Page 15 of Sunny Skies Ahead (Watford Sweethearts #2)

Chapter ten

Kameron

I spent the next three days filling out three separate grant proposals. Connor’s investment and our existing grant funding secured us for the next year, but I was planning for the future.

I didn’t want to put our nonprofit in a bad spot if we weren’t able to get the farm off the ground, or if we ran into any emergencies.

I’d worked so damn hard to build this place.

I wasn’t about to let mismanagement take it away.

On Friday, I spent the entire morning and early afternoon decidedly not listening for the sound of Imogen’s car pulling up in the gravel lot next to the farmhouse.

I told myself I was excited for her to arrive because I had new ideas about outreach opportunities I wanted to run by her, and not because I was excited to have her close to me again.

I idly wondered if this was how Connor felt those first few days back with Abbie in the fall of last year. Abbie and Connor had a lot more history between the two of them compared to Imogen and I, but I couldn’t help seeing some parallels.

And that was a rather terrifying thought .

Right as I put my head down to continue writing objectives, my phone pinged.

Imogen Phillips

Don’t hate me for what I’m about to say

Me

I could never hate you.

What’s up?

Imogen Phillips

There’s a lot of stuff going down at the farm. We need all hands on deck.

Is it okay if I work remotely this weekend?

Me

Yeah of course. Is everything okay?

Imogen Phillips

Yeah. Mostly my control issues rearing their ugly heads

Me

Should I laugh?

Imogen Phillips

More like you should prevent me from killing Kevin

Me

Why are we killing Kevin?

Imogen Phillips

I appreciate that you didn’t immediately come for me

Or say that violence wasn’t the answer

Me

That was kind of my job for six years

I’m the last person who should be judging threats of violence

Imogen Phillips

Touche.

My brother has gotten it in his head that he is God’s gift to mankind because he's been tasked with managing both the general store and my homestead

His ego is the size of Washington State right now

Me

Is he doing a bad job of it?

Imogen Phillips

That’s the PROBLEM

He’s doing a great job of running both of them.

It’s like he was born for management.

It's made him insufferable

Me

What’s bad about that?

Imogen Phillips

He’s trying to show me up!!

He’s trying to prove to everyone that he can take something that I built from scratch and do it better than me

#middlechildproblems

I didn’t have siblings, and couldn’t speak to the exact sibling dynamic of being the middle child sandwiched between two individuals that had their life together, and feeling like the odd person out, because you didn’t.

But I had been in the Marine Corps for six years, and I did know how it felt to be the one person who hadn’t hit their peak yet.

Me

Are you stressed about having to go back?

Imogen Phillips

No, I’m stressed about the fact that eventually I’m going to go back and everyone is going to be so used to doing things a certain way, that everyone is going to forget what it’s like when I’m here

Sorry for the rant

Me

Don’t apologize. I think I get it now.

Being away from Watford was causing Imogen anxiety, but not in the way I’d originally expected. I’d accepted the fact that the conversation was over, which is why I jumped when my phone started vibrating and Imogen’s contact picture appeared on my lock screen.

It was a self-portrait she’d taken on the back porch of her farmhouse a few weeks earlier. She was sitting on a wooden bench, legs crossed, holding a bundle of yellow tulips near her face that obscured part of her smile, and matched her yellow sweater perfectly.

It was artsy, and cute, and so damn attractive. That yellow sweater haunted my dreams, because it perfectly encapsulated who Imogen was: sunny and bright and creative.

I forced myself to get a grip as I swiped to accept the call. I put it on speaker while I continued to scan the document in front of me for typos.

“Hi,” Imogen said, sounding out of breath. “Sorry for dumping all that on you out of nowhere.”

I couldn’t help the smile that overtook my face. “It’s no problem. Sometimes you’ve gotta let it out.”

Imogen chuckled. “True, but enough about me. I want to talk about your email inbox, sir, and the state that you gave it to me.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh and slouched back in the seat.

“All right, hit me with it. Tell me all of the ways I screwed up.”

The shuffling of papers on the other end of the phone told me Imogen was all too delighted to dive in .

“First of all, I’ve already established a new email specifically for grant proposals.

I know you’re working on a couple for the Winding Road nonprofit, and I want to make sure that we don’t miss any important communication.

I’ll text you the details so you have them.

Secondly, I have gone through the extensive effort of color coding every single one of your folders and organizing all of your existing emails into said folders. ”

I shook my head. “I promise you, Imogen, if you ever leave us that inbox is going to go right back to where it was, and all of your hard work will be for naught.”

“You wouldn’t dare disrespect my hard work like that.”

I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. At this point, my smile was permanent wherever Imogen was involved.

“It has nothing to do with how much I appreciate your effort, but unfortunately, I’m not built like that.”

“You’re saying I’m built different.”

“I’m saying you’re built different,” I agreed, a grin still on my face.

We settled back into conversation about Imogen’s plans to expand the Winding Road photo feed.

I was grateful we were on the phone, and not in person.

Imogen was incredibly distracting on a good day, and it was hard to focus on anything she was saying when she had a very focused, very cute expression on her face.

“With all that said, since I can’t be there in person, would you or Lucas be willing to take some pictures of the property and send them my way?

I really want to take some good pictures and video of the venue so that we can start promoting it.

The photographs and video are due back from Abbie and Connor’s photographer towards the end of this month, so hopefully we’ll have that as well.

They’ve already given the okay to use pictures from their wedding promotional materials for the venue. ”

I stood from the table and headed into the kitchen to pour myself a fresh cup of coffee.

“I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You have my thanks,” Imogen teased. “I’ve got to put out some fires here, but call me later if you need anything.”

“Will do,” I said, and hung up the phone.

I rubbed the back of my neck and ran the cover letter and objectives I’d written up through my grammar checker one more time.

I’d get Imogen to read over it before I formally submitted it. The objectives sheet would stay the same for most of the grants I was applying to, but the cover letter would need to be adjusted and tailored for every organization.

Me

Hey. Would you be willing to read over the cover letter I just wrote and let me know if it sounds okay? It’s in the Google Drive.

Imogen Phillips

Of course, I’ll review it this afternoon :)

I was about to close my laptop when my phone buzzed again. I glanced at the screen. My heart dropped when I saw the caller ID. I accepted the call with shaky fingers.

“Hey, Kameron, it’s Gail,” the woman said, sounding tired. I immediately sat up straighter in my chair.

“Hey, Gail. What’s wrong? ”

“Sorry to call you out of the blue like this,” Gail said. “I’m calling to let you know your mom had another episode.”

I closed my eyes, tightening my grip on the phone.

Gail was the director of the Laketon nursing home where my mother resided. More than that, she was a close family friend who helped my mother and I navigate life after my father’s death. I owed so much to her.

“How bad was it?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

“We’re on day four now,” Gail said quietly, and my heart sank. “You asked for us to let you know if things progressed with her memory loss. Unfortunately, I think it’s time for us to discuss moving her to a higher echelon of care.”

The words clanged through me. My chest tightened, and I fought to keep my breathing even.

I’d first noticed the dementia signs in my mother years ago.

It was little things, like her forgetting a story she used to tell about her and Dad, or that she couldn’t remember I’d joined the Marine Corps after high school.

“How often is she lucid?” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

“On a good week, maybe half the day? On weeks like this, where she’s struggling. . . less than an hour, if that.”

I inhaled sharply.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Gail murmured. “You have no idea how badly I wished this wasn’t the case.”

“You always told me it was a possibility. I guess I’d just hoped we’d have more time. ”

“Can you make it out to Laketon sometime this month? I’m sure she’d appreciate a visit, and we can discuss her care going forward.”

“Yeah, of course,” I said, wiping a hand down my face. “Let me get in contact with my assistant and figure out a time.”

“So things are going well at the farm, then? If you’ve hired an assistant,” Gail said. If my heart wasn’t actively breaking at the knowledge that my mom’s health was declining, my chest would have swelled with pride.

“They are,” I mumbled. “Thanks for updating me, Gail. I’ll call you.”

“Take care of yourself, honey.”

I hung up and let my phone clatter to the table as I put my head in my hands.

When I’d helped my Mom move into the center in Laketon, I’d done it because she needed more mental health support than what I could give her.

It was right before I’d received orders to an extended training course at Pendleton.

I didn’t want her alone in the house Dad and her had bought when they found out she was pregnant with me.

I’d convinced her to sell the house and move into the Laketon facility because they had a tiered system of care, meaning she could live as independently as she could manage, and they’d adjust her care plan as needed.

I’d never been more grateful for her government pension than I was when I got the first bill from Gail’s facility.

Over the last few years, she needed less mental health support, and more health support. Her dementia was progressing .

My mother was never the same after my father died. She never fully recovered.

Yet, hearing that her memory loss was progressing felt like I was losing a parent all over again. It would be a different kind of pain, watching my mother fade mentally while she was still with me physically, but no less poignant.

I stared at the front door, wishing more than anything that Imogen was coming this weekend. Her presence calmed me more than I cared to admit. My phone buzzed with a text from her.

Imogen Phillips

Objectives and cover letter look good to me!

When she was around, I felt like I could navigate the toughest battles.

And entering this new chapter with my mom would be the toughest battle I’d fought in a long time.