Bend in the Road

by Sara Biren

  “I don’t know. We’ve already got so much. I wouldn’t want Marxen to tell us that now we’ve bitten off more than we can chew.”

  “No, listen. Here’s the best part. I did a quick Google search. There’s this restaurant in a place called Door County. It’s in Wisconsin. They have goats on the roof. That’s it! We throw some sod on the roof of the farm market and the goats hang out up there, and everyone will flock to Field & Flock to see the flocking goats!”

  I can’t help but laugh at his unbridled enthusiasm. “Goats on the roof. I like it. I like it a lot. And it’s weird enough that Marxen will like it, too. You’ve given this a lot of thought, I take it?”

  “I do my best thinking when I’m playing guitar. Hey, can you show me the round barn now?”

  I glance out the window. “It’s raining.”

  “No, it stopped.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.” I close my textbook. “We’ve got thirty minutes until dinner.”

  At the back door, I slip on my rain boots and my mom’s raincoat. The weather’s been rainy and drizzly all week. We’ve got the last outdoor farmers’ market of the season coming up on Sunday morning, and we don’t need rain to keep the customers away. I say as much to Gabe as we walk toward the round barn.

  “If you’re worried about selling your pumpkins, why not have a stand down at the end of the road? Other people do that, right? I mean, I’ve seen all these wagons with pumpkins and cardboard signs with the different prices on them, but never any people. What is it, run on the honor system? You put cash in a box or something?”

  “A lot of people do that. But we like to talk to our customers, you know? These days, people want to know about how things are grown or who’s growing them.”

  “Even if it’s only a pumpkin for carving jack-o’-lanterns?”

  “You’d be surprised. Plus, most of what we’re selling is squash or pie pumpkins.”

  “Pie pumpkins?”

  I glance at him. “You know, pumpkins for making pie? Pumpkin pie?”

  “Oh.”

  “What did you think? That pumpkin pie filling only comes in a can?”

  He shrugs. “The only thing I think about pumpkin pie is that it’d better have whipped topping.”

  “I’m working on a pumpkin tea. It’s tricky.”

  “When can you start selling your teas at the farmers’ market?” he asks. “I have a feeling you’d sell out every week.”

  “How do you know they’re any good? Have you tried any of them?”

  “Well, no. But Janie raves about them, and I rarely see your mom without a cup. And your samples go fast, right?”

  I shrug. “Because they’re free. It’s one thing to sell someone squash and carrots. It’s another to sell them specialty tea blends.”

  “I don’t see the difference,” he says. “I should try some of your tea, though.”

  I tilt my head, considering him. Is it possible that he’s trying the honey approach, too?

  I stamp my feet once we make it to the entrance to the stone barn just past the big house. We’re not inside the small, attached entryway for more than a minute before the skies open in a downpour, pounding on the roof.

  “Good timing,” Gabe says, shaking his head so that droplets fly from his black curls, spraying me.

  “Hey,” I say, “knock it off.”

  “Why? You’re already wet.” He grins.

  I push open the door to the main barn, fifty-two feet in diameter, pens curving along most of the wall, a set of stairs that leads to a partial second level and the ladder to the cupola. Because the barn was built into a hill, there’s a ramp that leads to a set of double doors at the back of the barn that open to the pasture. The familiar smell of earth and wool settles over me, calms me.

  “Hello, babies,” I call to the sheep, then turn to Gabe. “Well, this is it. Not much to see, really.”

  “Tell me why you love it so much,” Gabe prompts.

  “Well, for one, the sheep.” I step toward the pen, and one of the ewes butts her head up against my hand. “Then there’s the unusual architecture and the stone exterior. And of course, the rules.”

  “Rules?”

  “Come on,” I say, and before I know what I’m doing, I tug on his hand to lead him along. He falters a little at first, but then grips my hand solidly as we walk up the ramp toward the double doors, sending a wave of warmth through my every cell.

  On the right-hand door, a fading inscription reads:

  THE RULES OF STONE & WOOL FARM

  1. ALWAYS TELL THE TRUTH.

  2. ACT AS A STEWARD FOR THE ANIMALS, THE EARTH, AND OUR LIVELIHOOD.

  3. PLANT WITH HOPE, GROW WITH HEART, HARVEST WITH GRATITUDE.

  4. GIVE, AND IT SHALL BE GIVEN UNTO YOU. —LUKE 6:38

  5. LIVE IN THE SUNSHINE, SWIM THE SEA, DRINK THE WILD AIR.

  —RALPH WALDO EMERSON

  Gabe’s quiet for a moment as he reads. Then he squeezes my hand before he drops it.

  “Who wrote those rules?” he asks, his voice quiet and thin.

  “Your great-grandfather,” I reply. “I knew the rules of the farm before I could read. For generations, the Hudsons have worked hard to make a living from the land, and to make a life as well. I find a lot of inspiration in that.”

  He doesn’t speak for a long minute. Finally, he says, “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands lately, so I’ve been snooping around the house. Closets, dressers, desks. I found this handwritten note in Chris’s bedroom from when he was a kid,” Gabe says. “It’s a map of the farm. The round barn’s right in the center of it all. From there, he drew all these perfect, concentric circles out from the round barn. Like everything begins here, at the center of the farm, and moves outward from there. He labeled all the buildings, some trees, even the river. Your house, too.”

  “I’d love to see that.”

  “What I found the most telling about the drawing,” he continues without acknowledging me, “are the circles beyond the farm. Town, school, Big Louie, the airport, California. The last circle was the world, but right before that was one I didn’t understand. The sunshine, the sea, the wild air. I get it now.”

  “Oh,” I say as I let out a long breath. “God.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “He’s always been moving outward, to something bigger, you know? But at the same time, he’s moving inward, coming back. Does that make any sense?”

  I nod. I’ve lived my whole life trying to live in the sunshine and breathe the wild air right here on the farm. Chris took those words literally and went out in search of the things beyond the confines of the farm, but he values its legacy. Gabe’s had sunshine, sea, and wild air his whole life. He must feel so constricted here.

  I swallow down the knot in my throat. “What about you?” I ask. “Are you moving in or out?”

  “Isn’t that what we’re all trying to figure out?” He smiles. “This is an amazing building. I can see why this place means so much to you.”

  As we walk back to the house, I feel something I haven’t in a long time: hope.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  GABE

  Eric Dunbar, Riverside Commercial Properties, calls me the next day on our way to school. I’m sitting in the front seat of Juniper’s Impala, so I answer the call and tell him that now’s not a good time, but I’ll call him back after school. Chris is right. This guy has been on me like flies on shit since that first phone call.

  “Who was that?” Juniper asks.

  “Guy from the label,” I lie smoothly and immediately feel horrible for doing it, thinking about the first rule: Always tell the truth.

  “Isn’t it five thirty in the morning there?”

  Shit. I forgot about the time difference.

  “Those guys never sleep. Should we plan to work on Field & Flock tonight?”

  She shakes her head. “Can’t. I’ve got a staff meeting at the nature center tonight. It’s my first weekend on birthday parties.”

  “Sounds horrible,”
I say.

  “Well, I don’t love the birthday parties,” she admits, “but I do like spending time with kids who are interested in nature.”

  “I’m interested in nature,” I say, and she bursts out laughing.

  “Sure you are. Want to go for a hike this weekend?”

  “Absolutely. Where should we go?”

  “Well, rookie, we should start with something easy, like the park reserve.”

  “I look forward to it.” I grin at her. “See you later.”

  Eric Dunbar calls back twice more before noon. This guy’s getting on my nerves. At lunch, I sneak out a back door near the band room where the vapers hang out, walk around to the other side of the marching band trailer for a little privacy, and call him back.

  “Gabe,” he says as soon as he picks up. “Good to hear from you. Thanks for calling back.”

  “Sure,” I say. “What can I do for you?”

  “Look,” he says, “I know you said your timing was still pretty far out, but I wanted to run something past you. Listen, I wanted to have someone out to give you an estimate.”

  “An estimate for what? You gave me the info I needed. I’m not sure what else I’d need at this point.”

  “Right, right.”

  I roll my eyes. This guy gets more annoying every time he opens his mouth.

  “Look, Gabe, based on the layout of the property, we’d have to make a few adjustments. Of course, you knew that going in. I’m not telling you anything you didn’t already know.”

  “Adjustments for what?”

  “If you decide to sell to a developer, for instance. A few of the buildings would have to come down, of course.”

  “I never said I wanted to sell to a developer.”

  “Who else would you sell it to?” he asks.

  My stomach drops. Who else would buy it? He’s right. And “developing” the land probably means razing it. He takes my silence as his cue to continue.

  “Now, I’m not saying anything has to be done right away, but I’d like to have my guy come out and take a look, give you an idea of timing and cost. How does next Wednesday afternoon sound for you? I know you’re in school, but no worries, you don’t need to be there for this.”

  “I don’t think that’s actually—”

  “Good, good,” he says. “I didn’t think it would be a problem. I’ll let him know. I’ve sent him the pictures I took when I was out on the property. He needs ten, fifteen minutes tops. I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother anyone. And I’ll let you know if I need more photos.”

  “Eric, listen—”

  “Now, I know you said you weren’t ready to move on this yet, but I’ve got someone who might be very interested in this property. I’m talking a significant dollar amount, Gabe, and, with my experience in the industry, this would be a smooth transaction. Quick. If we move forward on this right away, we could wrap things up by the new year, and you’d be set for a long, long time.”

  I swallow hard. “I don’t think so, Eric.”

  “Well, think about it. Gabe, good to talk to you. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  He hangs up before I can get another word in. Shit.

  Think about it. On paper, this would be an easy decision. I fucked up and need to come up with a lot of money fast. This guy wants to make that happen for me. In reality, it’s not going to happen.

  I kick the tire of the trailer. “You dumbass,” I mutter to myself. “You’ve got to think of some way out of this mess.”

  Back in the cafeteria, I pick at my lunch and make a half-assed attempt at joining the conversation.

  “Hey,” Juniper says after the first bell and we all stand up to leave. “You OK?”

  I give her a half-assed smile because that seems to be all I can do right now. “Fine.” Something inside of me twists when I think of how Juniper would hate me if we sold the farm. “Got a lot on my mind today.”

  In e-biz later, as I walk down the row to my seat, Chloe leans in and reaches out to grab the hem of my shirt, stopping me. “I couldn’t believe the news when I heard!” she says.

  I turn to her, sighing. I don’t know that I have the patience for this today. “Heard what, Chloe?”

  She shoves her phone at me. There’s a photo of Marley from the Real Hollywood website.

  “What’s this?”

  “So you don’t know? The news that leaked today?”

  “Is she OK?” I ask. That’s all that really matters. Anything else coming from Hollywood could be complete bullshit.

  “She’s still in rehab, if that’s what you’re wondering. But a source close to Marley says that she is hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt. Is it true?”

  My stomach twists. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt. I’ll never see the money she owes me.

  “We dated, Chloe,” I say, trying to cover my dismay. “I wasn’t her financial advisor.”

  “Well,” she huffs, “you must know something. Didn’t you talk to each other about this kind of thing?”

  Oh, we did, unfortunately. I can’t get the image of her, sobbing and begging me for help, out of my head. “Not really,” I say, swallowing hard.

  “You know, Gabe, I don’t believe for a minute that she didn’t really love you. There’s no way your relationship was fake. She was having a hard time, that’s all.”

  “Thanks for your input,” I mutter and walk past her to my desk. I glance at Juniper, who’s watching this exchange with wide eyes.

  “I’ll send you the link to the article,” Chloe says. “Can I have your number?”

  I shake my head. I’m not giving this girl my number. “You have Juniper’s number, right? Text it to her and she can send it to me.”

  Chloe scowls and Juniper’s lips twitch.

  Well, so much for lying low. That Real Hollywood article will have at least ten links to shit about me and Marley, our relationship, that night at the wedding, the album. Even Chris and Elise and their shitshow of a marriage. Real Hollywood is known for dredging up every last scrap of sediment from the water under the bridge.

  Marley’s broke. I feel shaken, desperate. What am I going to have to do to get that money back in Chris’s account? Put Gran’s antiques on eBay? Beg Elise for a loan even though she’s told me time and again that as a Scorpio, I must embrace my complicated relationship with money, learn how to discipline myself and accept my difficult financial lessons? Sell my guitars, the one thing I don’t think I could actually do?

  As I sit behind Juniper and half-listen to Marxen’s lecture, that familiar brick of dread settles in. I do not need this right now. I try to slow my breathing. I focus on the little orange price sticker on the notebook I picked up at the drugstore in town, the print fading: Ehlers Drug, $1.25. I rub my finger across the corner of the sticker where it’s pulling away.

  Fuck. This room’s too small, too many people. Not enough air. I can’t catch my breath. I stand up and my desk shoots back toward the wall.

  “Mr. Hudson?” Marxen says, startled.

  “Gabe?” Juniper says. I look down at her, see the worry in those clear blue eyes.

  I can’t answer but I can walk, at least for now. The dread brick spreads from my chest down to my belly, up to my throat. Why here?

  I’m out the door, down the hall. There’s a door here, and it’s only seconds before I’m outside and sucking in the cool air. I slide down against the wall and place one hand on the cool grass, dig my fingers into the earth. That’s real. I can feel it under my nails. The oxygen in the air is real. My heart rate is slowing down. My breath evens out.

  “Gabe.” Juniper’s here and she’s crouched down in front of me. She’s holding her hands out, like she’s not sure if she should touch me. I want her to touch me. God, it’s been so long since anyone has touched me, has wrapped their arms around me and meant it. “Gabe, can you hear me?”

  I burst out a laugh. “Yeah, Blue, I can hear you.”

  I drop my head onto my knees—and then she does touch me. S
he’s got her fingers in my hair, and she’s rubbing the back of my neck. We sit like that for what feels like hours but not long enough, when it’s probably only thirty seconds or so.

  “Tell me what I can do to help you,” she says. “Are you—is this a panic attack?”

  I lift my head and her hand falls away. I wish she would touch me again. Her eyes are wide and a little wet. She’s so different from Marley, who wouldn’t have touched me. Marley would have sighed in exasperation and told me to get over it. “Looks that way,” I say quietly.

  “It’s OK,” Juniper says. “You’re OK.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was it—was it the article?”

  I shrug. “The article. A lot of things.”

  “Is it true, about you and Marley? Was your relationship . . . fabricated?”

  “No,” I breathe out. “A least, not for me. For her, well . . .”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.”

  “What can I do?” she asks again.

  I move to a standing position and lean against the wall. She joins me. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

  “But I’m not doing anything.”

  “You’re here. That’s what I need right now.”

  Even I’m surprised by those words.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  JUNIPER

  Gabe’s panic attack scares me.

  It’s one thing to see a video on a celebrity news website. It’s quite another to watch it happen before your very eyes. We stand outside against that wall, not saying much, until the bell rings.

  “Thanks,” he says when I drop him off after a mostly quiet drive home. “For everything.”

  “We don’t have to talk about it,” I say, “if you don’t want to. But I want you to know that I’m here for you if you do want to talk about it.” I mean every word.

  He nods and smiles. “Thanks,” he says again. “I know.”

  A couple of days later, Gabe and I arrange to work on our project after dinner. When I walk back down to the farmhouse, Gabe’s on the porch, a guitar across his lap, working through a melody. He doesn’t notice me at first, so I’m able to watch him closely. He looks good, not pale or shaky like the day of the panic attack.