The Bequest
Chapter 31—Amanda

All the tension that I dissipated with my joke returns with full force. "We need to do something about my daughter?"

"She's being terribly mean to Gabe, and when Whitney defends him, she's pretty rude to her as well. You've done nothing about it, so consider this your formal notice that if you don't take steps to curb her attitude and behavior, I will." How dare she criticize not only my daughter, but my parenting? "You haven't even been here how could you possibly know what she's done?"

"My children actually talk to me." That's a low blow.

"Mine talk to me, too. I'm also here to see what happens, as opposed to you-you're always gone, flirting with that horse trainer for all I know."

Abigail's hand tightens into a ball at her side, and for a moment I worry that she'll actually punch me. Color floods her cheeks and her lips twist. "It must be nice," she says.

Although it really feels like a setup, I can't help myself. "What must be nice?"

"Not having to do any real work. First Paul supported you while you did nothing but shop, and now you post a few photos a week and people pay you for it. I'm sorry if my job has inconvenienced you, but some of us are forced to use our brains to earn a living, and that takes time."

She's right, of course. And that's the gist of my problem with her. She's a Harvard lawyer...and I'm a nobody who relies on the fickle attention of scads of unknown followers, all of whom could realize that I'm a fraud at any time. And I certainly can't fall back on my brain. Two years of college does not even a degree make, much less any marketable skills.

I never should have argued about Maren in the first place. I've never felt less secure in my own parenting skills-even with a handful of hours a day spent with her children, Abigail is killing it, whereas my sullen daughter has done nothing but read in her room and complain. She hates the smell of cows, the food is terrible, the bed is uncomfortable, she can't talk to her friends, and there's nothing to watch on television. I've wanted to smack her myself at least a dozen times, but I have no idea how to make her behave more like Abigail's kids. I should be asking her for help, not bawling her out for being a negligent mother.

"I"

Abigail drops her face in her hands. "I'm sorry, Amanda. I'm so sorry." When she moves her hands, it's clear that she's crying. "It has been so hard since Nate died. I don't know how you've survived. I should not have lashed out like that-but what you said." More tears well up and run down her face. "It's exactly what I've been afraid of. I'm trying to parent and provide and I'm failing at both. All the time."

What must it feel like for her? To lose an actual partner, someone she loved and respected, someone she wanted by her side for the next fifty years? Jealousy pulses through me. I know she lost Nate and it's wildly inappropriate for me to be jealous of her, but I never had what she's wrestling with missing so deeply. I've never been a great parent, and I've never been a happy wife.

Even now that's Nate's gone, I'm still jealous of her on both fronts.

"I'll talk to Maren," I say. "Maybe "

"Mom!!" Whitney's voice is shrill, followed immediately by shouts from the others.

Abigail turns and takes off like a shot for the barn. I follow quickly behind her, all details of our argument dropped the second a kid needs us.

This is my first time in the barn, so I'm a little overwhelmed. There's hay in big stacks, an open door full of saddles and junk, and rows of stalls. Several horse heads hang out, and I instinctively shy away from them. Enormous, murderous creatures. I shudder and move on.

The kids are all inside of a large open pen of some kind with big rectangular metal tubs along one side. There are buckets and strange, oddly-shaped rake looking things scattered all over, as well as a dirty, white-looking roundish thing. "Who's hurt?" Abigail asks.

"Me," Whitney sobs.

Abigail drops down on her knee, heedless of the mud she's getting all over her jeans. "Come here, baby, let me see."

While Abigail's examining Whitney, I scan for my kids to make sure they're fine. Emery looks concerned, as she should, but Maren's jaw is jutting out, and her eyes are flinty. That's not good.

I edge my way around the pen to where she's standing. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she says. "I mean, it should have been nothing, but Gabe's always such a baby."

Was Abigail right? Am I a terrible parent? Did Maren hurt Whitney? "Tell me what happened," I say as calmly as I can. Even so, a note of frustration definitely works its way in.

Maren, predictably, reacts by huffing and shaking her head. "I didn't even want to play with them, but when we were doing relays they needed even teams and then they moved on to this dumb game and I was already out here." "What game?"

"An idiotic version of duck duck goose," she says. "You sit in a circle, and one person is it, but they call it horse horse goat."

It sounds kind of cute, actually. My insta page would love it. I wish I'd gotten a video. "Okay, so you run around and round, with one person trying to tag someone. Presumably they say 'goat,' and that person has to run?" "Right."

"What are the buckets and rakes for?"

"Oh my gosh, Mom, even I know more than you. Those aren't rakes. They're scoopers, for mucking stalls."

It takes me a second, but I realize they're oddly shaped so they can scoop poop. Gross. "What were you using them for, though?"

"Since we're horses, we don't just run in a circle, we have to jump over the obstacles." She compresses her lips.

I am surprised they convinced her to play. "I bet you were good at it, since you jump so much for cheer."

"I was good."

"But how did Whitney get hurt?"

"Everyone lets Gabe win," she says. "Every single time. He's super slow, and he whines constantly, and he can't catch anyone. So whoever's closest to him just lets him tag them. Even Emery did it." "He's seven."

"You sound exactly like them-like his age explains everything. I was seven once, too."

I am a bad mom. I've raised a total brat.

"It's wrong to let people win. It sends the wrong message, that they don't need to try hard. So when he said 'goat' to me, he chased me and chased me and lost and had to go again." "And?"

She shrugs. "It happened a few times. People got mad because they're dumb."

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"Whitney tripped her the next time she wouldn't let Gabe catch her," Emery says.

"That was a terrible thing to do," Abigail says. "Why would you do that?"

Whitney's face is blotchy from crying. "I'm so sorry, Mom. I did apologize. Gabe was so sad, but I knew it was wrong."

"I still don't understand how Whitney was injured." I can tell there's something wrong with her arm.

"After she tripped me, I shoved her," Maren says. "She got my shirt all muddy."

"Whitney fell and landed on the water trough," Izzy says. "I think her arm's broken."

"I'm going to run up the hill," Ethan says. "I'll check the map on my phone to see where the closest emergency room is." Abigail nods. "Thanks."

"We're coming too," I say. "I'm so sorry, Abigail."

"I don't want her there," Whitney says.

Of course she doesn't. "We're all sorry." I tap Maren's hand, and when she still says nothing, I kick her.

"Yeah. Sorry."

My daughter is a monster. I just wish I had some idea of how to fix it.