The Bequest
Chapter 47—Abigail

It's a new month, and I feel a little like a new person. I'm still the same old me, obviously. I'm a lawyer. I'm a mother. I'm a lousy sister-in-law and a mediocre aunt. But everything feels new.

We have internet. I can work from my tiny bedroom, with my pillows stacked behind me, and my feet kicked out on my twin bed.

The chores and tasks in front of me feel more manageable. Ethan's got the water handled, the guys are showing us how to properly cut and bale hay. We have the first round of alfalfa from one meadow baled and stored under tarps. It's not really much compared to the 700 plus tons that Kevin and Jeff say we'll need for the 180 days the cows need hay, but it's a start.

Most things, once you face them, aren't nearly as scary as you feared.

I need that to be true right now.

Because it's been days since I agreed to let Steve show me around at the 4th of July barbecue and dance, and I still haven't told my kids. Part of the issue is that Amanda and Emery and Maren are always here, so it's hard to get any time alone with my four kids. They can't all fit in my bedroom, nor can we all squeeze into Ethan's and Gabe's, or Izzy's and Whitney's.

But today, Amanda, who seemed really upset last night for some reason, decided to take her girls shopping in Green River. I think they needed a day that more closely resembled normalcy. That, and Amanda says she can't sit around all day, wondering if she'll hear back from Lololime. I always thought what she did was kind of fluffy, that she didn't work very hard to earn her money. Now that we're living in the same place, I can see the amount of time she spends figuring out what products would fit her brand, and coming up with new ideas of fun things to photograph and tips to offer her followers. The churn and burn of coming up with engaging content is probably more stressful in its own way than simply doing legal work that I've grown into over years and years.

I would hate doing it myself, but it's not as frivolous a job as I previously thought. It's sort of like inventing the design for and implementing your own organic form of marketing that's tied to your personal image. She always makes it look effortless, somehow.

"Hey guys, we're having dinner together. Isn't that fun?"

"We always have dinner together," Gabe says. "Unless you're working."

"I know," I say, "but it's the first time it's been only us for a while."

י

"You mean, Emery and Maren aren't here," Izzy says. "But I like having them around."

"I do too," "I say, and surprisingly, I mean it. "Even so, I like having just my kids sometimes too." I wonder if I overdid it. Am I trying too hard? I can't think the last time I made lasagna, a green salad, a fruit salad, garlic knot rolls, and dessert. Will the kids realize how nervous I am? Will they think I'm buttering them up?

If I'm this nervous about telling my kids, maybe I shouldn't be going on this pseudo date at all.

Not that it'll be much of a date, except in word. Steve's actually judging for the rodeo, so for most of the day I'll just be watching, and then at the barbecue, it's not like I'm going to banish my kids, so they'll be with us. Although Gabe, Whitney, and Izzy won't stay for the dance..

Thinking about dancing with Steve makes my stomach a little unsettled. It sends a shiver through my body.

"I'm starving," Ethan says.

And apparently, it makes me forget that the kids are waiting on me to ask one of them to say grace. "Whitney-"

"I'll pray." I can always count on her to volunteer. She loves talking, so it makes sense that she'd love talking to God as well. "Dear God, please bless all this food that Mom made, and also bless our family. Help Dad to know, up in heaven, that we love and miss him. Help us to stay here at the ranch, and don't let the alien people get all the money from it. Amen."

Ethan snickers, but everyone else acts like it was a normal prayer. I suppose it was. And I do hope, if it works this way, that Nate knows we miss him. But part of me hopes he's not watching me all the time. That thought only makes me feel more guilty, of course.

The kids have eaten the lasagna, the rolls, the fruit, and a token bite or two of salad by the time I finally get up the nerve to say anything.

"Your dad has been gone for a year now," I say.

"Actually, a year and two months," Ethan says.

"Right." I clear my throat. "And I know that's a long time in Gabe's life, for instance, but not as long for Ethan and Izzy and me."

"It's the same amount of time for all of us," Whitney says. "Isn't it?"

This is going well.

"Do you want us all to share a memory we have of Dad?" Gabe beams. "Because I thought of one."

How can I say no to that? "Uh, yes. That would be great."

"Once, I was drawing in my room," Gabe says. "I accidentally drew outside of the lines and it made a mark on my nightstand. You know, the wooden one you got made to match the bed?"

I nod.

"I liked making lines on the nightstand. It felt different than paper, and it looked really cool."

"I don't remember-"

He bites his lip. "I knew I shouldn't do it, but I couldn't seem to stop." He looks down at his plate, empty but for the salad. "Dad found me. He was upset, but when I started to cry, he said we could fix it. You were with Izzy at horseback, so we took it to the garage and we sanded the top. We put varnish on it, and he told me I had to be very careful not to touch it until the next night, or you'd find out."

I think about Nate, about the things he did for me, for the kids, without praise or recognition. He did them just because he loved us and wanted us to be happy. It's only been a year. How could I even consider-

"My memory is when I came home in fifth grade, really proud of how good I'd gotten at basketball. Dad was working a lot, and he was getting older, and I told him I knew I could beat him." Ethan laughs. "He destroyed me. Then he told me that if I kept practicing, it wouldn't be too long until I was right. He told me he looked forward to the day I smoked him."

"My turn?" Whitney bounces up and down on her chair. "Mine's a good one. I remember when we were kids and Dad would race around with us on his back."

"Horsey," Izzy says. "That's what he called it. That's why I wanted to learn how to ride."

"I'd never even been on a real horse before he died," Whitney says. "At least he saw you ride for real."

"He can see you now, I think," Ethan says.

It's the first time I've heard him say something hopeful, something that shows he has some kind of faith. I'm happy to hear it.

"But I don't think Mom was going to ask us that," Ethan says. "She made a big, nice dinner, and she looked nervous."

He's too old and far too perceptive. "No, it's fine."

"What did you want to say?" Izzy asks.

I should just tell them something about Nate, a story. But then I'll have to call off my date with Steve and that'll be exhausting and tiring. For all I know, Amanda has already told Maren about it. Suddenly, this exciting, light and fun secret feels heavy and depressing.

"Mom?" Izzy asks. "You can say anything. You know you can."

As a mother and as an adult, I know that's not true. But if I can't bring myself to tell them, I really should cancel. "Mr. Archer asked me to go as his date to the Fourth of July barbecue and dance." My hands tighten into balls in my lap. "I told him no at first."

"But now you're going?" Whitney's eyebrows rise and her mouth opens.

"That's so cool," Izzy says, "because I love Mr. Archer."

Gabe's frowning. "What's a date?"

"It's where two people hold hands and kiss," Whitney says.

I choke.

Ethan pats my back immediately. "That's not what a date is, goofball. It's where two people say, 'I kind of like you. Maybe we should spend some time together and see if we're a good match.""

I finally stop coughing. "Yes, that's right." I clear my throat. "Good explanation, Ethan."

"And I think it's great, too," Ethan says. "I'm sure Dad would agree. He would want you to be happy, and you look happier when Mr. Archer's around."

Suddenly, I'm fighting back tears.

"Why are you sad?" Gabe asks. "Are you okay?"

I hold out my arms and he walks toward me. I wrap my hands around his back and squeeze. "I'm fine, baby. I have you guys, and that's why I'm fine."

"I hope he gets you ice cream," Whitney says. "Or would that be like cheating? I mean, everyone will want to spend more time with someone who gets them ice cream."

"You should suggest that to him," Ethan says, "the next time you see him."

I kick Ethan under the table.

"I've changed my mind," Ethan says. "I think this is a terrible idea."

"Don't make me kick you again."

Izzy gets up and walks into the kitchen to grab the cake I made. She sets it on the table in front of me. "Was this a bribe? You made the cake so we'd say it's fine for you to go on a date?" My stomach ties in knots. I wish I'd eaten less, because I'm pretty sure I'm about to puke.