Our Chance (Los Rancheros #4) (2 page)

I set the timer and jog over to the others.

"Three pictures, ten seconds apart, smile first, silly second, smile last." I learned this from experience; the first will be stiff, the second cute, and the third genuine smiles with occasional drifting eyes. But as they get older, there's less of the drifting and more perfect shots.

I get behind the kids, and my dad puts his arm around my shoulder for the first picture. On the second, we squeeze the kids together between us while they act like they're suffocating, and the third is all of us laughing.

I grab the camera, and the kids ask for a snack before we get on the road. I pop the trunk and pass out the fruit salads I packed that morning. I feel my dad's hand on my shoulder and turn to look at him.

"Proud of you, kiddo." My eyes mist and I give a small smile back before grabbing two apples and shutting the lid.

"Thanks, Daddy," I tell him quietly. I'm still my daddy's little girl, and that he's proud of me will always be something important to me.

"Let's hit the road, Jack!" I call out.

"Ha-ha," he says drolly. His name is Jack, and I used to say that all the time as a kid. It still cracks me up.

When I get in the van, I make sure the dog is in the back and push the button for the doors before grabbing my iPhone to put on the special mix I came up with. I fix the camera back on the rearview mirror and press record before playing the music.

Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" starts playing and I hear three groans from the back as I belt out the song, complete with hand motions. I finally pause it after much groaning.

"Oh come on, guys! I made a whole playlist of Canadian artists for Canada!"

"Mom, this stuff blows!" I hear Trigg yell from the back.

I yell back, "Liar!" then switch to a Shania Twain song.

This time it's Jet. "Gross, Mom!"

Pausing it again, I sigh dramatically and turn around. "Fine, guys, there's another one in a backpack under one of your seats. I don't remember where I put it."

I watch the rearview mirror behind my camera as three dark brown heads bend down and pull out different bags from their seats. Zippers open simultaneously and then three gasps are heard. I put my fingers over my mouth to stop the laugh that wants to burst free.

Trigg looks up first and I shrug. "I need B roll." This trip is huge. We're moving away from everything they remember, and going to the unknown. Trigg is like me, and is fascinated by my camera. He has it more than I do usually, so I got him one so that he can record his thoughts on this journey. He doesn’t want to move, and has been very vocal about it. I'm hoping he can find some excitement through the lens. He smiles and tears it out of the box.

Harper catches my attention as she looks up wide-eyed with her mouth open. I squee like a little girl and clap my hands, making her come out of her shock and do the same. She holds up her new Macbook Air and shouts to Trigg sitting behind her. "Look, Trigg! Look!"

He looks up and yells back, "Sweet, Harp!" They're eighteen inches away from each other, but it doesn't matter.

Harper is an introvert, like her dad. She holds things in. She can't seem to express what she's feeling sometimes. And she loves helping me edit my videos. I'm hoping she can type out whatever she's feeling, and the autocorrect on her computer will help her improve her spelling. I'm crossing my fingers she will edit her brother's videos, too.

"Breaker, breaker, come in. Breaker, breaker, one, nine," Jet says, holding his camo walkie-talkie up to his face.

There's static and then, "This is the Goat, over."

Jet's eyes light up and he presses his button down again. "Grandpa!"

"This is the Goat, who is this?"

Jet squints his eyes in thought, bites his tongue then responds. "This is the White Witch. What's your position, over."

I yell, "Hey!"

Jet rolls his eyes at me. "Mom, he's in the GTO and it's called a goat. Why can't our white van be a witch?"

“Why can't it be a dove?" I shoot back.

His eyes go bright and he comes back with, "I've got it, it can be Moby's dick!"

"Moby Dick. It's Moby Dick!" Gah, read the kid the classics, and that's what I get.

"Fine, we can be the White Witch," I concede, but he's already shaking his head.

"I like the dick one better."

"Stop saying that!" I exclaim and the other kids laugh.

"White Witch, I'm looking at your backside. You've got something sticking out. Looks like you forgot to wipe," my dad reports as my van explodes in laughter that is music to my ears.

We all share the same sense of humor, and it gets pretty vulgar sometimes. Sebastian would hate it, but we have a lot of fun, and they know when it's appropriate.

I tell Jet, "There's something else in there, big guy."

He digs into his backpack and pulls out a director's clapper with a dry erase marker attached.

He snaps it shut a few times. "So. Cool."

"Now you can yell action and cut when we're taping. Write down your name where it says D I R, that's the director." Multipurpose; he practices his handwriting, it's easier for all of us in editing, and he feels included.

Trigg says, "Wait a minute. You got us all movie stuff. Why is that?" Suspicious, smart child.

I turn in my seat so I can meet their eyes. "A few reasons. I want you to have fun. You're my kids, so you enjoy this stuff. And it's going to be summer soon. Moving, we're going to have tons of videos to shoot. Things like home improvement I'm sure, daily life on the farm, cooking, canning, fishing, horseback riding at your gran's house. This is a big change for us, and our viewers might not know how to do the stuff we're going to learn to do. We can teach them."

I’ve never done this before. I've always done it myself, with them as extras or assistants in my videos. They've never been the main person before. I'm nervous, but a lot of viewers have kids their age.

Harper jumps on what I've eluded to. "Are you saying we get our own channel?"

Trigg sucks in a breath, and I think he's holding it. I look back at the three pairs of eyes that mean the most to me in the world and nod. "I have conditions. Number one. If, and I mean if, you can do a good job, which I know you will. Number two. You don't tell anyone where we live. Number three, you stay on point and don't bad mouth me or each other. Number four, your grades stay up, and chores get done. Oh, I have to approve everything before posting it."

I get yells and screams and hold up a hand for silence. "That means I have the password, not you. You show me the videos, and I'll upload them for you."

They all eye each other like partners looking for an investor then turn back to me in unison and nod. Jet holds out his hand and I shake it solemnly before shaking the others’ hands.

After that's done, I bug my eyes out at the camera and then press play on my phone, letting Justin Bieber bring us into Canada as the snow starts to fall.

"Here's another bear! This one looks like it's got two babies with it." I slow down and crack the windows so that Trigg and I can get clear shots in the inch of space we have. Since there's no one on the road, we stop and record while the other takes pictures for a few seconds until they cross into the woods on the other side of the road.

Suddenly we're all jumping when we hear the clapper. "Cut!" Jet yells.

The kid is fraying my nerves with that thing. I'm not used to it yet and get surprised fifty times a day. We're on our third day in Canada, listening to Nickelback on my Canadian playlist. We've stopped in Whitehorse and Fort St. John for a night each. There is nowhere in between these towns to spend the night until we get to Vancouver, so Dad and I are dragging big time. Dad is listening to books on tape with Harper today, while I have the boys.

"Jet, erase scene six and put a seven." The clapper may be a nerve splitter, but it was genius, too. He loves it, and doesn't complain about doing his numbers. He starts kindergarten in the fall, so I've been using every opportunity to teach.

"Goat, this is White Witch, we're moving out. Over." Jet is serious about this walkie-talkie thing.

"Roger, Roger, Goat out." So is my dad.

Trigg asks me, "So mom, tell me about growing up on a farm. What can I expect?"

I know he's filming me by the sound of his interviewer's voice, so I clear my throat and pull back on the road saying, "Well, I grew up with an older brother. Like, way older. Will is ten years older than me. Then there was me, and your Auntie Darcy came along seven years later. I babysat a lot, went swimming, and fishing. Horseback riding and camping, tagging cattle. It was a lot of fun."

Trigg says, "Grandpa says you were a rebel. Can you explain that?"

I smile and glance at him. "I was." I shrug. "I knew what my life was going to be like after college. I knew I was going to be on the farm for the rest of my life, so I wanted to have all of my fun while I could. So I did, and drove everybody crazy."

"Did you have friends?"

I feel my face go soft. "Yeah. Brody was always there getting into trouble with me. He used to jump off of the hayloft with me, and skinny dip. Terrorizing the popular kids in school, and turned off the microphone at graduation. Going to the beach and concerts. We had a good time."

"Do you know where Brody is now?"

I shake my head. "I sure don't. I bet if we asked your grandma when we get there she'll know, though," I suggest.

"Why do you say that?" he asks me.

"Because your grandma and his mom are best friends. They went to school together, too," I explain.

After that, Trigg stops asking me questions and I'm relieved. I haven't talked about Brody in a long time. He's the reason I'm worried about being there. Brody wasn't just my best friend. He was everything. We grew up from birth together. At ten, he pulled my braid so I punched him in the mouth. At sixteen, we knew we were it for each other, and lost our virginity together. At seventeen, there was a huge, fateful fight that changed everything. After that, we dated other people, at our discretion, always knowing in the back of our minds we would get back together. At least I did. Until a new boy showed up senior year and things changed.

My mom didn't speak to me for two months after I left home with Sebastian. We went to Vegas and got married on the way to Oklahoma for his basic training; then I got an apartment. It was fun and terrifying. It was the exact opposite direction I thought my life would go. But I wouldn't take back any of it. I check my rearview mirror again and change lanes as traffic picks up.

We stop in Vancouver to go whale watching, and then the Space Needle in Seattle. In Oregon, we stop at a bed and breakfast on the cliffs and watch the waves crash and spray us. The weather gets warmer, and by the time we hit Cali, it's in the high seventies and I have to take the kids shopping. We stop at outlets and stock up, getting amazing deals for all of us. I purposely didn't buy their summer clothes yet because I knew the styles would be different. I don't want the kids to feel more awkward than they already will starting a new school.

Spending the night in the redwoods, we take pictures and then head towards the last stretch of our trip. I asked the kids to ride with me again, so I can gauge their reactions myself. Driving through town, everything is different. The buildings that were there before look older and there are tons of new things: fast food places and big chain stores.

The farmer’s market that used to be stalls, resembling a flea market, is now a huge warehouse looking building with six foot high letters in lime green proclaiming it the FARMER'S MARKET. The parking lot is huge and packed with cars.

"That's where our family sells everything they grow and make. Hopefully, we can sell some stuff there, too."

"Cool, can I sell stuff, too?" Harper asks me.

I smile. "I'm sure you can. Grandma would love that."

We turn into a gate, the GTO in front of me. Dad talks to the guard and gestures to me then drives through when the gate goes up. I stop and smile. "License please, ma'am." I pull out my wallet and hand it over as I reflect. When I lived here before, there were no gates or guards. Now they tell me it's all fenced off for the organic farmers so nothing gets contaminated, and because celebrities are moving in. Crazy. The golden letters on the stone gate says Los Rancheros. Fancy.

I turn right at the gate and go down paved roads that used to be dirt. There are old farms that I remember mixed in with huge houses, all of them have their own private gates. The kids are silent and I glance back to see them all staring wide-eyed out their windows. Making a left, I pass by my parents’ cattle ranch, pointing it out as we pass. You can't see the house through the trees, but there are cattle and horses in the fields along the road.

My eyes refuse to stay on that side of the street and I look towards the right where the Glenny’s Alpaca Farm is. Their gate is black wrought iron with fields dotted with the furry creatures. Or not too furry, I think, as we pass a sheered one close to the road. They get shorn in the spring, and being that it's April, it looks like it's already been done. The long neck and body look strange and skinny compared to the fuzzy head.

"What is that?" Jet asks. I wait to see if the other kids know. No one says anything.

"Wow! I have deprived you kids. That's an alpaca. I can't believe you don’t know that."

"Not all of us grew up across the street from one," Harper tells me.

I nod. "Guess what? Now you do." I turn into the white picket fence style gate and slide through before it shuts behind the GTO. It goes from cobblestones in the driveway before the gate to gravel after it. Just like I remember it being. We pass rows of trees on either side with a white house to the front of us. The driveway pulls to the side of the house, where the two-car garage is. There's another two-car garage set at a right angle to the house with an apartment on top of it, or a mother-in-law suite.

There's an old Bronco sitting in the detached garage that causes me to slam on the breaks. The dog goes flying. It's a good thing I wasn't going too fast. “
Mom
,” in different voices yell out in surprise from the back and I tell them, "Sorry, a... squirrel just ran—craziest thing."

As I pull into the garage, I try not to freak out. Why is Brody's truck in grandma's garage?
AH!

I get out and hit the buttons for the back doors and trunk to open. Angus is out and sniffing before the kids unbuckle. I look over the hood of the sports car next to me and ask, "Dad?"

He looks at me and shrugs, walking over to the kids. "This used to be my mom's house. Now it's yours. Isn't that so cool?"

"Cool," Trigg replies flatly. I look at him in warning and he turns his back on me. Angus starts barking frantically and I'm worried he found the chickens, so I take off around the van and slide on the gravel, coming to a stop. Belatedly lunging for Angus, before he can guard us against the huge, tanned, muscular man and his short salt and pepper haired dog.
Shit. And thank God I put makeup on this morning.

We both look each other over before locking eyes for the first time in eleven years. Brody's head is shaved, and looks prickly, black against his scalp. His hazel eyes are a mix of deep green and light brown. His cheeks are more hollow; he's lost his boyishness and grown into a man. Obviously I knew this would happen, but I didn't allow myself to think about it. His arms are huge with veins popping out. The white t-shirt he's wearing accentuates the muscles underneath. He's got jeans on that are frayed with holes and a silver chain on his front belt loop going back. He's got his hip cocked out and with his black work boots, he looks as badass as I always knew he would be. Damn.

I cross my arms over my white tank top as I feel my nipples get hard. Angus sits, so I don't have to hang on to him, as we stare at each other. He looks down at my arms and I watch his lips twitch, like he's trying not to smile. My reaction is instant. I roll my eyes. "Some things never change."

He looks behind me, his eyes growing serious. "Some things do."

I turn to see my kids watching us with rapt interest. I curl my lips in, nervously biting on them, then hold out a hand. "Brody, this is Trigg, man of the house and jack of all trades. He's ten."

Trigg does a chin lift I've never seen him do before and Brody does it back.

"Harper, my manager. She's seven." Harper tosses her long dark hair over her shoulder and smiles. I feel my eyes bug out as I realize she thinks he's cute. Brody slowly smiles back and I sigh at the same time my daughter does, which jars me enough to keep going.

"And this is Jet, my bodyguard. He's five."

Jet moves one step forward and reaches his arm out to shake Brody's hand saying, "'Sup dude?"

Brody licks his lips—trying not laugh, I think—and leans forward to give a firm shake and says, "'Sup."

I clear my throat. "Kids, why don't you go with Grandpa. I'm sure your Grandma is in there somewhere and you can pick your rooms." They take off and I yell behind them, “Remember I get the one with the bathroom!"

I turn around, realizing I just left myself alone with this man. Shit. I look around and cross my arms again as he does the same, except he watches me. Finally, when I can't breathe, he says quietly, "Those were our names. Did you have to do that?" There's pain in his voice and in his eyes, when I can finally look at them. His jaw is clenched tight and I can see muscles bulging.

My eyes fill with tears, and I lift my hand to my mouth as I clear my throat again. "I didn't... They were my names, too. I couldn't see my kids with any other names than those. Excuse me, I need to go." I grab a suitcase out of the trunk and bolt for the stairs.

When I get up to my grandma's room—full of rose wallpaper and white frilly comforters—I drop the suitcase and fall onto the bed, stuffing a pillow over my face. I cry as I remember a boy who lay under the stars with me as we planned out our lives. We had six names, but only wanted three kids; just in case we had three of one gender we were covered. They would be dark, of course, because both of us are, and would be four years apart so that we would have one kid at home for quality time before they went off to school. The perfect life, decided by two teenagers in love.

I sniffle in a breath as I feel the bed compress beside me. I toss the pillow, the springs squeak in the old mattress, and look to the side. My mom is lying beside me on her side, smiling sweetly at me.

She whispers, "It's always been you and that boy. You made a bittersweet mistake that got you a loving husband and three beautiful children. That wasn't your time, then. Now is your time. Don't waste it."

I smile and shake my head at her. Brody's mom Glen and mine have been so sure we were meant for each other since before we were even born. To say I broke their hearts by marrying Sebastian is an understatement. She softly wipes my mascara from my eyes. "Come on, I've got something to cheer you up."

She sits up and then pulls me to my feet. I hug her to me tight. "I love you, Mama."

She squeezes tighter. "Oh, my baby, I love you, too."

She leads me past my kids that are unpacking in their selected rooms and down the stairs. We walk through the foyer to the back of the house next to the kitchen. She goes through a doorway that I know leads to the butler's pantry. It's at the last part of the house; just a long, skinny room that runs along the kitchen wall full of cabinets on one side, floor to ceiling. The other side has cabinets, drawers and counter space. My mom pulls open cabinets quickly and I squeal like a little girl, splaying my arms out wide on the shelves.

I vaguely hear my kids running down the stairs like elephants and Trigg explaining quickly, "She makes that sound when she gets overexcited. It means she's probably going to do something funny."

"Oh, I remember what that means," I hear Brody rumble back, but even he can't pull me from the perfection in front of me.

"Look at this! Gooseberry, Scrolls, Starburst, Flirtation, Friendship! Do you know how amazing this is?!"

Brody's looking at me in confused amusement. My kids are nodding sagely, but don't say anything so I explain to Brody, pointing at Trigg holding up a camera. "They will know how amazing this is. I had no idea Grandma Pierce had so much Pyrex! It's like a museum!"