The First Law of Love

by Abbie Williams

  “Jesus, I’m not that drunk,” Grace returned. Robbie was unfazed; he had gamely taken our shit for years now, though he grabbed her drink and licked the rim of the glass. Grace shrieked, slapping at him. He ducked away, closer to me, just as my phone flashed with a return message.

  Tell her I’m free after work, Clint had responded, along with a little devil emoticon, and I held up the message to show Grace. She shrieked again; Amy didn’t so much as glance our way, as she was used to us. Grace snatched the phone from my hands and Ina crowded close. Giggling, they began composing a response.

  “So, Gordon, have you talked to your dad today?” Robbie asked, settling on the stool to my right, studiously ignoring Ina and Grace.

  I had already finished my drink and nodded when Amy held up the bottle of Beefeater. I told Robbie, “No, actually I haven’t. Why?”

  “Then you haven’t heard about Ron’s offer,” he mused. “I’ve successfully one-upped you. Damn, I feel pretty good about that.”

  I squeezed the lime wedge from my glass over the ice cubes of my second gin and tonic. I cautioned, “Don’t get too comfortable with that feeling.” But then curiosity overtook my attempt to play it cool, and I demanded, “Ron’s offer about what?”

  “He needs a housesitter this summer,” Robbie said. “Well, more like a cabin-sitter. You know how he owns all that acreage out in Montana somewhere. Apparently his regular guy isn’t available.”

  I knew Robbie was eyeing a position at Turnbull and Hinckley, same as me. That Ron had approached him asking for such a thing suggested favoritism of an unparalleled degree and my stomach tightened with a cramp. I said, “So he asked you?”

  “He did indeed,” Robbie said, with just a hint of smugness. “But your dad told me he offered you a little something too.”

  I looked at once towards my phone, but had no hope of getting it back in the near future. Why hadn’t Dad called me the moment he was privy to this information?

  “So fill me in,” I said, in my best attorney-at-law tone.

  “Apparently Ron wants the both of us out there to do some kind of long-range externship at a little firm in…shit, I don’t remember the town. Let’s call it Po-Dunk, for now. A former partner of Ron’s went rogue almost two decades ago and left Chicago. This guy has trouble filling positions out there in Cow-Shit, go figure —”

  “Po-Dunk,” I reminded him.

  “Yes, there. Ron volunteered us to lend a hand. ‘Field work’ was how your dad put it.”

  My shoulders had already gone back into their customary hunch, despite the alcohol. I said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” No wonder Dad hadn’t called yet; he wanted to avoid the confrontation that he knew was headed his way at this news. The Wrath of Tish. I said, “Did you agree?”

  “I’ll be in Europe for the first half of the summer,” he reminded me. His parents had gifted him with two months there. I could already envision him lounging on the beaches in Spain and France, drunk day and night, charming the bikini bottoms off of local girls, while I slaved away back in the States. God help me, I would do that slaving in Illinois, not Montana. Robbie went on, “But fortunately he needs the housesitter in August, when I’m available. You, my lovely, get the field work experience starting next month.”

  “What do you fucking care about a job, anyway?” I bitched, probably unnecessarily harshly. “It’s not like you ever have to worry about money.”

  “Baby girl, that wounds me,” Robbie said.

  I finished my drink in two swallows. Robbie knew me well enough to sense the storm gathering within me, and drifted back to Grace and Ina. I closed my eyes, bundling my nerves like cordwood, willing myself to chill out. At least until Dad could clarify what this was all about. Ron Turnbull was my future boss; at least, that was how I would continue to regard him until proven otherwise. If he wanted me to work outside the state for him, I would have to shoulder arms and do so.

  But what the fuck?

  This is so unfair.

  “Girls, I don’t think Tish would approve,” Robbie said then, catching my ear. I realized they were debating sending Clint a picture of Grace’s right nipple, and I leaned to pluck my cell from Ina’s grip. Wails of protest met my ears, along with a lot of laughter.

  “Not with my phone, you’re not!” I warned them, though I had to laugh too, at their expressions.

  My phone buzzed then and I saw it was Clint calling. His caller ID picture, from two Christmases ago, had appeared on the screen. He was crossing his eyes and blowing out his cheeks in his best chimpanzee face and I showed this gem to the girls, who were undeterred.

  “Hey, I just wanted to tell you to bring your friends home with you next week,” Clint said as I answered. The sound of my cousin’s voice was so familiar.

  “God, I miss you,” I told him.

  “So when are you coming home?” Clint pestered.

  “Is that him?” Grace gushed. Clint heard and laughed.

  He said, “Tell her yes, yes it is.”

  I snorted a laugh and asked Clint, “Are you trying to sound seductive?”

  Grace succeeded in getting the phone from my hands and put it to her ear at once. She purred, “Hi there.”

  I ordered a third drink.

  ***

  Later I carved out a spot to sit at the kitchen table in our apartment and proceeded to call my dad. He answered on the third ring, saying immediately, “I suppose you’ve heard.”

  Dad knew me well enough to know that I didn’t call this late in the evening without being upset or occasionally needing money. I didn’t intend to whine as I asked, “What is this about?”

  He sighed and said, “I intended to tell you tomorrow, at lunch. You must have seen Rob Benson this evening.”

  “Dad, quit evading,” I said.

  He laughed a little. He said, “That’s my girl.”

  “Montana?” I pressed.

  “Ron has property out there, thousands of acres,” Dad said. “He doesn’t get west very often, for a month or so in the fall, to hunt. He has a local man manage the place, usually. He’s unavailable in August.”

  “So, enter Robbie,” I said. “What about me? How do I fit into all this?”

  “Ron’s good buddy Al Howe has a smaller firm out there, in the same county where Ron owns land,” Dad said. He sounded mildly stressed. I imagined him pinching the bridge of his nose as he explained, “I remember Al from the old days. He was never much suited to life in the city. He was raised out west, came east for school.”

  I restrained the urge to snap, So what?!

  Dad went on, “The closest place that’s actually on a map is Miles City. Al’s firm is in a town called Jalesville.”

  This name chimed in my memory; I knew it – disjointed images flashed across my half-drunk mind. The Rawleys, a big, loud family comprised of all boys. Mathias and Camille’s friends, who’d come to their wedding…a long time ago now…wasn’t that where they were from?

  “It’s not appreciably bigger than Landon,” Dad said. “Al’s partner retired and he’s got his hands full. I…” Dad hesitated, which suggested his extreme reluctance, unheard of for him; my father was never at a loss.

  “Dad?” I persisted.

  “I told Ron you’d be more than happy to help out,” Dad said.

  “In Montana?” I cried, pressing my free hand against my forehead. “For how long? I’m supposed to go to Minnesota for awhile!”

  “Tish, it doesn’t suit you to whine like that,” Dad said, sounding more like himself. “It’s just for July and August. Eight weeks. Through Labor Day, tops. Think what this goodwill bump will do for you, honey. I apologize that it’s so far away.”

  “I’ll go out of my mind,” I muttered, stung that he’d call me out for whining, but I deserved that, I supposed. I was acting like a child.

  “You’ll have plenty to occupy your mind,” Dad disagreed. “Al’s working on a decent-sized case. Land dispute, from what I can tell. Sounds rather interesting.” />
  “I’m listening,” I grumbled.

  “Just this April, a company based out of Chicago began buying up acreage in Rosebud County – that’s where Jalesville is located – and it seems that half the town is ready to sell out and the other half, roughly, refuse to sell. Al’s brother-in-law already sold his campground to this company.”

  “What’s the problem with that?” I asked, tugging a notebook from a stack of papers a good foot high. I fumbled for a pencil, despite myself; my note-taking urge was still too deeply ingrained.

  “Nothing on the surface. It sounds like this company has a habit of doing this sort of thing, namely in Wyoming. Buying up prime real estate in lower-income areas, where people are tempted with offers. Then they doze these little towns and expand their own business, often reselling the acreage to the highest bidders, people who want vacation homes, this sort of thing. In one place they sold the land to another company that then built time shares. If you were one of the ones who didn’t sell out, you’re out of luck.”

  “That sounds like business in the modern world,” I said, depressed at the thought; my heart grew cold at the thought of someone trying to such a thing to Landon, where most of my family still lived. As though any business owner in Chicago gave a rat’s ass about what they would view as a speck on a map. I imagined everyone in Landon being displaced; no dollar amount could compensate for such a thing.

  “Al thinks he can rally enough of the population so that it’s no longer worth the while of Capital Overland,” Dad said. “He’s trying to save his town, and it’s a noble effort.”

  “Capital Overland?” I repeated.

  “That’s the company Al is dealing with,” Dad explained. “It’s a subsidiary of Yancy Corp.”

  Even I recognized that name, and jotted notes, as Dad kept talking.

  Yancy Corp

  Capital Overland

  Jalesville

  A noble effort

  Dad said, “If Capital Overland can finagle enough of the population into selling out, there isn’t much of a chance for Al and the others who agree they don’t want to lose their town. Ron doesn’t have a vested interest in the town itself, but he doesn’t want to lose his property out there, and Al is one of his oldest friends.”

  My mind was spinning, and it wasn’t from the gin. I clarified, “And it’s just for the summer?”

  “Yes, dear,” Dad said in a tone clearly meant to be understood as condescending, and I giggled a little.

  “All right, I’ll do it,” I said. As though I had a choice. “But Ron better make this up to me this fall. I’m just saying.”

  Dad laughed then. He said, “I’ll tell him you said so.”

  Chapter Two

  Landon, MN - June 2013

  “Oh, Clark is so excited to see you next month,” Camille told me. “He just absolutely adores you.”

  I was seated at a picnic table with a checkered cloth in my sister’s yard, which was a cleared quarter-acre in the woods surrounding their cabin. I had just finished my third beer, as close to content as I ever felt, surrounded by my family, loud and rowdy as always, the kids tearing around. It still stunned me how much everyone had grown while I was away; as though I was vain enough to think that everyone remained in some sort of stasis, simply awaiting my return.

  Camille’s husband Mathias Carter, my stepdad Blythe, Blythe’s grandpa Rich, my Uncle Justin and Justin’s dad Dodge were crowded around the propane grill on the deck, laughing about something in the evening light. Mathias held Lorie, his and Camille’s youngest, in his arms, while Uncle Justin and Aunt Jilly’s youngest, Zoe, clung like a monkey to Uncle Justin’s back. Lorie was three, Zoe a year older. Millie Jo and Rae, both nine, were huddled on the far side of the yard, plotting together as only girls that age are able; six-year-old Henry and Brantley, along with Matthew, age eight, and Riley, seven, were in their own huddle near the big girls.

  Mom, Aunt Jilly, my younger sister Ruthie, Grandma and Aunt Ellen were also at the table with Camille and me, Clint and his best friend Liam Gallagher stretched in full-length lawn chairs a few yards away, resting up after a day of working with the fire crew. I considered Grace and Ina, giggling at the thought of what my friends would do at the sight of them (though they would have to fight Ruthie for Liam). Despite my offer, neither could find the time to come to Minnesota for a visit, much to Clinty’s disappointment. Personally, I wasn’t disappointed at all; they would hate Landon after the first few days away from Chicago, and I didn’t want to deal with that at all.

  “Tish, I was hoping you’d work around here this summer,” Mom said. She was on my left, and I rested my cheek against her shoulder for just a moment, surprising myself almost as much as her; I was not typically given to affectionate gestures. But I missed my mother enormously when away from her. She smelled just the same as always, like peaches, her skin soft against my cheek. Her long, sparkling golden hair, which I’d always wished I’d inherited, brushed my face.

  “I know,” I said.

  Ruthie, directly across from me, leaned on her forearms and said, “You look like you could use a rest. You work too hard.”

  “You always have,” Mom added, getting her arm around me and stroking my hair. I felt like a beloved little girl, and let myself relish this feeling.

  “I’m so happy to be here for June, at least,” I said.

  Aunt Jilly was studying me, her beautiful, cobalt-blue eyes intent. She was given to precognitive flashes and I wondered if she was seeing something right now. As though reading my mind, Aunt Jilly smiled softly at me and said, “I was just thinking how grown-up you look, honey, so sophisticated. You used to be such a tomboy.”

  Everyone laughed at this, including me. I said, “I could still outrun Clint.” I looked over at my tall, strong cousin and amended, “Well, maybe not anymore. But I could win an argument with him now, any day.”

  Grandma said, “We’re so proud of you, honey. We just miss you around here so much. It’s not the same without you and Clinty bickering about something.”

  Ruthie giggled; talk about having grown up. My pretty little sister was twenty-two, still dating Clint’s best friend Liam. Certainly they would be married by this time next year. Neither she nor Camille had ever been to college and a part of me was jealous, actually jealous, because apparently I hadn’t inherited that particular ability to be content; always I was on the lookout for what was over the next horizon, restless. I’d been so restless, for so long now.

  I said to Ruthie, “You and Liam are so cute. Who’d have thought, huh?”

  She smiled a little, her eyes moving to him. As though he knew she was peeking his way, Liam lifted his sunglasses and gave her a little wave. She blew him a kiss.

  “No one special for you these days, love?” Grandma asked me. “I haven’t heard about anyone since Randy.”

  “Gram, I’ve been in law school,” I reminded, not even having to sigh, my tone was so desolate. Randy had been the last of my longer-term boyfriends. Yes, I’d slept with men since him, but I tended not to get too attached. I was in favor of the weekend hook-up, between rounds of studying, and petition preparation. On that front, I was not proud of myself.

  “You look as though a little hot sex might do you some good,” Aunt Jilly observed, totally straight-faced, the only one of us who could get away with that sort of statement. Ruthie choked on her beer, giggling, and Mom shot Aunt Jilly a dirty look, while everyone else laughed heartily.

  “Laugh it up,” I said, taking their ribbing at my expense. Directing my words at Aunt Jilly and Camille, I added, “I’m not the one attempting to double the population of Landon.”

  Aunt Jilly laughed even more, saying, “Not since Zoe. I told J if he wanted to keep having sex so often, he better get himself in for a vasectomy.”

  Camille’s cheeks flushed and I turned to her, on my right, to press my palms upon her warm pregnant belly, round and firm beneath the soft cotton of her t-shirt. In some ways it seemed like just yesterday
that I’d been cupping her stomach when she was pregnant with my oldest niece, Millie Jo. At my words, Camille’s eyes had flickered inadvertently to Mathias, and I looked over my shoulder to see the grin he sent my sister’s way; the color in her cheeks deepened even more and she smiled radiantly back at him. As was my old habit, I rolled my eyes, though I was immeasurably glad to see my sister so happy.

  “Mo-om! Henry hit me!” Millie Jo yelped loudly, from across the yard. I was a little ashamed to admit that I could not keep the twins straight; they so exactly resembled each other with their dark curly hair, tanned skin and dark blue eyes. They were each a mini-Mathias.

  “Henry, apologize to your sister,” Camille ordered calmly.

  “All right, Mama,” one of the boys, presumably Henry, said obediently, before snatching something out of his sister’s hand and darting away, giggling, the soles of his bare feet flashing.

  “God, it’s like we have Huckleberry Finn times a hundred,” I observed. Millie Jo yelped and raced after her brother, Rae, Riley, Brantley and Matthew all on her heels. I expected to hear a brawl of epic proportion in the near future, though Camille remained unconcerned.

  “Do you need me to whip them?” Mathias called over.

  “No, but come give me a kiss,” Camille said.

  “Oh God,” I muttered, taking a long pull from my beer. “You two still make me sick.”

  Camille giggled as her husband came immediately to her and wrapped his free arm around her, drawing her close to his side and bending to softly kiss her mouth. My brother-in-law was gorgeous, inside and out, and I loved him most because he was so obviously in love with my sister, and made her so happy. Happiness practically beamed from her, like sunshine. Clearly that’s what allowed her to be content with never having been to college, bearing child after child here in Landon.