Page 162 of Story of My Life
Me:Did your brothers really tell you not to pursue anything with me?
Cam:Where are you? My thumbs are tired of texting.
Me:I’m busy.
Cam:You can’t avoid me forever. I work in your house.
Me:Challenge accepted.
I considered running my idea by Cam but immediately discarded that thought. We had other things to deal with. I’d have to find a less aggravating citizen.
I paid the haggard server and swung by the restroom for a pee break and to mop the dampness from my armpits. I had justclosed the stall door when someone else entered the restroom. Yellow stilettos clipped smartly past me.
“Let me worry about that. You just keep feeding me information. Once we absorb Story Lake and start construction on the golf course, I’ll make sure you’re rewarded for choosing the right side,” Nina said into her phone.
My mouth dropped open in a silent scream of indignation.
Bishop Farm saton the outskirts of Story Lake, on the opposite side of town from Dominion. By the time I turned my two wheels onto the gravel driveway between the white split-rail fences, I was exhausted. The gentle incline to the two-story stone farmhouse proved to be too much for my overworked legs, and I ended up pushing my bike into the shade of twin pine trees across the drive from the house.
Laura’s SUV was parked in front of the detached garage. Beyond it, a cheery red barn sat nestled between pastures and more pines. I spied a trio of cows lounging in the shade of the barn.
The farmhouse’s front door opened, and Pep Bishop waved at me, looking farm-fresh in a pair of old jeans and a white tank top.
“Hi,” I wheezed, shoving my limp bangs out of my eyes.
“You look bushed. Come on in!”
“Thanks. I’ll try not to ruin all your furniture.” I dragged myself up the porch steps and let the sweet promise of air-conditioning pull me the rest of the way inside.
I caught a glimpse of living room with comfy furniture and shelves packed with generations of knickknacks and photosbefore following Pep into a spacious addition that housed an airy eat-in kitchen.
“You look like you fell in the lake,” Laura observed from the end of the table. Melvin and Bentley scrambled up from their naps and welcomed me with tails and tongues.
“Poor thing rode her bike here,” Pep said, gesturing for me to take a seat.
“I’m not sure if I should sit. My sweat might eat through the wood,” I said, eyeing the pitcher of ice water on the table.
“Honey, these chairs have stood up to three boys turned teenagers turned men. I think they can handle a little perspiration,” she assured me.
“You need a car,” Laura observed, pouring a glass of water and handing it to me.
“Yeah,” I agreed as politely as I could manage before guzzling it down.
It took two refills before I felt coherent enough to reach for one of the cookies arranged on the tray. “Ohmygod, that’s good,” I murmured through a mouthful of lemon square and powdered sugar.
I realized that Pep and Laura were both looking at me expectantly.
I grimaced. “Sorry. Dehydration and rage always make me forget my manners.”
“What did my sons do now?” Pep asked. “Besides steal two of my best vases.”
“I’m sure they’ll be returned safely,” I croaked guiltily.
Mother and daughter shared a look that I couldn’t decipher. My own mother and I had never had the kind of relationship that made knowing looks possible. Baffled? Yes. Irritated? Definitely. But knowing? Nope.
“Interesting,” Laura mused.
“But I don’t think that’s why you came to see us. Is it?” Pep slid the cookie tray closer.
