The Bequest
Chapter 68—Abigail

The waiter shows up just then, of course, asking about dessert plans. I order the tower of chocolate cake, which is enough for all of us, and a key lime pie, and a Snickers pie. "Can I get the cinnamon ice cream?" Gabe asks.

How does the kid who didn't remember the bread remember that? "Sure. Add it to the pile." The waiter walks away, beaming. He knows he'll be getting a huge tip. "We're going to drown in dessert," Whitney says.

"Sometimes it's alright to drown in dessert," I say. "Like when you're hurting or you're sad. Sometimes it's healthy to stick to what you know, or to numb the pain. But once you're far enough away from the trauma, you need to look around and decide what's healthy for the long term. So I'm going to ask you all something today that I should have asked before. I want to know, if you could pick your dream life, where it would be, and what it would look like."

"I want to run the ranch," Ethan says quietly. "But I want my family close. If you'll be here, I'll stay here too. So I guess what I want is to spend as much time as I can with the people I love."

It's a good thing they're all going to say something, because I can't talk at all right now around the frog in my throat. I bob my head and wipe at my eyes.

"I want to go back to the farm," Gabe says. "And not go to school. I want to play with goats and Roscoe and chickens all day. And I want to learn how to ride a stallion, and I want to fight bad guys with a long sword and wear a mask. And I want people to call me Gabe the Guardian."

Wow, that got specific.

When everyone laughs, he scowls. "I'm serious."

I pat his head. "We know you are, buddy. Your excitement just makes us happy, that's all."

"I want to get Roscoe a girlfriend, and I want to train her," Whitney says. "And I want to live with our cousins, and I want to make a lot of money selling cows, but I don't want anyone to eat them."

Trust Whitney to ask for something even more impossible than Gabe.

Something hits me then. I didn't tell them about this, because I didn't want to upset anyone. "Your Aunt Amanda actually called me," I say. "They're moving back to Birch Creek right now. I think they're actually driving the truck as we speak." "What?"

"Are you serious?"

"No way!"

"What about you, Izzy? You never went."

"I want to win first place in the rodeo, at barrels," she says. "And I want to learn to make really good cookies and sell them to the Flaming Gorge Resort and the Grill in Manila because they don't have a great bakery. Maybe one day, I'll open a bakery. And I want to go to a small school and have good friends."

I should have known-every single one of them wants to move back to Utah. Every single one of them wants to live on the ranch. None of them want to collect baseball cards with me, in the land called 'Denial: Everything is FINE.' "Well, then, I suppose I have an email to write," I say. "I hope that the partners won't be too offended when I write them and let them know that instead of becoming the newest partner, I'd like to go back to being Of Counsel and working part time-remotely."

As if it's a sign from Nate, the desserts arrive just then. The waiter totally thinks that's why the kids are all cheering, and that's fine by me. I think our life is about to be a lot sweeter-and not just for the next few minutes while we overdose on pie and cake. That night, after the other kids are asleep, Ethan asks me, "Do I really not have to go to college?"

I snort. "Check your email, mister. There are plenty of great community colleges that will let you take classes online. I may have had an epiphany: life changes, and some of the best things may not have been part of the plan. But I'm not going to lose my stripes and become a cheetah-you can take a few classes a semester and be the smartest rancher in Utah and Wyoming combined."

He laughs. "Deal."

That next morning, I call Amanda. "How's Manila? Cold yet?"

"I will let you know the second we actually arrive." Her voice is terse almost angry.

"Oh. I thought you said "

"Have you ever driven a moving truck?" She swears under her breath.

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"Maren, stop telling me what to do!"

"I can let you go," I say. "It sounds like "

"What did you need, Abigail?"

"Um, well, I know I told you we were definitely not moving back, but we've had a change of plans."

All I hear from the other end is a loud crash, and my heart flies into my throat. My hands tremble. A rushing sound fills my ears. I should never have called her.

There's a whooshing sound, and then a lot more swearing, and then rustling. "Abby?" Amanda sounds...happy.

"Are you okay?"

"You surprised me, that's all," Amanda says. "Listen, if you're serious-"

"I am. I mean, we are."

"That's the best news I've heard all month! When will you be coming out?"

"We have a lot of things to do on this end, but I'm hoping to be there a day or two before school starts."

"That's a week," she says. "You think you can get your stuff packed and move out in a week?"

"Probably not," I say. "But we can get enough things ready to fly out. I'll have to go back and forth a few times to sort through things on weekends or something. I just want the kids to have as smooth a transition as possible."

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"Let me know what I can do to help. I-I know we didn't get off to the best start."

I wonder whether she means as sisters-in-law or at Birch Creek. I suppose both are equally true. "I'm just relieved you're not upset. It's not a small house, but it's older and two families-" "We'll remodel it, then," she says. "That could be fun. We can add some space and modernize everything."

To my shock, I'm actually excited by the prospect of doing it at all—and doing it with her. "I love that idea."

"Okay, I'm going to hang up, but not because I don't want to talk more, or because I'm not excited. It's just that the road is winding and-"

"Of course. See you soon."

Those simple words are surreal to say. 'See you soon,' because Amanda Brooks is about to be a large part of my life for the foreseeable future and I'm not even dreading it.

As I start making mental checklists in my head, I keep coming back to what she said right before I hung up.

The road is winding.

For the last two decades, ever since I took that pregnancy test and it came up positive, my road has been like a highway. Straight, predictable, and fast. Nate's diagnosis threw a terrible curve into the path of both me and my children, and I worried we'd fly off the road. I've been reassuring people ever since that we're all 'fine.' That the bend in the road didn't flip our entire car and wreck our path.

Of course it wrecked us.

But now we're back in the car, driving again, moving toward the future that lies ahead. I wanted to stick to the highways. Predictable. Straight. Fast. It was what I knew. But when Mr. Swift called, he gave me a choice, and with a little help from Ethan, I exited the highway in favor of a smaller, winding country road.

I had never realized, as I assured everyone I was fine and plowed ahead at 70 miles per hour, how very many things you miss when you don't slow down and look around. I suppose I have Nate to thank for showing me that the winding roads, the forks in the path, and the bends that almost throw us can sometimes bring us to the most stunning vistas.