The Bequest
Chapter 66—Amanda

That thought hits me like a lightning strike to my brain, and I've been blowing it every minute I spend at this job, doing something I don't like, is like throwing money away on something stupid. I've gone even one step further. I let the very job I don't like tell me exactly how to spend every bit of time I have-in exchange for money, a currency that is much more available and much less valuable! If I were talking to my own daughter, I'd never hesitate. I'd tell her to quit in a moment.

I whip out my phone and my fingers fly over the keypad as I tell Heather and Victoria that they can't dictate my life choices. They can't demand that I include my daughter in their promotions. I remind them that while I may have signed a contract with them, I'm still a real person living a real life, not a paper doll they can force to dance around. I'm ready to hit send when the panic overtakes me.

I have no idea what else I can do.

With no plan, no ideas, and no place to stay if I can't afford to renew our current apartment, I'm going to what? Burn down the house?

"Do it, Mom.” Emery smiles, a real, happy smile, as she peers over my shoulder. "Don't keep doing things you hate for me."

"We need income," I say. "What about your school?"

"Keep the instagram account until you find something else, but ditch the people who order you around and make you feel like a loser." She taps my finger, sending the angry email out into the aether.

My heart races. "Your school tuition's due," I say. "And our apartment rent is going up."

"Then we go to public school," she says. "And we find a smaller place. Maren and I can share a room."

Maren pulls her headphones off. "If we have to share anyway, we may as well live somewhere free." She purses her lips.

"Free?" I blink.

"We could go back to Birch Creek."

"And run a ranch?" I laugh. "You couldn't even "

"I was taking lessons." Her voice is small. Her eyes are unsure. Her fingers are white across the knuckles where they're gripping the armrest in the cab.

"You're here," the cab driver says in heavily accented English.

I pay him and the girls help me wrangle our luggage out of the trunk. The second our final bag is out, he speeds off, the momentum from the car closing the trunk.

"What a jerk," I say.

"Mom," Maren says. "Yeah?"

"He was a normal cab driver. You just think he was rude because you've been somewhere that people are mostly nice."

Is she right?

"My friends are all horrible." She tucks her phone in her pocket and hefts both her suitcases. "I didn't realize that I was just like them until I got away from it...and then came back." Could we go back to Birch Creek? We just left.

I imagine the farmhouse with just the three of us. I could turn one of the rooms into an office, and another into a storage room. Maybe I could sell...or make...or I could...surely there's something I'd be good at and also enjoy. I wrack my brain as the doorman helps us drag the mountain of bags inside. I keep flogging it as we unpack.

Could I sell jam? Where? That's probably ill-advised, since I've never made jam. Could I design clothes? I have excellent fashion sense. But I can't sew. I'm guessing that would be an issue. Maybe I could teach... What? Social media? Ugh. I haven't had a single good idea.

A bumping noise outside my door makes me smile. Roscoe wants inside. Except of course, I left him back in Utah. The thought of him curled up against the door, mourning the loss of another owner, breaks my heart. Tears rush to my eyes. "Is someone there?"

Maren pokes her head through the doorway. "I think you used to like your job, when you first started."

It was exciting then, to get contacted by a company, or to be asked to use their products. I tried so many things I'd never have checked out, and I helped people find them too. "But the newer companies, the ones I liked working with, that I enjoyed finding, they can't afford to pay much."

"It would help if your expenses were lower. A paid-off house and free schooling would make that easier." She smiles.

"Are you really interested in going back to Birch Creek? That school's going to be tiny."

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"I'm a little nervous about the school," she admits. "But I could attend an online school if it came to that. There is internet there now."

"But what about friends?"

"I was thinking maybe you could call Aunt Abby," she says. "Her kids are kind of the first real friends I've ever had, I think."

"They're your cousins."

"Cousins can be friends, too, right?"

When I call Abby, she emphatically tells me that there's no way they'll go back.

Emery and Maren are both disappointed. "I doubt we could run the ranch alone," Maren says.

"With Kevin and Jeff, we can do it," Emery says. "I know we can."

"I can't ride a horse."

"We'll buy a four-wheeler," Emery says. "And I heard Roscoe was awesome at helping on cattle drives."

"There won't be enough of us to bring them home," I say.

"It's easier to get them back-they kind of find their way home for the most part." Emery looks so hopeful. I think about Ethan's face, when he said we hadn't done anything... He was right. We hadn't. But if my girls and I have our way, that will change.

"Alright. We'll spend the next few weeks here, packing, wrapping, and shipping. And at the end of July, when our lease is up, we'll get in a truck and move to Birch Creek."

If I wasn't positive before, the girls' whoops and hollers reassure me that it's the right call. It may be scary, but I'm done spending my time on things that don't bring me joy. That night, when I finally pull up my email to send the message to my landlord that I won't be renewing our lease, I notice that Lololime responded.

Twice.

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The first email is from Heather, and it's rather heated. She points out, accurately, that her ideas gained me twenty-five percent again as many followers. It mentions the termination clause, which allows voluntary termination on their part for difficulty in communications. I expect the email to upset me more than it does. I have a place to stay. My girls will enroll in the local school system, which costs me nothing. And with what I've got in savings, I can buy a decent car and never have to drive a ridiculous van around again.

When I open the second email, from Victoria, I'm prepared for them to exercise the termination. In fact, I welcome the freedom it will bring.

Mrs. Brooks,

At first, your message upset our entire social media team. We spent many weeks, as you know, selecting the accounts we felt would best showcase our brand and our products, which we all love dearly. We felt that your criticisms of our suggestions and excitement for our partnership were exaggerated and unwarranted attacks.

But then I spoke with my husband. I debated leaving this out, but his words gave me some perspective. I would never allow someone else to dictate whom I dated, or when I moved, or where I lived or how I parented my children. How could I, in good conscience, ask someone to do things I could never do?

I felt it was alright for us to dictate things, given the terms of the agreement and the compensation you're receiving, but he pointed out that you earned that offer by making intelligent and attractive choices up until now. I feel that your honesty, your integrity, and your fire are all things that will serve you well as one of our brand ambassadors.

So if you will accept our apology, moving forward we'd still like to meet once a month to let you know what products we'd like to focus on, but we will leave the method in which you highlight them and the focus of your social media accounts and brand entirely up to you. Thank you for bringing to light a major flaw in our own processes so that we can become the partner you deserve in the future.

Best,

Victoria

"Mom! You're crying." Emery rushes into my room and climbs up on my bed. I'm not sure she would have been bold enough to do that before our summer trip. She wraps her arms around my neck. "They're happy tears this time," I say. "Look."

I hand her my phone. It takes her a while to work through the email, but a smile engulfs her face once she does. "That's amazing! You'll still have the money."

"And maybe you can like your job again," Maren says.

"I certainly hope so." I pull out my laptop and bring up the Penske truck website. "Now how about we book our moving truck so this whole thing feels real? I'll call Mr. Swift tomorrow morning and tell him that instead of mailing him the keys, we're going to hang on to them."