Page 38 of Christmas at the Ranch

Twenty-Eight

I t feels surreal, to be walking with my mother down Main Street in Evergreen—like this past week never happened. Like I imagined all of it, and I’m just Emory Oakes again, the person I was before I drove here in confusion and fear.

But I’m about to change one thing, I tell myself. There is one small way I will make things right here in Evergreen, on behalf of my family.

It’s just that all I can think about is Tate.

I wonder how much he heard and what he thinks.

If my mother’s appearance has made him realize that he cannot have me in his life.

Because back then, my parents did a really good job of ruining things between us with a check my dad tried to hand to Tate and his father, a pompous offer to buy the place out from under them.

And although we keep trying to act like adults, somehow, we keep getting thrust back into the past, feeling like teenagers again.

But I push those thoughts aside now. My mother and I have something to deal with. We walk past Carrie’s. She’s outside, wearing a Santa hat and giving out free hot chocolates—which I hope, for everyone’s sake, are plain hot chocolate and not spicy or, worse, meaty.

“What a delightful town,” my mother says. “Truly, Emory. I can see what you love about it. I never really looked around when I was here. It’s so quaint. It’s like…the perfect set for a holiday movie.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I say. “Sometimes, it doesn’t even feel real.” This makes my heart start to ache a little, but I push it aside.

As we pass Young’s Chinese, Mr.and Mrs.Young wave to me out the window. Inside, the lights are flickering on and off. Mya must be working on another electrical project.

“You seem right at home here,” my mother says—but for some reason, this gives me another pang. I want to feel at home here, I realize. But will I ever, truly?

Now we’re in front of Gill’s. The window frame is outlined by twinkling green and red lights, and there’s a big wreath on the door.

The fishing-lure door chimes ring out as we enter.

Gill is serving a customer, so we wait in line until he’s finished.

I feel nervous. I think about what Charlie told me, and Tate, too, about how upset he is, how wounded his pride is.

What if he says no to us? Or tells us to leave?

I know we can’t really make any of what my father and his cousin did right, but I want to try.

Gill gives the customer their bag of takeout, and the woman smiles at us as she leaves. My mother smiles back and says, “Happy holidays!”

I’ve never seen her like this—so authentic and warm. As if Evergreen is having a positive effect on her.

Now we’re at the front of the line and my heart is pounding hard. I swallow a few times, but my throat is dry.

“How may I help you?” Gill asks with a welcoming smile.

“I…I’m Emory Oakes,” I say.

“Well, I know that,” Gill says. “You’re working with Bruce. Saw it in the Evergreen Business Owners’ group chat.”

I’m surprised. “Then you know who I am?”

“Of course I do. Everyone does.”

“But you were so nice to me.”

He looks surprised. “Of course I was. What did you do wrong?”

“Excuse me.” Now my mother steps in. “I’m Cassandra Oakes. I’m her mother. And I’m here to apologize to you for what my husband took from you. I truly am sorry.”

Gill pauses. “You didn’t do anything wrong, either, ma’am,” he says. “And I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s all over now.”

“No, it’s not,” my mother says. She’s holding out the check. Gill hardly looks at it.

“No,” he says firmly. “I do not want charity.”

“It’s not charity,” my mother says. “It’s the exact amount that you invested in the company. Plus a decade of interest. It’s for you. Please, take it.” She puts it down on the counter.

Gill looks down at the check for a long moment. Then he looks back up at us.

“I can’t take that,” he says.

“But it’s your money!” my mother exclaims.

He shakes his head. “Are you able to pay back all the people who lost money in your husband’s Ponzi scheme?”

“Well, no. The money simply isn’t there. That’s the nature of a Ponzi scheme, sadly.”

“I can’t,” he says. “I appreciate it, I do. But it’s just not right.”

“But why not?” My mother’s tone is pleading now.

“Because I can’t be the only one to get my money back. I’m sure there are people far worse off than me. Why am I the one who deserves it?”

I don’t know what to say to this and I can tell my mother doesn’t, either. She opens her mouth, then closes it.

Finally, she says, “Well, we simply can’t make it right with everyone. It’s not possible. But we could try, we could pay back a few more people…”

He shakes his head again, picks up the check, and hands it to her.

“I do appreciate the sentiment, really. But I’ve been thinking a lot since the news broke last week.

Yes, my nest egg is gone, the money I inherited from my father.

I’ve done just fine all these years without it.

It was my retirement fund, but my wife died a few years ago and to tell you the truth, retirement doesn’t seem so appealing.

I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I didn’t have this place.

I’ll be just fine. I’ll keep running this place and doing what makes me happy until I do finally decide it’s time to retire.

Then I’ll sell the business and that will be my nest egg. I’m okay. Really I am.”

I can tell my mother still doesn’t know what to say—that maybe she has never experienced something like this before, someone being so selfless. The truth is, neither have I. I feel overwhelmed by his kindness.

And then he says, “Now, why don’t you sit down and let me bring you some lunch? I imagine you’ve come a long way, Mrs.Oakes, and that you’re hungry.”

For the second time that day, I see my mother’s eyes shining with tears. She looks down at the check for a long time, then tucks it back into her purse.

“I am hungry,” she says. “Lunch would be really nice.”

We sit by the window, looking out at Evergreen’s snowy Main Street. Gill brings us his pan-fried trout and parsnip frites, and my mother declares it some of the best food she has ever eaten.

“I wonder if he does catering.” But then she seems to remember herself, and who she is now.

“Just enjoy the moment, Mom,” I offer, and she smiles and takes another bite.

We eat in silence. It’s companionable. Speakers above our heads play “Silver Bells,” then Anne Murray’s version of “Winter Wonderland.”

“I love this song,” my mother murmurs. Another surprise. After a while, my mother puts down her fork and looks across the table at me. “Don’t you think there’s something you need to go deal with yourself?”

I frown. “What do you mean, exactly? Work? I’m pretty much done for the day.”

“I saw that boy climbing out your window. Or man, I should say. You two aren’t kids anymore, are you?”

I start to blush immediately. “You saw him.”

“I didn’t want to embarrass you. So, you two are still carrying on?”

“Mom, are you judging? Because I know you didn’t approve of him back then.”

Her face falls. “I know. God, I’ve been awful.

But, Emory, you’re here. That means something, right?

I can see that you love this town. And even after just a few hours, I get it.

I see why you love it here. But it’s not just that.

It’s also him . And I very clearly interrupted something.

Do you still care about him the way you did? ”

In the past, I would have hidden my true feelings from her. But in the past, she never would have asked.

“I do,” I say. “And yeah, we were sort of in the middle of a…conversation.” My face feels like it’s on actual fire.

“One I imagine you want to finish,” she says. “Here, let me settle up with Gill. He has to at least let me pay for lunch. I’ll meet you back at your apartment later?”

I stand. “Sounds good, Mom. Thanks.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand, and the maternal gesture feels strange but also like the beginning of something between us. As if it might somehow be possible for us to make up for lost time.

“I love you, sweetheart,” she says.

“I love you, too, Mom,” I say.

Then I go outside and call Frank the taxi driver to take me out to Wilder’s.