Authors: Lia Riley
A
NNIE
SAT
UNTIL
dawn, hollowed by a lack of sleep and faith. Five Diamonds would never go to Ruby. Time to hire another real estate agent because Mr. King had a serious conflict of interest representing his daughter in the deal without making a full disclosure.
Sawyer didn’t return, not that she expected him to. The look on his face before he’d slammed the back door dashed all her hopes about their future. She’d strung him on for too long and he finally cut ties. Maybe she needed to do the same. She opened her laptop, went to her blog and hovered her finger over the delete button.
Wait.
What if . . . what if she tried one last thing?
Her fingers inched toward the keyboard and the words started flying.
Dear Readers,
Hey there! So from here on out I’m going to make some changes on the blog. What I’ve shown to date has been my life, but only the very best parts. And you know what? I think that’s okay. I think people can share whatever they choose about themselves, whenever they want. But here’s the thing. For a long time, I’ve wondered if maybe I need to share a little more balance. Not my dirty dishes in the sink. You probably have enough in yours, but at least acknowledge that I have them. Or that sometimes I get so tired that I’ve fallen asleep eating my dinner while my son talks to me. Or that I am not perfect.
My life is far from perfect.
I made this space to celebrate the little things in my day because it’s hard work to parent, to be a woman. But we all need to be kinder to each other. To take a break. To stop judging and comparing. If your grass is green, that doesn’t make mine brown. If I’m having a win, that doesn’t mean you need to lose. I’m sorry if I’ve ever projected something that made people here feel inadequate, but at the same time, if I have, was it really me? Because no one can make you feel anything except for yourself. Only you are the boss of you, and I am the boss of me. I am 100% stealing this language from Atticus, by the way. He very much wishes he could be the boss of me. And to eat cupcakes for breakfast every morning.
It’s time to stop portraying things how I wish they would be. I want to find joy in how they actually are, and sometimes that truth is messier, less lovely, more raw. Some days I might not be able to post here, because I want to take my son for a hike and not bring my camera, just a packed lunch and a butterfly net.
Since I’ve been in Brightwater, something’s happened to me. I’ve fallen in love. No, even that’s not the right word. I’ve remembered love. I’ve remembered myself and found the courage, banged up and rusty, from my youth, of when I’d jump. I used to cliff jump. Can you believe it? I would climb high over the swimming hole and laugh the whole way down.
Falling is scarier now. There seems to be more at stake. More to lose. More opportunity for things to go wrong and break, like Humpty Dumpty.
But no one said falling is easy, or even that it always has to be fun.
And when you find yourself, sometimes there might be things there that you don’t want to see, maybe truths about yourself that you wish weren’t there. Life has a funny way of denting us all in ways that will never fully be fixed. But if you are lucky, one day you might find someone who loves those banged-up parts.
They might even see you make terrible mistakes and forgive.
I’ve been hurt by the person that I love here. But I do forgive. And now I have nothing to offer but my own imperfect self who is ready to love him with my whole heart.
She hit send and held her breath.
So, there was that.
Done.
Atticus screamed from the yard, a good scream, a happy sound. She ran to the back door and saw him rolling around on the ground with Maverick and a host of little puppies that uncannily resembled the German Shepherd. First, where on earth had they come from? And second, how amazing. Her little boy, once terrified of dogs, took a chance, and he’d turned out better for it.
She looked around but saw no sign of Sawyer.
Her heart pounded in her ears. Where was he? He must be close because he’d never let his dog run free.
Maverick danced around the yard, scampering, wagging his tail and looking decidedly pleased with himself. The golden dog she’d seen before in the barn trotted around the corner and nuzzled the big German Shepherd before turning to round up the puppies and march them around the side of the house.
Well, well, well. It looked like Maverick had his own canine romance happening.
“Roo roo roo,” answered Maverick, adding mind-reading to his list of tricks.
“Oh, you are a naughty one,” Annie said, and Maverick wagged his tail harder.
“Morning.” Annie turned, and Margot hovered in the doorway.
“Hey.”
“So about Archer—”
“Look, I need to say something,” Annie said. “I trust you.” Last night, she’d let panic override common sense. Margot never lied to her in the past, so there was no good reason for her to start now. “I’m sorry for the things I said. I was afraid of you being hurt, and I feel responsible. You aren’t my daughter, but I love you like one.”
Margot ducked her head. “I wasn’t trying to do anything wrong. Besides, you don’t have to worry about Archer.”
Annie walked up the stairs and wrapped her in a big hug. “I’m protective of you, and he has a reputation.”
“He’s cute and fun and funny, but trust me, whenever
she’s
around, she’s all he sees.”
“She?”
“Edie. The owner of Haute Coffee. Archer is totally in love with her.”
“That’s crazy.” The quiet refined barista and Sawyer’s bad-boy cowboy brother? The idea didn’t compute.
“It’s true. He loves her. But you know what? She won’t look at him. I watch him, watch her. No one is happy.”
“Who . . . who does Edie watch?”
“Nobody. She just looks away. I don’t get it. I thought that when you’re older, you figure life out.”
“Oh, honey.” Should she tell her it got easier? No—no lies. “Love is so much more than the rush of attraction. That’s a fun part, no doubt, but it’s not the sum total.”
“So what is it? Tell me what love is, and don’t say I’m too young to understand.”
“Tell you what love is?”
Jesus, no pressure.
“It’s . . . it’s what’s left, what remains even on the days you don’t feel pretty or want to laugh or even try. One day you’ll find a guy who will see you at your worst, but all he’ll remember is you at your best. That’s love, true love.”
“Is that how it is with you and Sawyer?”
“I think . . . yeah. It is.”
“So what are you going to do? I heard you guys fighting last night.”
Annie looked out at Maverick in the yard. He lifted his head and tilted back his ears.
Shit, I really screwed things up, didn’t I?
Maverick gave a low woof, as a further reproach or encouragement? Hard to say.
“I’m going to go next door and see him. Because he needs me as much as I need him. He’s been there for me and I need to be there for him too.”
Margot smiled. “Go. I’ll watch Atticus.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. I’m going to eat a pint of ice cream out in the sunshine while he plays with the puppies.”
“That sounds nice.”
Margot gave a slow smile. “It does. And, Annie, good luck. I hope everything works out for you.”
“N
O
BOY
,
NOT
that way!” Annie patted her leg, eyeing the open door into Grandma Kane’s farmhouse. “Don’t go in there. Don’t . . . ”
Apparently Maverick was the boss of himself too. He trotted straight into the old ranch house, tail high.
Crap and crud. Maybe she could leave him there and run for it. But she needed to see Sawyer and couldn’t turn up without his dog.
She trudged toward the door, the musical score from
The Exorcist
playing in her mind. The closer she got to the house, the more her heart rate increased. It was a beautiful summer day. The sky a vault of blue. Butterflies flitted from bush to bush. The sun spread warm along her neck like warm molasses. The door only two feet away. Inside came an ominous creak.
Grandma Kane stuck her head out and Annie shrieked, pressing a hand to her heart. Holy buckets, if the woman said, “Heeeeeere’s Johnny,” all bets were off. She’d run screaming over the mountains.
Screw up your courage. Hold your ground, soldier. Need to recover Maverick. No pooch left behind.
“Sawyer’s dog ran off.”
“So I see.”
“I’ll go get him.”
The German Shepherd appeared next to Grandma, nose high in good cheer. “Roo roo roo,” he said.
Was he messing with her?
“Come on, boy.” She stepped forward and realized Grandma’s posture was odd. She was a skinny woman but she obviously tried to fill the doorway. What did she have to hide? Oh, lord. Maybe there really were a pile of chicken bones in there. She shouldn’t look. She should go, get out while the getting was good. Otherwise she might find herself auditioning for the role of Bluebeard’s unlucky lady love.
Instead, she was Lot’s wife. Her gaze swung back, almost of its own volition, and connected to a desktop in the living room.
The fact Grandma had a computer wasn’t what made her gasp. Older people often surfed the web, read the news, did all the things. Technology could help increase accessibility, had all sorts of benefits for senior citizens.
Except what was on the screen wasn’t recipes, or an Amazon book order, or even a page titled “Chicken Killing Made Easy.”
It was
Musings of a Mighty Mama.
A chill swept through Annie’s bones and rattled her teeth.
“You read my blog?”
“No.”
Annie pointed at the computer. “It’s open on your screen.”
“It’s not.” Grandma Kane’s eyes narrowed as she channeled a strange intensity.
“Are you trying to Jedi mind trick me?” This was weird, too weird to handle. Better she get away before saying something she’d regret. “Never mind. I need to go home,” Annie said, moving to leave.
“What do you know about home?” the older woman retorted.
“Please.” Annie turned back, setting her jaw. “I don’t want trouble.” But she wouldn’t back down to this old woman either.
“I don’t think you know the first thing about what you want.”
Tonight as she was trying to fall asleep, no doubt the perfect snappy retort would come. For now, she had nothing, so might as well offer up the truth. “You’re right.”
Grandma Kane ducked her chin, visibly taken aback. She peered through her bifocals. “Who are you, Annabelle Carson?”
“Good question.”
“Because I see someone who is trying herself on, but you’re not a pair of shoes. I knew your grandparents, I didn’t like them, but they worked hard.”
“They did.”
“So did the people before them.”
“Yes. I know,” Annie replied testily.
“And you’re going to sell it off.” Grandma’s voice was thick with disgust.
“I don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” She paused, overwhelmed by a coughing fit. “What are you doing with my grandson?”
“I don’t think that’s your business,” Annie snapped.
“He’s blood—that makes it my business. I haven’t gotten to where I have by letting people mess with me and mine.”
“Does everything around here have to be so dramatic? God, you’d think we were in a Francis Ford Coppola movie. We’re neighbors, not Mafioso.”
Grandma cleared her throat. “You’re a fine one to talk about drama.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What you post on the computer. Those stories about yourself, your day, who you are, what you do. That’s not who you are, Annabelle. Not all of you anyway.”
Realization threatened to strike her dumb. “You. You are
her
.”
Grandma folded her arms and glared.
Everything clicked into place. The mean messages she’d been receiving on the blog, those were all Grandma Kane. “You are Ms. Hootenanny, aren’t you?”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”
“Does Sawyer know?”
“That boy doesn’t even have a Tweeter account.”
“Twitter.”
“You get my point.”
Annie shook her head. “Why would you send all those mean comments to me? Seriously, what have I ever done to you?”
“Are you deaf?” She coughed again. “None of this is about me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not going to be around forever.” Grandma coughed again, pounding her chest with a fist. “I love two things in this world—this ranch and those three boys. Sawyer deserves someone real. Someone worthy of him. Look at you, the way you take those pretty pictures, showing all the good things and none of the bad.”
“Isn’t that what everyone does? In a conversation, if someone asks how you are doing, you don’t answer, ‘I have a headache, my son wet the bed at three a.m., and my husband divorced me to finger strangers. ’ ”
Grandma Kane’s mouth had been working double time to get a word in edgewise but the last part of the sentence shut her up.
“Sorry.” Annie said on autopilot. “No, you know what? I’m not sorry. No one heard the stay-at-home mother’s voice a generation ago. And I do have journalist credentials, not that it even matters. What you are doing is tantamount to bullying, and you know what happens when you sling dirt. You get dirty.”
“You are leaving town and selling your history to a woman who couldn’t care about it less, a woman who disrespected my Sawyer,
your
Sawyer, and who will respect the land even worse than your father.”
“I’d think you’d be happy to see the door slam on the kooky Carsons once and for all.”
“Is that it?” Grandma narrowed her eyes, coughing into her handkerchief. “Or is it that you don’t want us?”
“Of course I want into the Brightwater club. It’s what I’ve always wanted. A place to belong. A place where people know my name. Care about me. Care about my family. My life. I had that on Five Diamonds but never in town. And how I feel toward your grandson is . . . is . . . is the best part of me. I love him.”