Page 9 of Your Every Wish

At least fifty people cram into the clubhouse, everyone jockeying for a seat on the limited folding chairs.

Judging by their stares, Kennedy and I are the main attraction.

Misty tries to hush the crowd by knocking a few times on a table at the front of the room.

But it isn’t until Harry lets out an ear-piercing whistle that everyone falls silent.

“Why do I get the impression we’re about to be pummeled to death?” Kennedy whispers in my ear.

“They’re just curious about us, that’s all.”

“Not curious, they want us to fix the place.”

“Well, can you blame them?”

“No, I can’t. That’s why we should sell it to someone who can afford to pour cash into the park. Unless you have access to a bundle of money I don’t know about.” She cocks one brow.

“Shush, the meeting is about to start.” I tuck my knees in to make room for one of the tenants to scootch down the aisle toward one of the few empty seats left.

Misty takes command of the room. For a small woman she has a large presence. And the people at Cedar Pines seem to respect her, or at least follow her lead.

“I know you’re all curious about our new owners.” She turns to Kennedy and me. “Could you two girls stand up so everyone can see who you are and welcome you to Cedar Pines?”

I stand while Kennedy reluctantly rises halfway out of her chair.

“Hi, everyone.” I wave to the crowd.

There’s slight applause, mostly from Harry and the cute guy who may or may not have fixed our window. Though I don’t know who else could’ve done it.

“When are you going to replace the toilets at the pool?” a man shouts from the back of the room.

There’s a murmur of approval and the next thing I know everyone is yelling at the same time, demanding repairs and hurling insults.

A woman standing near the exit yells, “What kind of bloodsuckers let a place fall to ruin while repeatedly jacking up our lot fees? Most of us are on a fixed income and y’all are a bunch of slumlords.”

“N-now wait a minute,” I stammer, trying to be heard over the hum of condemnation.

“Kennedy and I just came into possession of Cedar Pines. Before now, we didn’t even know it existed.

I’m sorry that the park has . . . is a bit down in the mouth.

But I can assure you that we’re going to take care of it and there won’t be any more fee hikes. ”

“Oh brother,” Kennedy mutters under her breath, and in a tight whisper says, “Stop making promises you can’t keep.”

“How do we know you’re not lying?” This from the woman at the door. She’s been glaring at me ever since I stood up.

“You have my word,” I say.

“What’s your word to me? I don’t even know you.”

“That’s enough, Marti.” Misty gestures for the woman to stand down. “Until Emma and Kennedy prove otherwise, we’ll just have to trust them. Now let’s move on to new business. How’s the plans coming for the Halloween party, Willow?”

A tall woman with stick-straight brown hair, wearing a Mexican peasant dress and sturdy brown boots, rises from her folding chair.

“Good. Trapper is in charge of the decorations, Rondi will be sending a signup sheet around for the potluck, and Gwen is taking over the games from Russ, may he rest in peace.”

The group echoes, “May he rest in peace.”

When the meeting is over, Kennedy and I cut across the now dim park back to our trailer, following the mostly cracked solar lights that line the trail. Another thing to add to the to-do list. It would be a peaceful stroll if it weren’t for Kennedy. I can feel the hostility coming off her in waves.

“Just spit out whatever is eating you,” I tell her.

“You. You keep telling these people that we’re going to remake the place. That we’re going to turn it into a Thomas Kinkade painting.”

“I didn’t say that. I didn’t say that at all.”

“You may as well have. Emma, we have to sell. There’s no way in hell we can afford to fix all the problems here. And neither of us knows a damn thing about running a trailer park. These people deserve professionals, people who know what they’re doing.”

“Right, like a private equity firm because they always put people first.” Private equity firms had bought up many of the country’s family-owned newspapers. We were all holding our breath for one to snap up SF Voice and replace all of us with artificial intelligence. It’s only a matter of time.

“I don’t know how you come up with this stuff,” Kennedy says with a shake of her head.

“Who do you think is going to buy a moldy old trailer park? Someone who sees value in the land, someone who’ll displace these people in a San Francisco second to put in a Costco or Sam’s Club.”

“Here? You’ve got to be kidding me. Anyway, we can’t control what people do with the property. All we can do is sell it to the highest bidder and hope for the best.”

“And what about the tenants? We just let them be pushed out onto the street? Homeless?”

“They own their trailers. They can just move them somewhere else.”

“It’s not that easy, Kennedy.” I should know, having been put out on the street myself.

“Well, it’s not our problem, Emma. Things get sold every day. It’s just the cycle of life.”

“The cycle of life?” It sounded like Kennedy was talking about something biblical, not a trailer park in the Sierra Foothills. “Really?”

“You know what I mean. We can’t hold ourselves responsible for strangers.” Kennedy stops in the middle of the trail and gives me a long assessing look. “It seems to me that you need the money as much as I do. Unless you know something I don’t.”

I stop right along with her. “Like what could I possibly know?”

“Where Willy stashed his money.”

I throw up my arms. “You’re kidding me, right? What makes you think he had money and, even if he did, how would I know where he kept it?”

“Come on, Emma, the man was a legendary businessman. Do you really believe all he had to his name when he died was a decrepit old trailer park in Timbuktu and a few bucks in his pocket?”

“He was also a legendary gambler.” I pin her with a glare. “He probably lost it all at the craps table. Why are you so desperate for money, anyway? I thought you made a good living working at Caesars Palace.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not as good as you think.” She turns her head away and starts again for the trailer.

It’s cold inside and the bad odor hasn’t completely dissipated. But there’s something about the place that feels homey. Kennedy heads straight for the kitchen and joins me a few minutes later in the living room with a box of crackers and a can of diet cola.

“You want me to make something?” I say because I can’t believe that’s her dinner. “I could throw together some pasta and a bag salad.”

“That’s okay. I’m good,” she says around a mouth stuffed full of crackers. “Unless you’re making it for yourself.”

“That was my thought.” I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, and I’m starved.

“Then go for it.”

She follows me into the kitchen and watches as I wait for the water to boil. “Do you cook a lot?”

“Yeah, it’s a lot cheaper than eating out.”

“Doesn’t your boyfriend . . . what’s his name again? . . . make a butt load of money?”

“Dex. And yeah, he does well. But I like to pay my own way.”

“Why? I mean, if he can afford it, what’s the big deal?”

I shrug because it shouldn’t be a big deal. If the shoe were on the other foot, I wouldn’t hesitate to pick up the tab for him. But Dex isn’t built that way. “It’s the way we do things. No one wants to be beholden to someone else.”

“Okay,” she says but I can tell she’s not convinced.

“Why do you think Willy owned a trailer park?”

“Beats the hell out of me. For a business guy it seems like a pretty weak investment. Have you had a chance to look at the financials yet?”

“No, I had to write my column.”

“The sooner you look at them, the sooner we can make the decision to sell.” She grabs one of the chairs at the old dinette table and plops down in it. “Maybe we can ask Mr. Townsend if he would handle the paperwork.”

“I told you I don’t want to be rushed into anything,” I say, worried that in the end I’ll let her bully me into doing exactly what I don’t want to do.

The thing about being an advice columnist is it helps you see your weaknesses.

Mine is being a pushover. Unfortunately, knowing it and stopping it are two different things.

Before she can argue with me there’s a tap on the door. I start to get it, but Kennedy holds me back.

“Are you expecting anyone?”

“ No. ”

“Then let’s see who it is first.” She pushes the ruffled curtains back from the window over the sink and presses her face against the glass. “I can’t see anything from here.”

We both walk into the living room, where she fixes her eye on the front door peephole. “It’s him. The nerdy cute guy. He probably wants money for the window. We’re not opening it.”

“Let me see.” I trade places with her at the peephole. “He’s just standing there, waiting. He knows we’re here. All our lights are on, and your car is in the driveway.”

“So? Maybe we’re in the shower or on an important call. Or maybe we just don’t want to open our goddamned door.”

“That’s rude,” I say.

“What’s rude is showing up at someone’s house without calling first. That’s what’s rude.”

“I can hear you, you know?” he calls out.

“Shit,” I whisper. “What do we do now?”

Kennedy huffs out a breath, pushes me out of the way, and opens the door a crack, leaving just enough space for half her face. “Can I help you?”

“I just want to make sure you don’t open the new window until the caulking has had time to dry.”

I pull the door open all the way. “We were wondering if it was you. Thank you for fixing it. But you really didn’t have to do that. We could’ve hired someone.” I turn to find my purse. “How much do we owe you?”

“Nothing.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his feet. “Consider it a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift. ”

“That’s very nice of you, isn’t it, Kennedy?” I poke her in the ribs.

“Uh, yes, thank you,” she says.