Marcus adjusted his phone, effortlessly finding a flattering angle that allowed Merry to see that he was lying on a rumpled bed, which looked to contain several other sleeping occupants. “Cute,” he said, ruffling his hair up with one hand and making himself look even more like he’d just tumbled out of a Calvin Klein ad. “So what’s up?”
Merry swallowed, suddenly missing her brother fiercely. “I think I’m coming home, Uglymug.”
“For T-day?” Marcus stretched elaborately, pulling his white tee shirt taut over his tanned torso. “Cool!”
“No, I mean, for good. Or ill.” She waved irritably. “You know what I mean. Permanently.”
“You’re kidding! What about all that ‘My turtle and I would rather starve in our garret’ stuff you were spouting a few weeks ago?”
“Well, it’s not just me in danger of starving anymore. It’s Dolly, and it’s my fault.” Quickly, Merry sketched out what had happened, watching her brother’s face as it ran the gamut of reactions from sympathetic, to scandalized, then back to worried. “So, I was thinking, if I made peace with Mother, she’d give me my inheritance, and I’d have enough to buy the ranch away from Dolly’s husband, so she’d own it free and clear.”
“And Mother would own you,” Marcus pointed out.
“I know.” Merry nibbled a hangnail, then remembered that she’d spent her morning handling barnyard animals. Won’t be too much of that in my future if I run back to Mother, she thought. The realization hurt, despite the prospect of being permanently poop free. “But what choice do I have? I can’t let Dolly’s life be ruined. Nor her animals. Not even Sam. They’ve done nothing wrong, and this would be catastrophic for them.”
Marcus looked skeptical. “Well, that’s super noble of you and all, Squatchy, but are you sure this is the right thing to do?”
“I’m sure it’s the right thing to do. I’m just not sure if I can bear to do it.”
One of the other bodies in the bed began to stir. A hand crept out of the sheets and began to caress Marcus’s pecs. There was more rustling, and another hand joined it—wearing, Merry saw, a different color nail polish. Marcus casually plucked the hands away, but a third—this one distinctly masculine—began to fondle his ear. He ignored it. “Well, don’t be too hasty, Little Sis. This is a big decision. I’d hate to see you do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”
“Wow, Banana Hammock, you almost sounded sincere for a minute there. Don’t hurt yourself.”
He smiled, unoffended. “Well, you know how I handle the situation with the ’rents.” He held up his wrist, from which dangled a stunning white-gold Rolex. “Might as well be golden handcuffs,” he admitted. “But then again, a bit of bondage never really bothered me. You…” His expression grew more serious than was his wont. “You’ve always had more character than I do. You stand up to them—stand up for what matters to you. Don’t give that independence away unless you’re really sure you won’t regret it.”
Merry’s eyes welled, and she sniffled. “Roger that, Uglymug. And thanks for listening. I love you.”
“I love you too, Squatchy. You’ll be fine, whatever you decide to do.”
One of the hands groped for Marcus’s phone, snatched it from his grasp, and tossed it across the room. The sounds of squealing, romping, and gasping ensued.
Merry left him to it.
* * *
Merry trudged back to Dolly’s booth as if she were walking the green mile to the electric chair. Her steps were resolute, and if there was any hitch in her gait, she told herself it was just her bum leg, and not the psychic shackles she could already feel clamping around her ankles. She plastered a smile on her face as she approached the older woman, hoping to hide the heaviness in her heart.
“Jesus H. Christ on a buttered biscuit, child. Who crapped in your cornflakes?”
Guess that worked out well. Merry smiled wryly. “Thanks for giving me some time to make that call, Dolly. I just had to check in with someone back home before I could fully commit.”
“And now that you have?”
“I’m standing by my offer.” Merry plunked her hands on her hips and took the plunge. “Dorothy Cassidy, I’d like to buy your ranch.”
Dolly stroked her hand across the back of the nearest alpaca—Ginger Rogers, if Merry remembered right. The alpaca telescoped its long neck to give her a nose bump, and Dolly rubbed its face fondly. “Well, hon, that’s nice to know. But I ain’t selling.”
“What? Why?”
“You haven’t said much about your situation back home, but I’m assuming that death-sentence look on your face has a little something to do with that. What aren’t you telling me? Where are you getting the money? I thought you said you were broke?”
“Well, I am…and I’m not,” Merry hedged.
“Usually it’s one or the other,” Dolly said drily. “’Less you’re one of Bob’s philosopher cats.”
Merry sighed. “Well, I’m broke if I want to live life on my own terms, and I’m, er…rather well off if I want to go along with Mother’s ideas of how a Hollingsworth Manning ought to comport herself.”
“Uh-huh. And exactly how well off is ‘rather well off’?” Dolly asked.
Merry named a figure.
Dolly whistled. “You know how many ranches you could buy for that kinda money? Hell, you could have the whole town and half the inhabitants of Aguas Milagros for that much scratch.”
Merry looked away, uncomfortable. “So you see, it really wouldn’t be so much of a hardship for me to be your silent partner, while you continued to run the ranch as always. Of course, I’d probably rarely get to see it, if ever, since I’d be so busy with Mother’s foundation…But still, it’s not going to break the bank, if you know what I mean.”
“Maybe not, but it would break your spirit, wouldn’t it, child?”
Merry blinked and breathed hard. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do. You got access to all that dough, and you’re running so hard from it you land up on some crazy lady’s llama ranch half a world away from your family? Something bad’s got to be attached to it, to set you against it so hard.”
“Not bad, so much…just…”
Banal. Phony. Soul killing.
Merry shrugged, not wanting Dolly to see she’d hit the target dead-on. “It’s not so bad, honestly. Mother might have certain expectations for what I do with my life from now on”—demands were more like it—“but I know she’d let me do this for you at least. Honestly, it’s a drop in the bucket for her, and if it would stop me from ‘airing our family’s dirty laundry all over the Internet,’ she’d consider it a small price to pay.”
“But it’s not a small price for you to pay,” Dolly said shrewdly. “It’s everything.”
“The Last Chance is everything to you,” Merry pointed out.
“Yes. It is. I won’t deny it. But here’s the thing, child. The Last Chance is where people go to find refuge, a place to belong, not to give up hope. Not to roll over and let others run their lives.” She stared up at Merry, her eyes fierce. “Running home to Mama? The way I see it, that’s the easy way out. And I’m not going to let you take the easy way out. What I want is for you to find your own way. A way that doesn’t do disservice to the things this ranch stands for, and that you and I can both live with. So no, I won’t take your money, Merry Manning. But I will take what you’re best at.”
Merry found herself snuffling back a sob. “What’s that?”
“Inspiring others.”
Merry’s mouth gaped open. “Um, Dolly…have you met me?”
“Yeah. I have. And here’s what I see when I look at you. I see a woman who never quits. Who never lets hardship slow her down. You take your licks and you hop back up, Merry. I’ve seen it. Jane’s seen it. Sam’s seen it, whether or not he likes to admit it. Your grit’s why your fans tune in, not for flowery language or a laugh once in a while. They’re rooting for you, Merry. And s
o am I. I know you’ll find another way to help me save this ranch.”
Merry let her tears slide freely down her face. In her mind’s eye, she could see her coach Jimby smiling and pointing finger guns at Dolly, as if to say, “Listen to this lady; she knows what’s what.”
“I won’t let you down, Dolly. I don’t know how, but I’m going to find us a way out of this.”
Dolly patted her arm. “First go find us some chocolate. We can’t be expected to brainstorm a way outta this shitstorm without sugar.”
Of all the booths at the festival selling fantastical fiber arts, trinkets, and tools of the trade, there was one that drew Merry like no other. Like a lodestone, the smell of baked goods sent her salivary glands into overdrive, and she was helpless to resist.
“Bliss,” read the hand-calligraphed sign at the top of the tent. And Merry had no doubt that was exactly what the purveyors provided. Rows of exquisite chocolate confections and cupcakes covered the counter, seeming to shimmer like a mirage before her eyes.
“Can I get, like, eight dozen of whatever’s most fattening?” Merry asked the black-haired sprite behind the counter. The woman had to be a foot shorter than she was, and at least six months pregnant.
“That bad?” asked the woman, dimpling.
“Oh yeah. And then some.”
“Then I recommend these.” The woman pointed to something that looked like a cross between a cupcake and a benediction from God.
“If it’s got chocolate and it’ll send me into a stupor, I’m sold.”
“I think this will fit the bill,” said the woman. “I’m Serafina, by the way.”
“Merry Manning.” Merry shook Serafina’s outstretched hand.
“Oh! You’re the one who’s been writing about that llama ranch over in Aguas Milagros, aren’t you? The travel writer? My aunt-in-law Hortencia told me about you. She buys from one of the women in Mrs. Cassidy’s stitch-n-bitch club.”
Small world round here, Merry thought. “That’s me. Or, that was me until a few days ago,” she amended. “Now I’m not sure what I am, or where I’m headed next. Hence the need to induce food coma.”
“Been there,” said Serafina. “Hoo-boy-howdy, have I been there.” She helped herself to one of the miniature cupcakes, with frosting shaped to look like a ball of yarn and two chocolate knitting needles poking out the top. She plucked out the chocolate sticks and stuffed the whole cake into her mouth, grinning around it. “Trying to get the little one into the family business early,” she said when she’d swallowed, rubbing her baby bump. She picked out a pink-frosted cupcake and handed it to Merry. “On the house.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t.” The woman’s confections were so exquisite, she could obviously charge a premium for each morsel.
“It’s not wise to look a gift cupcake in the mouth,” said a voice with an intriguing accent. Merry turned to see one of the most astoundingly attractive men she’d ever encountered coming to lean against the counter. (And, as an athlete surrounded by well-built men in the prime of their lives, not to mention the sister of a supermodel, she’d seen a lot.) Tall, blond, and craggy featured, he was everything she’d been telling her readers Sam was. And he had eyes only for the woman at his side.
“This is my husband, Asher,” Serafina said.
“Lucky you,” blurted Merry, then turned as pink as the cupcake in her hand.
Asher smiled and wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “I’m the lucky one,” he said.
“Hey, hot stuff!” an older woman’s voice called from behind the flap of the tent. “Get your buns back here and bring these buns out there!”
Asher smiled indulgently. “Coming, Pauline.”
“That has to be about the most jaw-droppingly handsome human being I’ve ever seen,” Merry sighed when he’d gone. “Good on ya.”
“He makes an atrocious omelet though,” Serafina replied, eyes twinkling. “Guess no one’s perfect. So, what has you seeking succor in sugar this fine afternoon?”
Somehow, Merry found herself spilling her guts to this woman who’d been a stranger not two minutes ago. “I think I may have inadvertently ruined my hostess’s life with my big mouth.”
“How’s that?”
Merry’s lips twisted. “It’s complicated. But suffice it to say, if I don’t find a way to fix the situation, I doubt I’ll be welcome at the Last Chance Llama Ranch much longer. Hell, there may not be a Last Chance Llama Ranch much longer.”
“Wow. That’s pretty heavy.”
“Yeah. I have to wonder if they wouldn’t be better off if I hightailed it out of town before my blundering around causes more trouble.”
Serafina looked at Merry speculatively. “You know, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that sometimes you have to face the things you least want to—to ‘clear away the wreckage of the past’ as they say, before you can find your way to the life you’ve dreamed of.”
“Looks like you’ve found it for yourself, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“I don’t mind,” Serafina said frankly. “And I have been incredibly lucky. But I wasn’t always in such a good place. I blew up my life once in a pretty spectacular way. If I could put myself back together after the mess I caused, I bet you can too.”
“What turned it around for you?” Somehow Merry couldn’t imagine this bubbly little elf carving the sort of swath of destruction she herself seemed to specialize in.
Serafina rubbed her rounded belly as if consulting a crystal ball. “I had to ask for help.”
Help, thought Merry. From whom?
Sera seemed to read Merry’s mind. “Simple, right? But it wasn’t easy. Still, when I finally broke down and admitted I needed it, my friends, my family…heck, people I barely even knew, they all supported me.”
Merry’s lips twisted. “You don’t know my family.”
“They couldn’t be any weirder than mine,” said Sera. “Trust me.”
At that moment, a woman wearing what Merry could only assume was a full-scale Frida Kahlo costume threw back the tent flap and pounced from within it, her posture shouting “Ta-da!” without so many words. The woman, sporting a tower of salt-and-pepper braids and about four hundred frothy skirts, skipped to a stop as she saw Merry. Her eyes traveled up and down all six feet, three inches of her.
“Hey, gorgeous! How’d you like to be the subject of my new seminar, ‘Tall women in sex’? I need a model so I can demonstrate techniques for my new reverse-action sex swing.”
Before Merry could respond to this invitation, the apparition was followed by a shorter, plumper, and altogether more mainstream one, sporting a tasteful array of hand-knit accoutrements upon her comfortable frame. “Pauline Wilde! What have I told you about accosting strangers with your sex swing shenanigans!”
The Frida Kahlo impersonator looked anything but abashed. “Horsey, if you want me to stop issuing invitations to strangers, there’s a very simple solution.”
“I told you no, fool. My back was out for three weeks after that last time.”
Asher emerged from the tent and put his arms around both women’s shoulders and kissed their foreheads, effectively shutting them up as they beamed up at him with adoration.
“See what I mean, Merry?” Serafina said. “Family. There’s nothing like it.”
I knew you’d come to your senses, darling.”
Fresh as a lily and smug as could be now that her daughter had finally returned her increasingly insistent summonses to talk, Merry’s mother leaned into the Skype screen.
Merry leaned away from it. “I haven’t come to my senses, I’m afraid. But I have come to ask your advice.”
She shifted on the booth’s vinyl banquette to ease the discomfort in her leg. She was back in Aguas Milagros, at Bob’s, and exhausted after a weekend that had taxed both her emotions and her muscles. Dolly had won her hard-fought blue ribbon, and Fred Astaire had earned a treat of feed and fifteen minutes of “fun time” with the lady alpaca of his choice. (Mer
ry had been surprised at his selection of Ginger Rogers over Cyd Charisse, but there was no accounting for taste.) They’d sold out of amigurumi, and most of Dolly’s hand-spun yarns were spoken for as well. Yet for all that, it had been a more solemn occasion than it should have been, with the pall of Dolly’s ex hanging over them both.
Merry adjusted the screen of her laptop to see her mother’s face better, and her own as little as possible. She sipped her latest latte, which Bob had decorated with an elaborate curlicued question mark, and broke the bad news to Gwendolyn. “I’m not ready to accept Grandmother’s bequest yet, Mother.” I’ll never be ready, she thought, but this wasn’t the moment to tell her mother that. She needed Gwendolyn’s expertise. And she still wasn’t sure that when this was all said and done, she wouldn’t take the money. Her bills weren’t shrinking, and she still hadn’t got a home to go to when this crisis was over. “What I am ready for, if you’re willing, is to pick your brain a bit.”
Gwendolyn patted her hair, as if to guard what lay beneath. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Meredith.” She tried to laugh, but she just looked uneasy—an emotion that didn’t set well with her customary poise.
“I’m talking about your life’s work. Fund-raising. Getting people to get behind a cause that’s dear to your heart.”
“And why would you suddenly care about that?” her mother asked. Gwendolyn seemed genuinely surprised. “I thought what I did bored you to tears.”
For the first time, Merry realized disdain might be a two-way street in the Manning family. Her feelings are hurt, she marveled. All this time I was feeling shitty because I could never do right in her eyes…could she have been feeling the same way about me?
Confident, self-righteous, mother-knows-best Gwendolyn Manning?
Nah…
“It’s not what I’m passionate about,” Merry admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t think it has worth. I do. It just isn’t right for me. But maybe…maybe you could use your skills to actually save the day for us here.”
“You’re asking me to come to your rescue?” Her mother looked more intrigued than offended. It was a start. Asking her mother for anything put Merry on uncertain footing. She felt like she was staring down the barrel of a steep chute, knowing she had to ski the run of her life. Only this time, lives other than her own depended on it. What if she says no? What if she tells me the things I care about aren’t worth pursuing? Merry’s coffee went sour on her tongue. Then again, what have I got to lose?
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