The setback, p.4
The Setback, page 4
He loves my kid when he’s being a spoiled brat.
He proposes when I’m throwing myself a huge pity party.
And he never misses a beat, even when I deliver bad news.
He’s like the solid steel and concrete foundation of a commercial building. He’s like the steel beams under a huge bridge. He doesn’t sway with the wind. He doesn’t shudder in a storm. He’s solid. And he’s unfailingly kind.
When his hand cups my jaw, dragging me out of the car and against his long, lean body, my insides start doing somersaults, and I know just what to say.
It’s simple, really, the idea of turning this imperfect moment into a perfect one. I think I can do just what he said. I think we can turn this day of bad news into a memory that’s good. It’ll take just one word.
“Yes,” I say.
Will beams.
And through my tears, I smile right back.
Forget a bad boy who rides a Harley or a Casanova who unclasps a bra by glancing at it. I’ve found myself a man who takes horrible days and makes them sunny. That’s what I really needed in my life.
And now that’s what I’ll have forever.
4
Helen
When I had to drive out to start Harvard business school, I knew the trip was going to be long—forty-five hours, to be precise, from San Francisco, California to Cambridge, Massachusetts. It’s also a very boring drive. Nevada and Utah are desert. Wyoming and Nebraska are empty of, well, everything, including people. Unless you love pigs, Iowa’s a waste of time, too. Without anything I wanted to see or do on the way, I wanted to get that drive over with as quickly as I could.
Actually, that’s really been my modus operandi for the majority of my life. If something needs to be done, do it efficiently and get it over with as painlessly as possible. I looked it up while I was in undergraduate and discovered that sleeping less than six hours a night was shown to cause an increase in amyloid-beta, a protein that causes brain plaque.
I always get my six hours and not a minute more, so I stopped in some town in Iowa and slept. Then I woke up and kept right on driving. I recall two things from that trip: the unsatisfactory presence of cockroaches in the hotel room where I stayed, and my vigilance in watching the gas tank. I only exited the freeway on that drive to refuel. I bought food and went to the restroom whenever I ran out of gas. I’ve always been like that. When I have a goal, I despise being delayed, sidetracked, or put off.
That’s the only reason I’ve been borderline obsessive about stupid David Park and his smirk. It’s not because of David, per se. He’s just a freeway exit on the way to my real goal: complete domination and control of the place my sister now lives so I can keep her safe.
David made it sound like I’m some kind of petty tyrant, but really, when I thought Abigail was sick, it panicked me. What if she really had been in trouble? What if she died? Her life may be disappointing to my parents, and if I’m honest, a little disappointing to me. She has so much unfulfilled potential. But even so, she’s the closest person to me in the world, genetically. She’s probably the only person I know who has the same capacity that I do, mentally. Sure, some of it has probably atrophied through complete and total non-use while she wasted years changing diapers and doing other mundane tasks, but she’s still smarter than most anyone else I meet.
One thing I can control is eliminating anyone who might try to push her around in Manila. The best form of security in life is massive amounts of money. Very few things can mess with someone when they hold all the cards. I mean to make sure that Abigail and her bevy of children are as safe as evil Aunt Helen can make them.
“Here are the plans for how we could set up the ‘Ranch Experience.’” I drop the mock ups, projections, and sketches on the table. I know Abigail was delighted that Mandy’s still alive, but Amanda’s has been inconsistent. She’s angry, but also happy. The unpredictable way in which she reacts to Mandy is obnoxious. The two of them keep insisting we’re all equal partners, but then they outvote me two to one on everything. Unless I remind Amanda of Mandy’s departure. Sometimes then, she’ll vote for me.
At the end of the day, the legalities are on my side. I bought things fair and square, so if I wanted to, I could toss them out on their ear. The only thing that has kept me from doing that already is Abigail. She has an irritating level of attachment to. . .well, it feels like she’s attached to most everyone I’ve met, but these two more than any others.
“I thought you said David refused to sell?” Amanda Brooks looks smug. There are very few things in this world I hate more than someone who’s acting smug.
I roll my eyes. “I knew he’d do that. It’s how things are done. But after I call his sister and explain what poor business decisions he’s making—”
“Whoa,” Amanda says. “Your grand plan is to tattle on him?”
I shrug. “When people are acting irrationally, it’s sometimes the only way. Like you’d do with any other unruly dog—leash them.”
“But you can’t leash him,” Mandy says. “He’s a grown man.” She smiles then. “I’ve always been Team Eddy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate David Park for what he is. Grade A—”
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s not start objectifying our enemies.”
“Is he our enemy?” Mandy asks. “We’re catering to the women, and he can cater to the men. We could be like peanut butter and jelly.”
I sigh. “In an area this small, we don’t need two separate resorts. The smart play is—”
“His is already built,” Mandy says. “So if there can be only one, are you proposing that we buy it, run him out, and then just shut our operation down?”
I sigh. “No.”
“Then what?” She leans back and sucks air through the holes in between her teeth. “Because it sure sounds like it.”
“We move forward with this as planned—building a women’s retreat—and then after buying his facility, we can advertise them together. Run the two locations like two prongs of the same company. If they want a family experience, a work retreat, or a guys’ trip, they can head for Dutch John. If they want a women’s retreat or an empowering experience or whatever you’re calling it, they can come to the Manila women’s resort.” I nod. “Happy?”
“I only want to do this one,” Amanda says. “Let’s just leave David alone, and—”
“It’s eleven at night in Seoul right now, but I’ll call her once it’s a decent hour. After she understands what I’m willing to pay—”
“Why are you wanting to buy his resort?” Mandy asks. “You didn’t seem to care until you found out he was running that dude ranch over here, and—”
“That’s the issue.” I may have started off by wanting the ranch that’s next door to my sister. But David Park’s stupid, smug face is even worse than Amanda’s. More obnoxious. More invasive. “Initially, he was staying in Dutch John, but now he’s invading my space, and if he’ll do that, who knows how far he’ll go? Why doesn’t he just buy a ranch over on his side if he means to leave us alone? I don’t want him here, and that made me not want him around at all.”
“Ranches don’t go up for sale very often,” Mandy says. “What will you do if his sister doesn’t take your side? He’s her brother. You’re no one to her.”
“I’m Helen Fisher.” I straighten in my dining table chair. “I’m not no one to anyone.” I shake my head. “But once she sees the numbers, she’ll realize I’m right. If he wants to have a ranch experience, he should do it right next to his dumb retreat.”
“Those are only projections, though.” Amanda says. “Won’t she give him the benefit of the doubt, at least until he gets it running? It’s not like he has to do much. He could start bringing customers over in another few weeks, probably.”
Amanda’s right about one thing. If David’s sister is as stupid as he is, or if she’s bull-headed in her loyalty, this might not go easily. It could turn into a more protracted battle. I’m guessing by his reaction that his relationship with his sister is complicated, but if it’s not, I’ll need a plan B. I may as well come up with one just in case.
That’s when it hits me.
“We have another ranch we can use already.” I stand up.
“What?”
“Ethan’s ranch. I bet he’d love to have a little extra revenue coming in from offering guided tours.”
“But he can barely handle the ranch work. He currently needs his stepdad’s help,” Amanda says. “The last thing he’ll want is extra chores and people traipsing through—”
“I’m going to at least talk to him. If David Park won’t take the easy exit, I’m going to have a plan B that will force him out.”
“This is crazy,” Amanda says. “You’re worrying about something that—”
I grab my sketches and projections and stuff them into my briefcase. “You guys go over the approvals and the timeline for the contractors and see what we can expedite. I want to open in the spring.”
Mandy’s spluttering as I walk out the door.
I take a lot of delight in annoying those two. I can’t decide whether it’s because they’re obnoxious, or whether it’s because they’re Abigail’s best friends, and I’m a jealous brat. Luckily, I’m self-aware enough not to care. Does it really matter, as long as I’m enjoying it? The Epicureans got a few things right, and focusing on things that bring you pleasure is one of them.
As I climb into my car, I think it through. Working with Ethan might be even better than taking David Park’s ranch away from him. If I collaborate with Ethan, he can earn extra money, and I’ll have a reason to help my nephew out. It could be a win-win. And if we can put David Park out of business in the process, that would be a bonus.
Besides, the Ellingson ranch is nearby, but Ethan’s is as close as it gets. If we get the resort up and running, we could use golf carts to take people over there. They could walk if we paved a little path. I almost feel bad for driving to and from these meetings. Or you know, I would, if it was more than twenty-five degrees in this wretched town right now. I can’t even drive my sportscar in this mess—I had to buy a Range Rover. I zip my coat up to my neck and brace myself before opening the door.
It’s not currently snowing, which is nice, but it’s already blanketing everything. So when Ethan’s not inside—the other kids are at school, presumably—I have no idea where else to look for him. He doesn’t answer when I call, but it goes right to voicemail. The cell reception around here is terrible.
I’m walking back to the house when I notice footprints in the light snowfall from last night. Ethan must have cleared the pathway, but I can see where these steps branched off. It’s not toward the barn, either. It’s heading in the direction of Steve’s place.
If that really is where he went, why would Ethan walk to Steve’s? Surely in this weather he’d drive that crappy old truck or take one of the four-wheelers. Right?
Unless he’s doing something else.
“Ethan?” I try calling his name a few more times, but there’s no response.
Of course there isn’t. We’re living in the land that time forgot. I sigh and turn back to my car. But as I open the door, it occurs to me that Ethan was clearly walking wherever he was walking alone. No companion steps are next to his. What if he’s doing a cow thing that’s new? What if he had an injured animal he was trying to help? It’s not like he could call us for help if something went wrong. Cell phones are notoriously unreliable around here.
It’s probably fine. I’m just paranoid with animal stuff because I know nothing about it. Ethan’s much more competent on a ranch than anyone else I know. He’s a natural with it.
But if he does need a hand. . .or even if he doesn’t, if I just walk a little ways, he might be right there, like, untying a cow that got tangled in. . .well, they don’t have barbed wire. But, you know, something that’s tangly.
I should just head back and wait for him.
But something keeps bugging me. What if Ethan’s not okay? I hate this nagging feeling of concern. It’s not like me to worry about other people when I have no reason to be worried. That’s Abby’s job, not mine.
I shiver in the strong headwind.
And that decides it for me. It’s freezing cold, and I’m wearing the nicest Prada snow boots money can buy, and the thickest sheepskin coat that Overland sells, and I’m still shivering. I should at least walk a little ways to make sure my nephew is alright.
His footprints are ridiculously easy to follow, thankfully, because I’m not any kind of tracker. I’m about to turn back—it feels like I’ve walked practically to Steve’s by now—when I finally hear his voice. I open my mouth to call his name when I realize that he’s not alone. There’s another voice, too. It’s a woman’s.
“I said hot chocolate,” she’s saying. “But this is barely warm.”
“That’s not my fault,” Ethan says. “The microwave only gets it so hot, and I couldn’t find a mug, so I had to haul it in those little paper cups.”
Someone’s giggling. I really hope it’s not Ethan. A lot of what they’re saying is muffled and I can’t quite make it out, but it sounds private. Clearly he’s not in any distress, and I think about turning around and heading home, but I did come over to talk to him, and I did walk a long way, and he is right there.
“—reason you’re so cold is that your coat isn’t zipped.”
There’s some kind of scuffling sound, like someone’s stumbling.
“That’s a rude thing for you to say, when you know why it’s not zipped.”
“Let’s go shopping,” he says. “I know you’re not ready to tell people, but pretty soon you won’t be able to avoid it. Plus, I think maternity clothes are cute.”
Maternity clothes?! What in the world is going on?
I definitely need to think about what I just heard and figure out what it means, and then I need to tell Abby. Right? Right. Right? I’ve never felt more confused or unsure in my entire life. Ethan. . .knows this girl who’s pregnant. He thinks she should tell people about. . .their baby?
Well, he sure is his father’s son. He got some girl pregnant before he’s old enough to make good decisions, and before he has the means to support a child. Before he’s even started college.
This is a disaster.
I wonder how Abby will react. She’ll probably ask me to book the circus again. Oh, no. Am I going to have to sit through a baby shower for my poor nephew and pretend that it’s good news? I’m definitely not in any condition to talk to Ethan right now, so I turn to leave.
And that’s when I step on the most vindictive stick in the entire field. It’s buried under snow. It should be soggy, not snapping with the vigor of. . .well, a teenage boy, I guess. It’s so loud that Ethan immediately says, “Who’s there?”
I’ve never wished that Manila was a forest. I mean, it’s a cattle ranching area. There are some trees, but it’s mostly grazing land. But at least if there were lots of trees, the stick would make sense, and I could hide behind one of the big stick-making trees or something. As it is, once Ethan pokes his head around the small and cultivated grove of trees he and that pregnant girl are standing behind, there’s nowhere to hide.
“Aunt Helen?” His eyes are wide.
“Uh. Yes. I saw your footprints, and well.” I spread my arms wide. “How’s life?”
“So you obviously heard me talking about maternity clothes.”
“Mater-na-what?” I shrug. “No idea what you’re saying.”
He arches one eyebrow.
“Just tell her,” Beth says. “You’re right. I’ve been sticking my head in the sand, but eventually people will find out.” In spite of her brave words, Beth pulls either side of her jacket together more tightly as if covering her belly will somehow cover her secret.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” I cringe as I ask.
“I haven’t decided what to do with it yet,” Beth says.
Oh, thank goodness. I figured that my sister’s son wouldn’t even consider all his good options. “I have a private jet,” I say. “So technically, you don’t have to tell anyone.”
Beth’s mouth dangles open.
Ethan’s brow draws together, and then his jaw drops too. Which means they were definitely not considering abortion. “Listen, I know your mom isn’t someone who would ever consider—”
Ethan’s scowling when he explains. “Beth can’t decide whether to keep the baby or put it up for adoption. Those are the things she’s debating between.”
“Don’t you get a say?” I ask. “I mean, you should at least consider every option. It doesn’t mean you have to take it. But no one would ever have to know. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I appreciate your willingness to help.” Ethan’s snippy tone belies his words. “I really do, Aunt Helen, but for now, if you could just—”
“I won’t tell your mother,” I say, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Mom knows,” Ethan says. “And Steve does, too.”
That’s a surprise. “She does?” No wonder they’re not considering all their options. “That’s too bad. I wish I’d found out first. But even so, if you want to live in my New York apartment for a few months or something, so that people around here don’t have to find out, you’re welcome to—”
“It’s not Ethan’s baby,” Beth blurts out, her eyes wide. “It feels like you should know that, and it seems like you’re assuming it is.”
Now I’m really confused. “Oh. So, you’re what? Good friends?” Something horrible hits me. “Wait. Whose baby is it?”
“No one you’ve ever met,” Beth says. “I barely know him.”
That actually makes me like her more. I didn’t figure I’d find many open-minded people around Manila. I wonder what kind of personality it takes to be willing to live the way you want to live when everyone here is so provincial. “Good for you.”
She scowls. “No, not good for me. It was a stupid mistake, but look.” She sighs, like I’m the one with poor judgment. “I better get back. I have to work.”
