. Anyway, those little orange beaks are so expressive. And they’re everywhere. They completely made up for the fact that we didn’t see any whales near Seward.”
