Page 17 of The Parent Playbook
I authorize the transfer, watching my personal savings dwindle. “It’s only money,” I murmur to myself, trying to ignore the pang of anxiety in my lungs.
I plaster on a smile and head back to the group as one enthusiastic youngster tugs at my sleeve. She shows me a dirt-caked hand that’s just successfully planted its first radish seed. “Look, Angel! I’m gonna grow food for my mom and me!”
She’s beaming.
“Sometimes we don’t have much for lunch. Now we can have our own salads!” The innocence in her statement, wrapped in a reality that’s all too common, hits hard.
I kneel down to her level, brushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “That’s fantastic! You know what? I bet there are more seeds you can plant to take home. You, and everyone in your class.”
Her eyes light up. “Really? This is the best day ever!” She squeals and runs off to tell her friends.
This is exactly the kind of activity we could take county-wide. Equip these kids with some know-how and some seeds. It’s only a start, but it’s something.
She shares her excitement with her classmates, and I’m more resolved than ever to fight through the financial strains, the bureaucratic hurdles, and whatever else comes our way. Happy Horizons Ranch has to succeed. It has to.
I don’t know how many times I’ve double-checked and triple-checked that the transfer went through to Fix-It-All Inc. The funds are out of the account, but it takes hours before the transfer confirmation comes through. Just as I exhale a measured breath of reluctant relief, a familiar voice startles me into a near-comical squeal.
“Boo!” Scotty laughs as he appears from around the corner of the barn.
“GAH! Scotty!” I clutch my chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Sorry about that,” he chuckles, walking closer with that easy stride that stirs me up. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m picking up Lily.”
I shake my head, still smiling despite myself. “No harm done except to my nerves.”
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t ask.
We fall into step, walking toward the small group of children finishing up in the garden. “How’s Lil adjusting?” I ask, glancing at him.
“It’s been tough. New school, new faces. She misses her old friends.” Scotty’s gaze follows his daughter, who is monkey-climbing up one of our largest oak trees.
“I get that. It’s hard, moving to a new place, feeling like the outsider,” I respond, feeling a kinship in our shared challenges. “There’s enough stress and strain to go around.”
“Oh?” His brow furrows. “Wanna talk about it?”
I should probably keep this to myself, but Scotty is an outsider to Happy Horizons, and this has been some kind of day. “I’m having contractor issues. Costs skyrocketing, you know. I need them to show up, but if feels like it’s going to be harder than I thought to get everything done. We’ve got some hard deadlines coming up.”
Scotty nods. “Have you called them to confirm the start date for the work? Sometimes, a direct talk can clear up a lot of misunderstandings—or reveal truths.”
Something about his tone makes me awfully nervous. “You’ve gone through it yourself?”
“I wouldn’t want to worry you with my experiences. But let’s say a phone call might shine a light on the situation.”
I laugh, a bit too sharply. “I guess a call wouldn’t hurt. But I’m sure it’s fine.”
Yet as he watches me with those earnest, knowing eyes, something nudges me hard.
“Actually, let me call them now. Excuse me for a sec,” I say, stepping aside to fish out my phone from my pocket.
I scroll through my contacts and tap Fix-It-All’s number.
I hear nothing. That makes no sense. It’s got to be bad reception, a regular problem in the countryside.
But then I hear the dreaded automated message:
“The number you have dialed has been disconnected.”
A cold wave washes over me. I put my phone in my pocket, the computerized voice still talking from my hip.
