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A sentiment soon shared by voters across California, I mused.

“But they were having trouble getting rid of him, so I think they saw their chance and took it. Anyhoo.” He smacked his hands together. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, how about a tour?”

***

Ivan led me out of the house, through the back, by the pool.

“You just missed lunch,” he said, consulting his bright blue-banded Apple watch. Every day, between twelve and two o’clock, I could head over to the meditation loggia to grab asalad, or a sandwich, or a salad and a sandwich, plus a drink, and corn on the cob, for some reason. “It’s a great perk.”

I peered back at the loggia, where a couple of workers were gathering up uneaten cobs.

“There’s a lap pool by the tennis courts,” Ivan said, dog leash wrapped tightly around his hand. “The property manager will drain it soon, so get your laps in while you can. Speaking of Mindy, there she goes.” He pointed at a little blonde lady in pastel athleisure wear hopping into a golf cart.

“Why is she carrying a stick?” I asked.

He paused. “To scare away rattlesnakes?” Ivan’s tone told me he didn’t believe this, and neither should I. “There’s a yoga studio by the lap pool,” he went on. “That’s new. And a pickleball pavilion beyond the family barn.”

This place was chock-full of pavilions, and I thought about how strange it was Mom lived here. Daphne Carter had been wealthy thanks to her marriage, but she was an artist, a bohemian, always walking around with paint in her hair. Then again, the Ranch offered solitude, like your own private gated community. Mom never seemed to like other people much. Aside from Talia.

“What about the recreation pavilion?” I asked as we walked beneath a canopy of sycamore trees. “Dad mentioned something about closing it down?”

“Boarded up and out of use,” Ivan said. We crossed a small, lonely road—or maybe more driveway?—and turned left. “It was pretty expensive to keep running.”

I frowned, suddenly touched by homesickness for the only building on the Ranch I felt any attachment to. Unlike Talia, Ozzie and I didn’t have the patience to sit around and watch Mom paint for twelve hours a day, and so we entertained ourselves in the recreation pavilion—bowling, and singing karaoke, and beating each other’s high scores on six different arcade games. I’d give anything to return to those days, even if for a short time. We used to be so close. Frick and Frack, they calledus. I supposed it was natural to drift apart in adulthood, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

“Campaign HQ is in the main barn,” Ivan said as we passed a sand arena and grand prix field. “There are a few horses in the family barn if you want to ride. That’s something else Mindy can help you with. It’s Mindy for most things, as you’ve probably deduced. Your father has really pared back.”

There’d been a huge staff back in the day, I recalled, thinking of the pool boy, two tennis pros, andgauchos, for the love of God. I wished Ozzie was with me so I could turn to him and joke,No wonder Mom loved the Ranch.

“Here we are,” Ivan said as we entered the expansive, light-filled main barn, with its washed brick floors, white stucco walls, and open wood-beamed ceilings. “HQ. Where we’ll make magic happen.”

The horse stalls had been converted into offices, Ivan explained, and each had its own skylight and Dutch door to the outside. His office was in the former farrier and grooming space, near the gourmet kitchen and conference room. I snickered, picturing a pack of thoroughbreds hanging around, making coffee, talking shit.

Ivan stopped in front of a stall. “This is where you’ll be working,” he said. “You’re sharing an office with your sister. I hope you don’t mind.”

I didn’t have a chance to mind because here sat Talia behind a large oak table, brows pushed together as she studied something on a computer. Sensing our presence, she peered up. A look passed over her face. The opposite of thrilled to see me.

“I’ll let you two get situated,” Ivan said, and promptly vanished. I stood in the doorway, smiling blandly like a dope.

“Let the games begin!” I sang.

Talia appraised me, as if deciding whether to make the effort to stand. But she wasn’t a hugger, so instead she swept a hand, gesturing to the chair across from her.

“Well, this is fun,” I said, lowering into my seat. “A bona fidej-o-b. Get me the Roan Report. Stat.” I lightly banged my fist on the desk.

“What an unexpected turn of events,” Talia said, and clattered out a few sentences on her laptop. “Last we spoke, you were dead set against California.”

“Game-time decision,” I said, realizing I should’ve texted her in advance. My sister did not relish surprises. “Sorry for not giving you the heads-up. In the rush of everything, I totally forgot. I’m here now!” I eyed the laptop in front of me, a clunky thing probably old enough to get a learner’s permit. “Is this mine? Or does it belong to Ozzie’s art collection?”

“Can we not talk about that? It stresses me out.”

I bobbed my head. Talia was not countenancing any levity today.Noted. The girl was mad about something, but I would tread with caution. Talia was a hothead. Anything might set her off. Her mood always blew over, but waiting for the storm to pass could be rough. When I first moved to the Hudson Valley, she took it as a personal affront and ghosted me for three months.

“Oh, geez,” I said, noticing a sticker affixed to the computer. On a light blue background, a navy blue megaphone screamed GUNN! in bright yellow. “What’s with the yelling?”

“I guess he mentioned ‘making noise’ in an interview.”

“We’re gonna wind up in Dad merch eventually, aren’t we? Lord help us.” I grinned widely, but the gesture fell flat. I was really working to smooth Talia’s prickles, break the ice, get us to the other side of whatever was going on around here.