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"He said it was a sure thing," she says, once she gets that giant glob of cupcake down her throat. Tears start rolling down her face. "And it was bad enough when it was just our money, because he can't even touch his second legacy from his grandfather until he's thirty-five, so that's another quarter-million, which would get us out of the hole, but that's not even the worst."
"I'm not really following this," I confess. "So there was a bad investment and...what?"
"Mom and Dad's money," she wails. "They're broke, Sage! And they're getting too old to have to rely on the guesthouse and the fishing tours. That's so much work. And I can do the financial stuff, but I can't manage the house and the boat, and you won't help, you never help, and it's my husband's fault, and he's saying Mom and Dad can just declare bankruptcy. They'll lose the Dock Holiday, they'll lose everything..."
"Wait. Did Matthew lose your money, too?"
She's sobbing. "Yes! He turns thirty-five in December, so a short loan from his parents will keep us from losing everything...I want to sell our house and give the money to Mom and Dad, I never liked that house...and I don't want to live with a man who would do that to family, make them bankrupt..." She goes back to incoherent crying.
"Okay," I say, patting her shoulder and ignoring the hollowness in my stomach. "Okay. Okay. Calm down, Sara."
"Ihatehim."
I'm not thinking too highly of Matthew at the moment, either. "He's your kids' dad. Don't forget that, before you decide to feed him arsenic."
"I'm not going to feed him arsenic! I just want him to die!"
Dramatic much? I shake my head, trying to comprehend. "So Matthew lost your money, but he'll have more within six months?" She nods. "But Mom and Dad are up Shit Creek without a paddle, and Matthew doesn't fucking care?" She nods again, vehemently.
I proceed to call my brother-in-law every nasty name I can think of, while my sister interjects agreement. And my stomach is twisting in nausea. I didn't want to work at Dock Holiday when I was growing up--the B&B was Mom's bailiwick, and the boat was Dad's, and Sara Little Miss Perfect was their perfect helper. She's been doing the business stuff, filing the taxes, that sort of thing, for years, but she doesn't really want to do the physical work of caring for guests and the house.
I never minded that. What I minded was, A) being compared unfavorably to Sara, who is seven years older than me and a totally unfair example, and B) having to do it for free. Instead, I went out to work on my own so I wouldn't be shown up for the relative incompetent that I was, next to my big sister.
Who has terrible problems right now.
How could you trust a guy who does that to his family and his wife's family, and then blows off the incredible breach of trust with an airy, "nah, everybody just declare bankruptcy, except me, because I want to keep my big fancy house."
Fucking bastard.
He's even more of a bastard than Holt has been. All Holt did was ignore an underage temptress, and I'm inclined to forgive him for that now.
The rest of the day is spent with Sara, Mom and Dad, and their lawyer. Mom says that the house out-earns the boat tours, so they may need to sell that business and keep the B&B. Dad reluctantly agrees. Sammi says she'll help, but she hasn't finished college yet. Sara says she can get a full-time job with an accounting firm, and after a brisk shouting match with Matthew on the phone, she comes back to the table and says she's filing for divorce tomorrow, and he'll have to sell their house so he can give her half. She'll go work for an accounting firm. Her friend Brittany will keep her kids.
"And Matthew can go fuck himself," I say out loud, earning myself a gasp of horror from my mother and a censorious look from my dad.
"Yeah," Sara agrees, which seems to send Mom and Dad into shock.
By the end of the day, I'm exhausted and emotionally drained, but when Sammi suggests I reschedule my date with Holt, I smack that down. "No. I need this. I'm going."
Sammi gives me side-eye, but nods. Sara goes home to pick up her kids and kick Matthew out of the house.
And I go back to the apartment to shower and get ready for Holt.
This night has been ten years in the making. I might be upset and unsettled, but I've been waiting for this date for too long to skip it.
I shave everything. I moisturize everything. I scent everything. I paint my toenails blue. I curl my hair into loose waves. I put on a red cami with a built-in bra and top it with a lightweight floral-print button-down shirt, rolling up the sleeves and leaving the front open. I slip on a knee-length denim skirt and wedge heels. I put my anklet on. I do a neutral eye and a lush red lip, and I add thin silver hoops to my earlobes. I pack a toothbrush, a hair clip, and extra underwear in my straw purse.
I've been sitting on the bed nervously picking fluff off my bedspread for ten minutes, trying not to think about Dock Holiday, when I hear a vehicle pull up outside. I peek out, and it's Holt in his white pickup truck.
When he gets out and comes to the door, I almost forget about dinner and decide to havehiminstead. He's wearing a plain black tee shirt that shows off his massive biceps, and jeans that hug those mighty thighs, and he smells amazing.
He's smiling.
At least until he gets a good look at me, and then he turns his head to look at Sammi as his smile fades. "Something's wrong," he says. "You both look like somebody ran over your dog."
Sammi sniffles. I backhand her. "It's not that bad."
"It's pretty bad," Sammi says.
