Bend in the Road Read online

  Rocky shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was doing. “Yeah, you’ll put the money back. Chris really digs into the books a couple of times a year. Year-end’s coming up late December. The clock’s ticking, so don’t dick around. This could cost me my job or worse.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Do not fuck this up,” Rocky said, pointing his index finger at me almost violently, then sighed heavily and turned back toward his computer. “I’m counting on you, Gabe.”

  Only eight days ago.

  “You still there?” Chris huffs into the phone. “Damn, I’m getting old. I shouldn’t have to haul equipment like that.”

  “Yeah, I’m still here.”

  “Gabe.” He says my name like it’s a complete sentence. “I’m going to cut to the chase here because I’ve got some shit I need to take care of. After Dad died, Mom updated the will. She got it into her head that we should both get the farm. You and me, and she split it forty-nine, fifty-one. She named you majority owner of Stone & Wool, and when you turn eighteen, you’ll inherit fifty-one percent of the farm.”

  Holy shit.

  When I turn eighteen. In four weeks.

  I stand here, mouth hanging open, one hand gripping the phone, the other tight around the cart handle. “You’re kidding me,” I choke out. That familiar brick of dread increases in size tenfold. He can’t be serious. Now, on top of everything else, I’m responsible for a farm, for part of my family’s history? A family—let’s be honest here—I barely know? In Nowhere, Minnesota? “Why would she do that? What the fuck am I going to do with a farm?”

  “Well, looks like you’ve got plenty of time on your hands now to figure it out.”

  The brick presses against my chest. My hands shake. I pull at the collar of my T-shirt, hot, too restricting. Tightness. Panic. The video was bad enough. This can’t happen in a grocery store. I have to get out of here.

  “Gotta go,” I say, my voice scratchy, my breath coming fast. I pull the phone away from my ear and hit end.

  Calm the fuck down, I tell myself. Calm down. I take a few deep breaths, think about what I’m going to do next. I’m going to wheel this shitty cart to the cash registers at the front of the store, put the groceries on the belt, hope to hell my card doesn’t get declined, find Ted, and go back to a farm I don’t want. Or deserve.

  Chapter Six

  JUNIPER

  Mom and I pick Amelia up on our way to Ted’s. She’s straightened her long, dark hair and applied about twelve coats of mascara. She climbs into the back seat and fans herself, her nails flashing a glittery copper.

  “Do I look all right?” she asks, her voice thin and shaky.

  “Gorgeous,” Mom says. Considering the time that Amelia’s spent at our house over the years, and that Amelia feels as comfortable around her as she does her own mom, her gigantic crush on Ted is no secret. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

  Amelia is absolutely gorgeous, even without the excessive mascara. Her tawny skin practically glows, especially after the summer months, and she’s got a broad, friendly smile. She’s what I like to call an extreme extrovert. Her dad is Hmong, a filmmaker best known for a documentary about the history of the Hmong in Minnesota. Her mom was the white nurse who cared for him after he’d gotten jumped and beaten in a shady area of Duluth, all his equipment stolen. Amelia got her movie obsession from her dad, not to mention her need to be around people all the time and the desire to know their stories. She seems to find something in common with every person she meets. She never feels awkward meeting new people or going to new places. And what she calls her “unrequited love” for Ted hasn’t stopped her from dating other guys.

  I, on the other hand, have had only one boyfriend, if you can call it that. Tyler and I worked together at the park reserve the summer before eleventh grade. On paper, he was perfect—he’d achieved the highest rank as a Wilderness Trek Youth. He loved to camp and hike and explore the park. He flirted with me at work, we held hands in the break room at the nature center, he kissed me sweetly in stolen moments on the trail, we texted late into the night.

  We went on one movie date that summer, and he insisted we drive all the way to Duluth.

  “I don’t want to see any of the movies playing in Fred Lake,” he said.

  Amelia thought it was strange that Tyler and I rarely saw each other outside of work. I didn’t think much of it, but what did I know about dating and boys? I found out our relationship was less than I thought on the first day of school, when he barely glanced my way as I said hello.

  “Oh, hey,” he said. My stomach dropped at his casual, disaffected tone. “I’ll see you at work later, June.”

  He was the only person who’d ever shortened my name. I didn’t like it, but because it was Tyler and I wanted things to work out between us so badly, I hadn’t said anything.

  “Something’s not right,” Amelia said.

  Later, at lunch, Tyler walked in, hand in hand with class president and swim team captain Lily Reynolds, crushing my poor, naive heart like a crisp autumn leaf underfoot.

  Tyler avoided me at school but couldn’t avoid me at the park. Our first shift together, I waited until the group of kids started working on their scavenger hunt and then, shaking, confronted him.

  “You had a girlfriend the whole time, didn’t you?” I asked, not bothering to ease into it. “That’s why we never went out. That’s why we drove to a movie theater an hour away. So that no one would see us. Am I right?”

  He shrugged. “Sorry, June. I thought you knew. I mean, Lily and me have been a thing since, like, ninth grade. Everyone knows that.”

  “That’s horrible!” I practically shouted. “Of course I didn’t know, or none of this would have happened! I really liked you, Tyler!”

  “Calm down,” he said. “It’s not like you and me did anything, anyway.”

  I throw my hands up. “You and I.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “You’re an ass,” I said.

  “You’re a prude,” he shot back.

  “Don’t call me June. Don’t call me anything!” I stomped on his foot with my heavy hiking boot, turned quickly, and went back to join the group of kids, now swinging from the low-hanging branches of a nearby tree.

  “Stay on the trail!” I snapped at them.

  Tyler and I worked together almost every weekend that fall, speaking to each other only if the task absolutely required it, and every minute was torture. I was relieved when he quit to go work at the outdoor outfitters in Fred Lake, and I swore off boys, especially coworkers.

  “I don’t know why I’m so nervous about this,” Amelia says now with a small laugh. “I mean, it’s Teddy. I’ve been over to his place a thousand times. And it’s Sunday night supper. Not a date or anything.”

  When the three of us hang out, which isn’t as often during football season, it’s usually at Ted’s. There’s always room at the Thomas table for the kids’ friends.

  Apparently, there’s enough room for the Hudson Family Farms attorney tonight, too, who’s already sitting at the long dining room table with a beer when we arrive. Allan’s got long, thinning white hair pulled back into a ponytail and a reddish face full of loose, wrinkly skin like a shar-pei. He’s wearing one of his signature Minnesota Twins hoodies, this one a faded navy with the TC logo.

  “Girls.” He greets us with a nod. “Laurel. You all look lovely on this lovely evening.”

  “Thanks, Allan,” Mom says. “It’s nice to see you. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “Ah, well,” he says slowly, then takes a sip of his beer. “Chris called and asked me to stop by in case Gabe has any questions.”

  He’s here for Gabe? I look over to Mom as she sighs and rubs a hand across her forehead.

  “I see,” she says. “He knows, then? Since when?”

  “Chris told him this afternoon,” Allan says. “And if I’m being honest, he should have waited until a more appropriate time, and preferably in my
office.” He tugs at the strings of his hoodie until each side is exactly even.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  Allan looks from me to Amelia and back to Mom. “I didn’t realize that Jane had invited so many people tonight. We should probably hold off on any discussions.”

  Janie walks into the dining room carrying a large platter of roast beef, carrots, and red potatoes. She sets the platter in the center of the table. “Good idea. I was just about to call everyone in.”

  She turns to me, smiling as she takes in my appearance: twin braided buns at the top of my head, a white blouse with puffed sleeves and covered in cherries, a black cardigan tied around my waist, rolled-up jeans, and Mom’s hot pink snake-skin loafers from when she was in high school.

  “Hey, girls,” she says. “Amelia, so glad you were able to join us. Juniper, you look so cute! I remember those shoes. I had that exact pair in navy. Your mom was always so much cooler. Have you seen Teddy and Gabe? They were out on the porch watching football.”

  “Not yet,” Amelia says, looking at me with eyebrows raised.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, unable to calm the tremor in my voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Mom says. “Allan? I’m not sure what I can or can’t say.”

  “You can’t say anything at this point,” he says.

  “But I can,” Gabe says as he walks in from the porch. “Everyone’s going to find out soon enough.”

  There’s an awkward moment of silence as we all look at Gabe.

  Finally, Allan says, “Maybe you’d like to hold off for a couple of days. Chris was hoping I’d get a chance to talk to you about this privately, Gabe.”

  “Well, Chris isn’t here, is he?” Gabe says, his mouth pulling into a deep frown. He looks at me briefly, then flicks his gaze around the room. “Gran left me the farm.”

  Allan sighs. “In a nutshell. There’s more to it than that, of course.”

  My mouth drops open and a sick feeling whooshes through me. Leona left Gabe the farm? Not Chris or Janie? Not anyone who knows anything at all about farming? My brain kicks into worst-case-scenario mode: Gabe’s lack of any sort of agricultural or business knowledge drives us into ruin. Or he sells off the land to some shady developer who builds cheap apartments with astronomically high rents. Either way, that’s it for me and Mom and the farm and all the sheep and my greenhouse.

  I clamp my mouth shut again. I look at Mom, who has her worried face on, the lines between her eyes deep and creased. She smiles, but it’s a half smile, and not a very convincing one.

  Leona left Gabe the farm. “But—but—” I sputter, and Mom gives a tiny shake of her head.

  Ted bursts through the door. “Let’s eat!” he cries. “I’m starving!”

  Gabe’s announcement is swallowed into the chaos of chairs scraping across the floor, the clatter of dishes, an argument between Frankie and Izzy over whose turn it is to say grace. We’re crammed in around the table—Ted’s family, me, Mom, Amelia, Allan, and Ted’s great-uncle Bud. Gabe sits across from me, squished between Ted and Allan, but never once looks at me.

  At one point during what is probably the most uncomfortable meal of my life, Amelia leans over and says in a low voice, “This reminds of that movie Far from the Madding Crowd, you know, when—”

  “No,” I cut her off, loudly enough that, finally, Gabe looks up at me. “My life is not a movie,” I whisper. “Especially that one. The scene with the sheep . . .”

  “I’m not talking about the sheep,” she says.

  “And this is not Victorian England. This is my life,” I hiss.

  “You’re so literal.” She scowls.

  I can’t think about Far from the Madding Crowd right now or follow any of the conversations happening at the table. I look around the table, at Mom, at Ted and his parents and little brother and sister, at Amelia. My people.

  Gabe upsets the balance.

  Chapter Seven

  GABE

  One thing you can say for the Hudson family: They come together in a crisis. Even Great-Uncle Bud, Gran’s oldest brother and last living sibling, took time off from the restaurant to come to dinner.

  “It’ll be good to have ya around, kid,” Bud says. “How long are you staying? If you need to make some extra cash, let me know. I can always use another busboy.”

  Ted snorts. “I’d pay money to see that.”

  I don’t think a part-time job at Bud’s is going to solve my problems.

  Bud’s gotta be pushing ninety but swims laps at the Y every morning and hasn’t missed a day of work since he got home from serving in Korea in the early fifties and opened Uncle Bud’s World Famous, a diner in Fred Lake. It’s known for its milkshakes, fries, and the most popular menu item, Uncle Bud’s World Famous Blueberry Pancakes, served all day. Janie’s roast and vegetables are delicious, and there’s probably pie for dessert, but man, I could go for one of Uncle Bud’s rocky road sundaes right about now.

  In her weird fifties-style outfit with those cherries on her blouse, Juniper looks like the poster child for Uncle Bud’s, like she should strap on a pair of roller skates and deliver an order of onion rings and a root beer float. She even smells like cherries. I lean over and reach for another roll to cover up the fact that I’m trying to smell her from across the table. Not just cherries. Vanilla and almond, too.

  “Working on any new essential oil blends, Juniper?” Janie asks, and Juniper looks up from her plate. “I gave my last sample of lemon-lavender to Sheryl at church this morning.”

  Juniper nods. “I’ve got more of that one if you need it. And I’m working on a eucalyptus blend for flu season.”

  “You ever think about selling that stuff?” Frank asks. “I don’t recognize half of what you’ve been growing this summer.”

  “I’m planning on it,” she says. “I’ve got a hundred roller bottles on order. I’m working out a few kinks, but I should have five or six blends ready by spring.”

  “Will you sell them at the farmers’ market?” Frank asks, shoveling a forkful of Janie’s roast into his mouth.

  “Yes, there, and possibly a natural living store in Fred Lake.”

  “Guinevere’s place?” Janie asks.

  Juniper nods again.

  “What about your teas?” Janie says. “What was that last one you sent home with Ted? Something fall?”

  “Oh, did she give you Fall Fireside?” Laurel asks. “It might be my favorite one yet.”

  “We could probably sell some of your things at the counter at the restaurant,” Uncle Bud says.

  “That would be amazing, Bud.” Juniper looks up from her plate, which looks untouched except for the one red potato she’s been moving around with her fork. When she smiles at him, two deep dimples appear and her eyes glimmer in the light from the chandelier above the table. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re making quite a name for yourself around here,” Janie says, then turns to Allan. “Did you take the boat out at all during this latest stretch of nice weather?”

  I glance around the table. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a family dinner—anyone’s family, let alone my own. This reminds me of the weeks we spent at the cabin in the years before Gran died, although those memories have become hazy and distant. Frankie and Izzy are at the opposite end of the table arguing about who knows what. Uncle Bud says he’s thinking about hiring someone else to run the place for a few months so he can move down to Arizona for the winter with his lady friend. Frank Sr. gets on Frank Jr.’s case about not refreshing the hens’ water. Juniper’s friend Amelia tells Ted about the Hitchcock marathon she’s watching on some new streaming service. I do my best to ignore the attorney, although he asks about my school in LA and my plans for the future. The future. I’m not sure about my plans for tomorrow.

  Finally, Allan pushes back his chair and places his napkin next to his empty plate. “Delicious as usual, Janie,” he says. “Gabe, why don’t you come over to my office
first thing tomorrow and we can talk things over.”

  I glance over at him, surprised that he’d want to talk to me without Chris. “I’m not exactly well versed in estate planning,” I say. “Maybe we should wait for Chris?”

  “Not necessary. He’s up to speed.”

  “But what if I have questions that you can’t answer?”

  Allan chuckles. “Believe me, I’ve heard it all over the years. I doubt you’d be able to stump me.”

  I look around the table, at Laurel and Juniper, who are both, it seems, trying to appear as though they aren’t paying attention to this conversation. God, my head is spinning. All I wanted was to get away for a few days.

  “Look,” I tell Allan, “I’d really like to wait until Chris is here.”

  “Why don’t I come with you, Gabe?” Frank says. “We can meet with Allan and then go out for breakfast or something.”

  I give him a grateful nod. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

  Allan stands up. “Excellent! I’ll have Chickie move a few things around on my calendar and we’ll get this out of the way.”

  “That’s not fair!” Izzy cries from the other end of the table. “I want to skip school and get waffles.”

  “Life’s not fair. Get used to it,” Ted says. After a few minutes, he pushes up from his chair. “Mama, I know it’s my turn to help with the dishes, but Frankie owes me. Gabey, you wanna take a ride with me? Juniper? Amelia?”

  Juniper looks at Ted, her eyes wide, then to Amelia, whose cheeks have pinked up.

  “Shoot,” Amelia says. “I can’t. I’ve got a test on Brave New World in English tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Juniper echoes. “I’m—I’ve got to work on my college essay.”

  “You do?” Laurel asks. “I thought you finished that.”

  “I did,” she says. “I had another teacher look at it for me, so I want to make some edits.”

  “Which teacher?” Laurel asks, almost as if she doesn’t believe her.

  “Marxen,” Juniper says and lifts her eyebrows.

  “Bummer,” Ted says. He turns to me. “Well, what are you waiting for? What else are you going to do tonight?” He’s got a point.