Page 12 of Puck King
“What’s with this fancy thing?” He extended the handle, and while he could’ve easily carried the suitcase by it, he made a show of bumping and dragging it through the gravel and up the granite pathway to the farmhouse.
It was hardly a fancy suitcase, but I’d definitely come a long way from going to sleepovers with my clothes in my school backpack, or in trash bags for longer trips.
When I stepped inside the house, the smell of fresh baked bread warmed my entire body from the inside, and made me forget that I still hadn’t heard back from Everleigh.
It had only been a few months since I’d been home, but it seemed like my mom had aged years. She was tall, like me, and had grown up on the rodeo circuit, so she was fitter than any person I knew. My mind flashed to the moment when I heard Colton tell his sister that no woman was strong enough for him. I shook my head, ridding that infuriating moment from my mind. He wouldn’t be able to handle a strong woman. According to the cover of the magazine, his ex-girlfriend had been a social media influencer who looked to be about twenty years old. She wouldn’t have been able to lift a bale of hay if her next bikini post depended on it.
“Mom.” I dropped my bag on the kitchen chair and didn’t give her the chance to wipe her flour-covered hands on her apron before wrapping my arms around her.
My mom squeezed me tightly and then held onto my arms and looked me in the eyes. “What’s wrong?”
I glanced at Stuart who shrugged. When it came to me, I wondered if my mom was psychic. She always seemed to know what was going on with me, and today was no exception.
“I’m fine, Mom.” I tilted my head and tried to get out of her grip. “It’s fine.”
She pursed her lips and stared at me, waiting for me to tell her what was wrong. When I didn’t, she released me. “I see.” She washed her hands in the sink and dried them on a checkered tea towel.
“Where’s Dad?” I tried to change the subject before Mom asked any more questions.
My mom’s eyes shot to my brother.
“I didn’t tell her anything.” Brian held his hands up in front of him, as though my mom had just ordered him to hand over his wallet in a dark alley.
Mom sighed and sliced the bread that was sitting on the cooling rack. “Sit down, Alison. It sounds like we’ve got some catching up to do.”
Stuart’s lips were narrow as he pulled out the chair beside me. Mom scooped some chili from the crock pot, buttered the thick sliced bread, and put the bowls on the woven placemats. She set the teapot, wrapped in its cozy, in the center of the table. I smiled at the sight of the old brown tea pot, but something had my stomach tied in a knot. I doubted that I’d be able to drink anything, let alone enjoy my mom’s venison chili.
After the tea and milk were poured, I stirred in a spoonful of our neighbor’s bees’ honey into my mug. Mom took off her apron and joined us at the table, cupping her hands around her warm mug. The cookstove ensured that the kitchen was the warmest room in the house, but there was still a chill in the air. “Alison, I don’t want to worry you, but I feel like you should know what’s going on here.”
Stuart studied his lap.
“Are you okay? Is Dad okay?” I went into panic mode. Mom’s cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled. Other than looking thin, she seemed healthy.
She rested her hand on mine. “Your father is fine.”
“Thank God,” I muttered.
Mom squeezed my hand and then returned hers to the warmth of her mug. “He’s at the bank. You know how prices have been going up – on everything?”
I nodded, but felt like I could breathe again. My parents were healthy. This discussion was about money, which unlike a health issue could be fixed. “What’s he doing at the bank?”
“We’ve fallen a little behind on our mortgage.”
I glanced at Stuart. “Mortgage? I thought this house was paid for.”
My mom gave me a closed mouth smile. “It was, but we took a loan out a few years back, and then another, more recently.”
“Shit.”
“Language.” My mom’s eyes darted to mine.
“Shoot,” I corrected myself, feeling like I was ten years old again.
“Your father is trying to get approved for a relief program for the first loan, so we can focus on paying off the second guy.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was so unlike my parents, who paid for everything in full. “You took out a private second mortgage?”
Guilt burned my stomach like acid. I had borrowed money from my parents to start the clinic with Brian. We had planned to start paying them back in the next calendar year, now that our margins had grown stronger.
