Page 30 of Your Every Wish

“You should’ve let me look more,” Kennedy says on the ride home.

“We have more than an eight-hour drive. As it is we left too late and will be making most of it in the dark.”

“So, I’ll be the one behind the wheel.”

This time, I volunteered for the first leg of the trip. I’ve already gotten us through Los Angeles during rush hour and made Kennedy promise that if we encounter more traffic, we’ll stop for the night.

Frankly, another twenty-four hours of hearing about the key and the missing golf bag and I’m liable to toss my cookies. “Can we make a pact not to dwell on what Misty said about the golf bag for the rest of the ride? Let’s talk about something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like anything? Willy’s house, La Jolla, the weather. I don’t care.”

“It wasn’t what I expected. The house, that is.

I thought it would be louder, over the top.

Gold toilets, crystal chandeliers, flocked wallpaper.

But for the most part it was bland and soulless.

And I didn’t learn anything about our dear old dad that I didn’t already know, except for the fact that his taste is like that of Middle America. ”

“So let me make sure I understand. You’re disappointed that he didn’t have gold toilets or flocked wallpaper?”

“Not disappointed, just surprised. You think you know someone and then he throws you a curveball.”

I laugh. Kennedy can be funny when she wants to be. “I actually learned a lot about him.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“To start, he’s a sentimentalist. Did you see all the stuff he saved? Never mind the newspaper clippings. But the photographs, which I assume are of his family.”

“Did you ever think that we’re also his family and there isn’t one photo of either one of us?

Not one. It’s like we never existed to him.

Okay, I was a mistake he probably didn’t want to think about.

But he lived with you the first three years of your life.

Shouldn’t he at least have kept some of your baby pictures? ”

She has a point. But I don’t want to see it that way. In the end, he had to have loved us. He did love us.

“He put us in his will,” I say. “He could’ve left everything to his brother, Frank. But we’re the ones he wanted to have everything.”

“Everything? Don’t you see, Emma? It was a joke, his final fuck-you to his children. A trailer park. A fucking trailer park.”

“I wish you could see it for the gift it really is.”

“I wish I could, too. But I can’t. Willy had millions. Millions, Emma.”

“And look how he died,” I say with a sadness in my voice.

“Yeah, well, I don’t believe it. Where are all the cars, the jewelry, the stocks, and the bonds? No way did the feds take it all.”

* * *

Kennedy may have an exaggerated view of Willy’s financial worth, but even I was surprised by his lack of possessions. So much so that the day after we got home, I called

Mr. Townsend and asked for a full accounting of what the feds had seized.

Dex said it was a waste of time, that Willy had probably owed an arm and a leg to the IRS. But what does it hurt to have an inventory list?

Liam finds me in the kitchen. “Your heater looks fine. Not the most modern but you should get another five years out of her.”

“That’s a relief. The smell?”

“It’ll go away after you run it for a few days. It’s just dust.”

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.”

“A lifesaver? It took me all of twenty minutes to clean the filter and take a look around in there. But if you want to reward me with coffee and whatever you’re making, I’ll bite.” He winks and my chest flutters something funny.

I pull down a mug from the cupboard and fill him a cup. “Bacon and eggs will be up in a few minutes.”

I set him a place at the table. Kennedy’s on a run and will probably stick to her standard breakfast, Pop-Tarts, when she gets back.

“How do you know so much stuff about home repairs? Are you a handyman or construction worker?” I’ve never gotten the skinny on what Liam does for a living.

If he is in the building industry he must not be doing too well because he always seems to be around.

Then I remember that he said he works from home, so scratch construction.

“Nope.” He takes a swig of his coffee and doesn’t elaborate.

I start to ask Then what do you do , and stop myself. Clearly, it’s a sore subject or he would’ve volunteered that information by now, especially because I’d skirted the topic with him once before.

“How are the sets coming along for the Halloween potluck?” I ask instead.

“Almost done. The amount of work these people put into this party . . . you’d think it was a Broadway play.”

I grin because it’s true. This potluck is clearly the event of the year for the residents of Cedar Pines. “It’s sweet.”

He cocks his brows. “It’s something. I doubt ‘sweet’ is the word I’d use to describe it.”

“It’s nice of you to put in all this time and effort into building stuff for the event. It’s not like you don’t have enough to do,” I say, giving him another opportunity to spell it out for me. But all he does is take another sip of his coffee.

“How’s the advice business going?”

Ah-ha, I see what he’s doing by turning the conversation to me. “Not bad. If you ever need any, don’t hesitate, I owe ya.”

“I’m good for now. But thanks.”

The bacon is nearly done, so I start the eggs. “Is scrambled okay?”

“I’ll eat ’em still in the shell if they’re home-cooked.”

“Don’t get a lot of homemade meals, huh?” Not that bacon and eggs are much of a homemade meal.

“I’m proficient with a microwave. Anything else and . . . Unless you like burnt toast, I’m really good at burning toast.”

I grab a loaf of bread from the pantry and stick a few slices in the toaster oven, then retrieve the butter from the fridge. “I’ve got you covered. No burnt toast.”

He tucks into his breakfast like a starving man. “This is great. ”

“I’ll make you dinner sometime. Something more elaborate than bacon and eggs.”

“Yeah?” His eyes light up and I notice they’re a nice shade of brown. And the little crinkles around the edges kill me. “I’d love that.”

“Dex is coming this weekend. But maybe next,” I say.

“Dex? The boyfriend?”

The corner of my mouth tips up at the way he says “the boyfriend”—a skosh contemptuously, then he winks to imply he’s teasing.

“Yes, the boyfriend.”

Kennedy wanders in, sweaty and out of breath. “Hey, Liam.” She pours herself a glass of water and gulps it down.

“Hey, Kennedy.”

“You want bacon and eggs?” I ask.

“I’m good. Gonna grab a shower, then we can go to town.”

I’ve agreed to meet with a real estate agent in the interest of “gathering information.” Kennedy’s words, not mine. I figure there is no harm in hearing what an expert has to say. But I’ve made it clear that this is strictly a research project. I need more time before deciding anything definitive.

Kennedy refills her glass and takes it with her down the hall.

Liam takes his plate to the sink, washes it, and rests it on the drying rack. “If the boyfriend happens to stand you up, I’m available for that dinner.”

“Noted,” I say. “But he won’t.” Dex and I haven’t seen each other since Kennedy’s and my trip to San Francisco. Mark my words, Dex is anticipating this weekend as much as I am.

“Thanks again for looking at our heater.” I walk Liam out.

As much as I’d like to spend the rest of the morning outside, I go in, answer a few emails, sign off on my edits for tomorrow’s column, and leave a message for my mom, who’s with a patient.

I can hear Kennedy’s blow dryer in the other room and run a comb through my own hair.

While we’re in town, I’ll hit the market and buy steaks for when Dex comes.

There’s a grill in the backyard that looks like it’s been out of commission for a while.

But if I can get it going and it isn’t too cold outside, it might be nice to barbeque.

Kennedy pops her head in my room. “Ready?”

“You’re all dressed up.”

“I thought it would be good to look professional.”

“Why?” I pin her with a look. You promised . “Remember what we talked about, Kennedy.”

She holds her hands up in surrender. “It’s just a fact-gathering mission, that’s all.”

She is so full of it.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

I follow her out to the car, dreading this trip.

What if the agent says she has a buyer who has the money to fix everything that’s broken?

Then what? It wouldn’t be fair to keep the park if someone else could give the residents what they deserve.

Worse yet, what if she says she has a group of investors who are willing to pay millions upon millions in cash for the property, but there’s no guarantee that they won’t evict everyone and turn Cedar Pines into a Walmart shopping center?

This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let Kennedy coerce me into this stupid meeting.

“Did you see those articles I sent you?” I say.

“No, what articles?”

“I told you. The one about the trailer park in Malibu. There’s also one in the Hamptons.

They’ve become so coveted that spaces sell for millions of dollars and attract the likes of Matthew McConaughey and Chance the Rapper.

At the one in the Hamptons, every evening at around five, the residents meet for a progressive happy hour.

It sounds so fun. We could do something like that here.

There’s no reason that with a little work and some branding we couldn’t also become a blue-chip property. ”

Kennedy snorts. “Yes, because everyone is dying to have a vacation home in Ghost. Emma, do you know what real estate goes for in the Hamptons and Malibu? Even a shack sells for over a mill. Let me guess, those trailer parks you’re talking about are right on the water. Am I right?”

I nod. “But so is Cedar Pines.”

“How could I forget? The very desirable Puta Creek. And that swamp they call a pond.”