Page 14 of Your Every Wish

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because she actually stole the money.

Or she wants to buy drugs, or because she’s a professional con artist. What do you actually know about this woman, Emma?

Not a damn thing. And here she gives you some bullshit story about her mother and you’re ready to give her thirty thousand bucks. What’s wrong with this picture?”

When he says it like that it does make me wonder a little bit. Or at least I can see why he would be suspicious. Yet, in my heart of hearts I know she’s telling the truth. Don’t ask me why, but I know.

“Dex, she wouldn’t lie to me. We own property together.”

“What does one thing have to do with the other? And the only reason you own property together is because your father, the man who spent the last five years of his life in federal prison for insider trading, left it to you and her. Sometimes, Emma, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“I told you about my father in confidence, Dex.” Not to throw it in my face.

“And I haven’t told a goddamn soul. I’m just trying to paint you a picture here. The man was a crook. What makes you think his daughter isn’t one too?”

“Because I am also his daughter and I’m not a crook. What do you think, it’s contagious, it’s passed down through DNA?”

“No. What I think is that you’ve known this Kennedy for only a couple of weeks and already you want to give her thirty thousand dollars. Thirty thousand you don’t have. Use your brain because I know you have one, even if you show really poor judgment most of the time. This doesn’t smell right. ”

“I’m asking you, Dex, as a favor to me, to lend me the money. It’ll be to me, not Kennedy. You have my word that I’ll pay you back. If it will make you feel better, I’ll even sign over part of my share of Cedar Pines Estates to you as collateral.”

“I don’t want a trailer park, Emma. And as much as I trust you, I can’t let you do this. I won’t let you do this. For Christ’s sake, you can barely make ends meet. I’m not going to leave you on the hook for thirty thousand.”

For a second, I think he’s going to give me the money.

Just give it to me. Without a commitment to pay it back, without a promissory note, without collateral.

I would never accept it that way, of course.

But it’s what I would do for him if he or one of his siblings were desperate for money and I had it.

“I’m sorry, Emma. The answer is no. You’ll thank me for this later, when you find out that Kennedy isn’t who you think she is.”

I’m lost for words. A part of me can’t blame him—it’s a lot of money and he doesn’t owe Kennedy anything. He doesn’t even know her. But I was hoping he would do this for me. Because he trusts my instincts.

“Ah, come on, Em. Don’t give me the silent treatment. I’m doing this for your own good. You’re always so damned generous. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of you like that.”

“I’m worried she’ll be arrested.”

“Why don’t you call your father’s lawyer, then? What’s his name . . . Townsend. But Emma, if I were you, I’d stay out of it. This is not your problem. Whatever she did, she’ll have to figure it out on her own.”

“Her mother did it, not her.”

“Right. Listen, babe, I’ve got an early morning tomorrow. You take it easy, okay?”

“All right. Good night.”

He was gone before I could say I love you .

It was a long shot. Like I said before, Dex is very careful with his money. Besides, he’s only trying to protect me. I don’t need protection but it’s his way of loving me. I get that and I appreciate it, even if I am disappointed that he couldn’t trust me enough to lend us the money.

I prop a pile of pillows behind my head, contemplating the best way to tell Kennedy that we have to come up with a plan B. Not now, though—why ruin her night? First thing, tomorrow.

* * *

But the next morning she’s gone, her BMW still in the driveway.

I suspect she’s out on another run. So I prepare a pot of coffee and while I wait for it to brew, scroll through my emails, hoping Dex had a change of heart.

No such luck. My inbox is filled with the usual detritus, although there’s a lovely note from Misty, inviting Kennedy and me to lunch tomorrow at her home. Trailer 41, near the pond.

I switch over to my DilEmma Girl inbox where I have fifteen new reader notes, five telling me my advice stinks (one hopes I’ll die and go to hell), six that wish I’d been harder on the woman who wanted to know if it was unethical to rehome her daughter’s dog while her kid is away at college, and four who want to know what happened to the biology teacher who confessed to having an affair with his sixteen-year-old student (he wanted to know if it was okay because they were truly in love).

I reported him to the police, that’s what happened.

There’s a slew of new letters asking for advice.

I scan them quickly in case one needs to be moved to the top of the slush pile.

Usually something so out of the norm or so poignant that I know it’ll get a lot of hits on the internet or one that’s seasonal, like yesterday’s Thanksgiving note.

Between September and January, I’m flooded with requests for holiday advice.

Is sixty-two too old to wear a slutty nurse costume to my company’s Halloween party?

How do I deal with a mother who always drinks too much at our family’s Christmas dinner, then inevitably gets mean and starts insulting everyone at the table?

Is it okay to regift the hideous sweater my mother-in-law gave me for Hanukkah at our annual New Year’s Eve white elephant party?

When the coffee is done, I take a cup outside.

It’s too beautiful of a morning to waste inside.

At some point, I’d like to get a small table and chairs for the back deck.

For now, though, I sit on the second step, resting my back against the third one.

The days are getting colder. The smell of wood smoke is thick in the air, reminding me of a camping trip I took with Mom and Sam last year at Santa Margarita Lake near San Luis Obispo.

Across the creek, I see a family of deer eating acorns off the ground.

There’s a tiny trail carved into the hillside that looks well-worn from wildlife traffic.

The other day, I spied a rabbit as large as a kangaroo from my bedroom window.

It was taking the trail down to the water, then ducked into the reeds until it was invisible.

You don’t see things like that in San Francisco, that’s for sure.

I’m halfway through my cup of coffee when Liam swings by. “I was in the neighborhood,” he says, which is funny because he lives in the neighborhood. He’s just a few doors down.

“Nice morning.” I pat the space next to me, inviting him to take a seat.

His legs are long enough to stretch down the entire staircase. “Someone told me you are an advice columnist for a newspaper in San Francisco. Is that true?”

“Guilty. Luckily, all I need is a laptop and a good Wi-Fi connection and I can work from anywhere. How ’bout you? You work around here?”

“Remote, like you. You got any more of that?” He gently flicks his finger against my mug.

“Yep, there’s plenty where this came from. Hang on a sec.” I start to go inside the kitchen, then call over my shoulder, “You take cream? Sugar?”

“Black is fine.”

I return a few minutes later with a fresh cup for Liam and a foil package of Kennedy’s Pop-Tarts. We sit in silence, drinking coffee and sharing packaged pastry, watching a bird with a red head dart in and out of the trees. Not a bad way to spend a morning.

“The residents have a betting pool on how fast you and your sister sell the park,” Liam says.

“Oh yeah?” We have similar pools at SF Voice every time the publisher takes a suit on a tour of the newsroom, so I’m not surprised. “What do you have us down for?”

“So far, I haven’t bought in. I was hoping to get some inside information, have an edge.” He grins.

“In the interest of making it fair for everyone, my lips are sealed.”

“It could be a really great place, you know?”

“With a lot of money, which is something my half sister and I don’t have.” I sigh.

“You could always get investors.”

“You think?” I turn to him because that might be the answer to Kennedy’s problem.

An influx of cash would not only help her situation, but we could start making the desperately needed fixes to the park.

Realistically speaking, though, getting investors takes time and Kennedy doesn’t have it.

“You know of anyone who would be interested?”

“Nah. But I’m sure there are people out there. With the right management this place could be profitable.”

Not according to Kennedy, who’s studied the books. Or perhaps that’s purely her desperation talking.

“It’s definitely something to think about,” I say, trying not to commit myself to anything one way or another. I would hate to give him, or anyone else, false hope. “Have you lived here a long time?”

“Two years in February.”

“It seems like kind of an unlikely spot for you, if you don’t mind me saying. Isn’t it a senior community?”

“Not by law,” he says sharply, almost as if I’m considering kicking him out.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m simply noting that a lot of retirees live here and . . . well, it might get a little lonely for a guy your age.” He can’t be older than forty.

“You’re living here. And last I looked, you didn’t have a pacemaker—or a walker.”

I laugh. “Touché. How is it that you found Cedar Pines Estates?”

“Ad in the paper. The trailer was for rent.”

“So you don’t own it?”

“Nope,” Liam says. “The owner lives in Idaho and eventually plans to retire here.”

“What’ll you do then?”

Liam shrugs. “Haven’t given it a lot of thought.”

Kennedy jogs up in the same exercise clothes she was wearing yesterday, sweaty. She leans against the stair railing, trying to catch her breath.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Not really. I don’t know why I keep doing this. It’s not like I ever run in Vegas.”

It’s metaphorical, she’s running from her problems, any advice columnist worth her salt can see that. But I don’t say it because Liam is here. As soon as he leaves, I’ll break the bad news to her about Dex.

I don’t have to wait long because Liam gets to his feet and thanks me for the coffee. He places his mug on the deck, next to the back door. But as he starts to cut across our yard, a sheriff’s car barrels into the driveway, lights flashing.

Kennedy’s eyes meet mine and her post-run flush drains to white.