Page 118 of The Best Kind of Bad

“Were they farmers before?”

“Yeah, back in Germany. Potatoes, mostly. When they moved here, they switched to corn and wheat.” I point to the little ravine where the old sod house stands. A testament to time. A testament to survival. “If you squint, you can almost see it. The way it would have been.”

I look down at Marnie. I can almost see the long line of ancestors marching step by step to get to this moment, this place. And through a series of bad decisions, I happened to step into that path. That’s the best kind of bad.

For that miracle, I am grateful.

I am in awe.

77.

Marnie

The funeral was hard on all of us. I didn’t know Maddox very well at all, but I cannot stop thinking about him. About his mother.

I’ve been on the other end of that equation and it’s hell on earth.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about my dad. Feeling guilty about being so far away. But if it’s possible to find a silver lining, it’s in the gift of perspective. Time is short. It’s precious.

I’m not going to waste another day. It’s time to turn the page. I’m ready for the next chapter.

Carl Steiner has an office in Clark. It’s three doors down from Glenna Henry’s floral shop. I can’t help but wonder how she’s doing.

The worst part of the funeral isn’t the funeral itself. It’s the days that follow.

The lonely days when your family goes home, and you are left alone with nothing but your thoughts for company.

“Marnie?”

I look up, shaking the cobwebs from my head. “Sorry, Carl. Say that again?”

Carl leans forward, planting his fingertips on a stack of paper. A ring, thick and gold, glitters on his finger. There’s a red stone in the middle. It’s clearly a championship ring of some sort. Judging by his thick middle, the wide set of his shoulders, he’s got linebacker written all over him. Must be a football ring.

He taps the pile again. “I said, I got the paperwork all drawn up. You just need to sign.”

I look at the papers he’s sliding across the desk. “Thanks again for drawing these up for me, Carl.”

“You bet, Darlin’.” He scrubs a thick hand across his jaw. “You’re sure this is what you want to do?”

I look at the deed of sale and nod. My heart thumps painfully in my chest. “Yes.”

He nods, his chair creaking as he leans back. “Well, if you’re sure.”

My pen scrapes against the paper. “I’m not sure of anything, Carl. I’m just following my gut.”

He nods. “Sometimes, you just got to make decisions and deal with the aftermath.”

I flip the next page and find the little sticky note pointing at a blank line.

Marnie Black.

I sign my name and hope for the best. This is a leap of faith. A hail Mary.

He clears his throat. “So, what is the plan? If you don’t mind me asking?”

The next page has three spots to sign. “You remember that bakery I had?”

“Momo’s?”

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