Page 58 of The Making of Mila and Blake
I divert my gaze to the construction workers. In the weeks that I have been here, the riding arena has turned from a frame of steel beams to something real. Cranes tower over the arena as the process of fitting the roof begins, and the walls are up but awaiting windows. Nearby, an excavator digs through the soil in preparation for the foundation of the new stable block. The new stables are going to be triple the size of the current block, with state-of-the-art facilities and upgraded air conditioning. Fredo is going to love these new luxuries– as if the Harding herd aren’t spoiled enough already.
I gulp down the rest of my iced tea, close my laptop, and unsteadily pull myself from the rocking chair. Back inside the house, my parents and Sheri circle around the dining table, paperwork spread out before them. Their expressions are solemn, weary.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to stay a while longer, Sheri?” Dad is saying. I sit down silently by his side, my arrival unacknowledged. “Right now I’m only searching for my next project; I don’tneedto be in LA. I can have meetings over the phone. Even just for another week or two? I don’t like imagining you sitting in this house on your own.”
“You do remember you used to sneak frogs into my bed when we were kids, don’t you?” Sheri deadpans, then reaches over the table to lay her hand on top of Dad’s with a smile. “You don’t need to worry about me, Everett. I can handle things around here. The riding school will keep me busy. I’m resuming classes this week, so please. Go home.”
Dad still seems doubtful. Mom catches my eye, her expression softly reassuring. I notice her hand on the back of Dad’s chair. Most of Popeye’s affairs are in order and the only thing left to do is file his will, but it could take months, even a year, before Popeye’s estate is settled.
“Who gets the ranch?” I blurt. My face flames red when both Dad and Sheri look at me in surprise, but I can’t help it. Who will inherit the Harding Estate is the elephant in the room.
“Sheri,” Dad answers at the same moment Sheri says, “Both of us.” They glower at each other.
“Look,” Dad finally says with a sigh, “we don’t know yet. If by some miraculous turn of events Dadhasleft this place to the both of us, I want you to have it all anyway. And we’ll visit often to see how things are going around here. Right, Mila?”
“How about every weekend?” I say, sitting up. Here’s my opening.
Dad’s brows draw together with concern. I’m sure he thinks that I’ve deluded myself into believing that visiting every weekend could ever be a viable option. Two thousand miles is just too far. “Well, maybe not thatoften.”
“But Icouldvisit every weekend,” I say, “if I was at Belmont.”
My parents and Sheri stare at me, their expressions puzzled.
“Mila, honey, you rejected Belmont,” Mom reminds me.
“That was a mistake,” I say. My voice gains strength and I explain, “I don’t want to go to SDSU; I want Belmont. I’m going to write to the admissions office and fight to get my place back, and I might even get a letter of recommendation from Blake’s mom. Maybe it won’t work. . . but I have to try. Is that okay?” I angle toward my parents, apprehensively glancing between them. I’m old enough now not to need their permission, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still seek their approval.
Mom fiddles with the ends of her silky, brunette hair. “You’d rather be in Nashville than California?”
I nod, pulling my shoulders in tight. “Sorry.”
“No apologies, Mila,” Dad cuts in sharply, jabbing a stern finger at me. “What did I tell you? I don’t care what you do in life as long as you’re happy.”
“I agree with your father,” Mom says. She scoots to the edge of her chair and places a hand on the back of Dad’s shoulder, a sign of their teamwork. “If you think you’ve chosen the wrong school, then you should fix thatbeforewe move you into your dorm in San Diego.”
“And your room here will always be waiting for you on the weekends,” Sheri adds. She beams across the table at me. The tense atmosphere in the kitchen has lifted immensely, and in its place floats an air of optimism. “I would like that, Mila. If you were closer.”
I grin at the three of them in turn. Life will go on regardless, so tonight I will begin crafting my letter to the admissions office. I deserve to be on the Belmont nursing program, and I know Popeye would agree.
“On the topic of making decisions,” Dad says with a tentative smile, “I’ve made mine. I’m not getting tested for the Huntington’s gene.”
Sheri blinks in surprise. Last we knew, Dad was leaning toward having the genetic testing done. “You aren’t?”
He shakes his head. “After this past week, I realized I’d rather not know. I just want to take life as it comes.” Mom rubs his shoulder and they exchange a warm look. How Mom knows about Popeye’s diagnosis and the fact that it’s genetically inherited, I have no idea. I didn’t tell her, so Dad must have. Their relationship can’t be totallydestroyed if Dad still confides in her.
“And since we’re all being so open. . .” Sheri says sheepishly.
I snap my head away from my parents to study Sheri. “What?”
“I’ve sort of started seeing someone. A lovely man from the crew.” She gestures through the kitchen window with a clipped nod to the construction workers in the distance.
“It’s not Jason, is it?” I groan, pressing my hands over my face and peeking at her through my fingers. Dad was already engaged to Blake’s mom once; I can’t deal with Sheri dating his dad too. “Please, please tell me it’s not Jason.”
“No!” Sheri laughs and stands from the table, straightening up the paperwork and hugging it to her chest. “His name is Wren, he’s the assistant supervisor. He dropped off some really beautiful flowers last week.”
“Hmm.” Dad rises from his chair and wipes down his jeans. “Is he out there right now? I’d like to meet him. I need to check him out.”
“Oh, please,” Sheri groans, flippantly waving her hand in Dad’s direction as she slides the paperwork into a folder and moves it to one side. “You don’t need to do the overly protective big brother thing. He’s a decent man, I assure you.”
