Our little ranch sat on fifteen acres of high desert scrubland. The main house, which my mother called the homestead, had many guest rooms on the top floor. There were also three matching little cabins that shouldered up to the homestead for guests who wanted more privacy. The main dining room in the home was huge, to accommodate the Bed and Breakfast crowd. Until her illness, Mom had run a fairly successful business, with many regular repeat guests coming up to spend time away from civilization, go hiking or ride our horses. My mood relaxed, as I looked down over our spread in the pale light of early evening under a golden high desert moon.
Mom didn’t question me too closely when I got home. She snatched me up in a big hug and made my favorite dinner—kabobs and hummus and baklava for dessert. Mom instructed me to get an early night’s sleep and warned me that we had a lot to discuss in the morning. Relieved, I fell into my bed, exhausted.
The next morning, I was out in the stables saying hello to my favorite four-legged friends. My horse, Snowball, greeted me with an excited whicker. He’d been my best friend since the fourth grade and his muzzle was aging and gray now, but he still snapped up the carrots I offered him with all due enthusiasm.
At lunch, I munched my garden-fresh cucumber and tomato sandwich on rustic bread as my mom tossed furtive glances my way. I knew she was dying to ask me about my relationship status with the mystery guy and trying to find ways to bring it up, so I decided to head her off.
“So you said you had some surprises for me. Do they have anything to do with the restoration of the cabins?”
Mom gave me an expectant look. “So you noticed?”
“I’d have to be blind not to. Did you win the lottery and not tell me?”
She laughed. “Kind of. If getting cancer could be considered a lottery.”
I sobered, suddenly my heart raced with fear and I could feel the blood drain from my face. “What? Is it back?”
Mom’s mouth dropped and she reached across the table to put her hand over mine. “Oh no. No, sweet pea. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”
She got up and went over to the desk where she kept her mail and business papers and pulled out a manila file folder from its stand. She placed it on the table next to my lunch plate. “Early this year, I got this in the mail. I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure what to make of it. It sounded too good to be true.
I opened the folder and quickly read the letter, which was printed on generic letterhead. It was from a charity institution that helped out adult cancer patients who had fallen on hard times because of the disease. It did sound too good to be true—like a “Make a Wish” foundation for adults. Generously, the institution—called “The Golden Shield Group”—had offered to foot half the balance of my mom’s mortgage and fund the other half as an interest-free loan to be paid back over the next twenty years.
I couldn’t believe my eyes, scouring the letter and flipping it over to read the papers beneath it. “This is—”
“Incredible, I know. I didn’t believe it either. But I checked them out online and went to Pohlman’s Law Office here in town and had him work with their attorneys. He assured me it was all legitimate.”
“Damn, Mom. This is better than the freakin’ lottery.”
She smiled. “Yep, see? Here’s the paperwork from my attorney. It gets better, though. One of the entrepreneurs behind the group, finding out about my setup, offered to front me some money as a silent partner. We’ve come up with a joint business plan and profit sharing—”
I took the papers from her. “Holy crap! So this is what you are using to pay for the renovation?”
“It’s almost done. And I’ve already been working with Heath to get the website redesigned and updated. He’s coming up next weekend to take new pictures. Isn’t it exciting?”
I sat back, marveling at how luminous and animated my mother was. She hadn’t been like this for years, since before the cancer. There was color in her cheeks and she had put on some weight and she actually, for the first time since she’d begun chemo, looked healthy.
My mom noticed me staring. Her smile faded. “What?”
I shook my head. “You’re doing awesome, Mom. I’m so glad.” I smiled, happy for her, still trying to ignore that ache at the back of all conscious thought. Trying to erase the image of Adam with his arm around Lindsay’s waist. A sharp pang pierced me whenever I thought of it—which was, it seemed, all the time.
Mom, keen as ever, picked up on it immediately. She collected the papers from the table and filed them again. “Now let’s talk about what’s going on with you.”