Willa’s still talking happily, planning our day. “…You better brace yourself. I’m going to tackle-hug you. I’m going to squeeze you so hard, you squeak like a puppy chew toy.”
That makes me laugh. “You’re disturbing.”
“But you love me. All right, I have to get going. I just wanted to catch up quickly before I had practice. Love you! Text me when you’re safe at the cabin?”
“Love you, too. I will.”
“And text Ryder for help when you’re ready to admit that you’re lost.”
“I’m not lost!” I yell right as she hangs up. Then I refocus on the GPS.
Okay. Maybe I’m a little lost.
2
Axel
Playlist: “The Penalty,” Beirut
A drop of water lands on my forehead with a splat. Annoyed, I wipe it away, then dry my hand off on my filthy jeans. Generally, I don’t mind getting wet. I’ve lived in Washington most of my life, and I’m used to rain. My problem is this precipitation is happening inside the A-frame.
“Well,” Bennett says on a sigh. “It’s as bad as you said.”
“Now you get to tell me how bad, in dollars.”
Surveying the worst of the water damage, he says, “Lotsa bad. As a contractor, I’m seeing one of my best-paying jobs in years. As your friend, I’m sick to my stomach.”
“Right.” I turn toward the ladder on the other side of the open window, where Parker’s been doing an exterior inspection and is now climbing down the rungs. Bennett’s not going to want to bear the bad news, but Parker will have no problem giving it to me straight. “So in dollars, that is?”
Parker lands on the ground with a thud as their kid, Skyler, splashes past him, thrilled with all the water that’s accumulated for puddle-jumping. “Enough to make you wish you’d taken out the extra insurance that covers replacing not only the old pipes but also the damage they incur when they burst.”
I lean my forearms on the open windowsill and glare down at him. “You only have the balls to say that to me because I’m up here and you’re down there.”
“Language,” Parker says, right as Skyler jumps into a puddle and yells, “Balls!”
“Sky,” he tells her, “don’t say that.” Then he peers up at me. “I’m just telling you what B’s too nice to say when you’re in the same room. Whatever happens after this, you gotta have that insurance.”
Bennett tugs at the dark bun twisted on top of his head, nudging a chunk of water-logged drywall that’s fallen to the floor. “He has to work on his bedside manner.”
“I’m hardly one to criticize.”
He wipes away a splat of water that hit him on the head. “Park said it wrong, but he’s right. If you go through with these repairs, that’s mandatory from now on. Between not being regularly inhabited and its exposure to the elements, it’s a high-risk property.”
“When I go through with the repairs,” I tell him. “Which, again, are going to cost how much?”
“On top of what we already had scoped out?”
I nod.
Scuffing his boot on the floor, Bennett tugs at his bun again. “How ’bout I write it down, and you open it once we’re gone?” He extracts his ever-present notepad from his back pocket and scribbles something down. Ripping out the paper, he folds it in half and slaps it in my palm. “I’m serious about the waiting. At least until Skyler’s in the car. We just got her to stop saying ‘goddammit’ last week.”
“I told you I’d watch your child. I made no promises to be a role model.”
Bennett sighs. “Dude, she’s seven.”
“She’s a board-game despot who whooped my ass at Candyland. Endure that, and let’s see how clean your mouth is.”
Bennett arches an eyebrow. “I’ll admit she can be brutal when it comes to Candyland, but no more bad words from Uncle Ax.”
“Fine,” I mutter. “Go away.”
“Going.” Bennett pockets his notebook again and sticks the pencil he used back in his bun. “Don’t tell Parker I said this, but if it takes you a while to come up with the money, we can afford to start on half the normal retainer that we ask for. Just enough to pay the crew.”
That’s not a good sign. Not at all.
I stare at the folded piece of paper. “That bad?”
“Let’s just say, even if you took out a construction loan, banks usually require twenty percent down. So that’s going to be…” Bennett clears his throat and nods toward the paper. “Well, yeah. You’ll know soon enough.”
My jaw clenches. “Great.”
“You still can’t paint?” Bennett asks carefully.
I shake my head. He knows the financial and professional situation I’m in, that this crisis at the A-frame could not have come at a worse time.
Normally, faced with this predicament, I’d paint a few solid pieces, have a quick show and sale, and I’d be fine. Until recently, after having sold my art at a level that I never used to dream I could, I had a shit ton of money saved, and it would have been no problem. I put some of it into A-frame repairs that I hired Parker and Bennett’s crew for a few months ago, but once I’d addressed the most pressing issues, I paused that work and invested the bulk of it in my brother Ryder’s just-underway business, an REI-style shop that also offers outdoors activities he’s working to make accessible to anyone who wants to experience nature.
Ryder’s undergoing training, getting certified, interviewing people to build an inclusive team, buying expensive equipment, outfitting the facility, all of which requires a large upfront sum. Rather than him dealing with interest rates through a bank loan, I told him to take the money and consider it an investment in his business.
That’s why—even though he only lives an hour away, and if there’s anyone I’d trust with helping me handle this crisis, it’s him—I haven’t told my younger brother what’s going on. He’d offer the money back, put his dream on hold. And I won’t let that happen. Not when he’s happier than I’ve seen him in years. I’m not doing a damn thing to compromise that.
I’m not telling anyone else in my family, either. If they knew what I’ve done and plan to do for the A-frame, my parents would say it’s an unreasonable investment, and my siblings would think they owe me. It’s not, and they don’t. This is the least I can do.
I know I’m not easy to feel close to. I’m not warm and affectionate like the rest of my family. I don’t hug spontaneously or laugh often or thrive in the intimate chaos that defines our large family.
I don’t love the way they do.
So I do this. I protect the place we care about, the A-frame that’s been the heart of our family since my parents bought it. This is a way that I love them. And nothing’s going to stop that.
I just have to get…creative. I have to get past this painting crisis because until I can paint, there’s no money to fix the A-frame in this small window of time before it’s my sister’s turn here and everyone in my family knows what’s wrong.