Page 13 of Your Every Wish
“I don’t either but if we filled the vacant spaces, we could bring in a lot more money.”
“Not in its current condition. Who’s going to sign a lease in a decrepit trailer park? There’s a reason the place is half empty. ”
“But if someone else buys it and puts that kind of cash into it, they’ll raise the fees. Or worse, they’ll turn it into a business park or a Sam’s Club.” I think about my own situation and how I’m about to be tossed out onto the street because of greedy developers. “You heard those people, they can barely afford the rent and HOA fees as it is.”
She slides me a long look. “Please tell me you’re not one of those. ”
“One of what?”
“One of those do-gooders who thinks she needs to save the world.”
“Not save the world. But take this gift we were given and pay it forward.”
“A gift?” she huffs. “Maybe for you. I consider it a poor substitute for all the years my mother and I fended for ourselves because Willy the loser was too cheap to pay child support.”
The woman really does have a chip on her shoulder.
As we pull into Ghost, I divert her attention by pointing out highlights of the town while I try to find somewhere to park. The main commercial strip has been turned into a pedestrian-only street since the last time I was here. I follow the sign to a public lot and slide into one of the empty spaces.
“Last time I was here there was a pretty good Mexican place. How do you feel about Mexican?”
Kennedy is scrolling through her phone, probably looking at real estate prices in the area, which is too bad because she’s missing the sights. The town is as old as the Gold Rush with more than a dozen or so charming old brick and stone buildings spread across Main Street. Café tables and market umbrellas spill out onto the street and there’s a communal firepit that makes the promenade feel cozy.
The stores that line Main Street appear a little more upscale than I remember. Lots of pretty window displays, all sporting fall themes. My favorite is the kitchenware shop’s showcase of orange carnival-glass cake plates of every size. A women’s clothing boutique has Kennedy’s attention. I follow her in as she peruses one of the racks, mostly looking at price tags and labels, clearly encouraged by what she sees because a wide smile spreads across her face.
“It’s not Rodeo Drive but clearly people with money shop here.” She holds up a pair of two-hundred-dollar jeans.
I roll my eyes, knowing that she’s sizing up the town in an effort to appraise the worth of Cedar Pines. In the short time I’ve known her, I can see that she’s calculating like that. Not necessarily a bad thing. Dex is always chastising me for being too passive about money. He says I should be more financially savvy, which I’m clearly not.
“You want to try them on?”
She shakes her head. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”
We leave the store and I lead the way to Flacos, a hole-in-the-wall that has delicious burritos. Or at least that’s how I remember them. Then again, the last time I ate here was a few Halloweens ago. My friends and I had come for the parade, which is sort of legendary in Northern California. Probably because . . . well, Ghost and the lore that the town is haunted. In any event, the burritos may not be as good as I recall.
The place is the same, though. Same oddball folk dolls on the wall. Same Saltillo tile floor and papier-mâché piñatas hanging from the ceiling.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
Kennedy shrugs. “Fine with me.”
We both order and wait for our names to be called before grabbing a table by one of the windows. One bite of mycarne asadaburrito . . . and yeah, it’s as good as I remember. Perhaps even better.
“There’s a Century 21 a few blocks from here.” She shows me the location on her phone. “After this, let’s wander over and see what they have to say about Cedar Pines.”
I don’t want to do that. It’s too soon and feels crass, like our father is barely dead and we’re already dancing on his grave. But it seems easier to go along with her wishes. It’s not like we’re listing the park, we’re just gathering information, I tell myself.
“What’s the big rush?” I take another bite of my burrito, which is starting to fall apart because it’s stuffed so full.
“You saw those people back there. They’re going to put the screws to us to fix the place. It’ll be easier if we just get rid of it.”
“I don’t know, it may be a good investment, something we want to hold onto.”
“Doubtful,” she says with a dismissive wave. “Besides, who has time to run a trailer park?”
I kind of do. I’ve been writing my column for so long that I can knock one out in a few hours, leaving me the rest of the day. I was even thinking of taking a couple of extension classes at City College to pass the time. But I don’t volunteer that information, lest she think that my job isn’t as important as hers.
“Well, I don’t think we should rush into anything until we fully know what we have.” It’s something Dex would say and I’m pretty proud of myself for sounding so thoughtful. So firm.
