Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I shift my weight. “I’d still like to be in Ripley’s life after we get back. Like an uncle. I’m Gigi’s son, so that wouldn’t be weird, right?”
When I said the word uncle, the pain that flickered across Marnie’s face, ever so briefly, was like I’d stabbed her in the heart. “No, that wouldn’t be weird,” she says. But her tone is distant and cold. She adds, “It would be lovely and most welcome.”
She’s pulled back again. Retreated. Put up her guard. For a second there, I felt like we were barreling toward that same feeling of intimacy we had when poring over her notebook together. But now, she’s a million miles away.
“And we’ll be seeing each other when we get back, too, remember?” I say.
“Mm hmm. Yep. For business stuff.”
She said that last phrase without particular emphasis, but even so, it felt like a curse word to me. I suddenly feel like I’m standing on quicksand, like no matter what I do, I can’t get myself out of this hole. I open my mouth to speak, but motion at the opened front door of the cabin draws our attention. It’s Mom, Henry, and Ripley, enthusiastically breezing into our cabin.
“Did you check out the welcome packet?” Mom booms excitedly, waving a piece of paper in the air. “This week is going to be amazing!”
Unlike me, Marnie looks grateful for the interruption. She replies with a comment about the itinerary, and the two women peruse it together for the next several minutes.
Finally, Henry says, “Are we ready to head to the opening party? I hear music, so I think it’s starting.”
“Yep,” Mom says, pointing at the paper in her hand. “According to the itinerary, it’s time.” She looks tentatively between Marnie and me, and whatever tension or words left unsaid she’s detecting prompts her to say, “If you two need to chat, Henry and I can take Ripley—"
“Nope, we’re good,” Marnie says, without looking at me. “Let’s go.” She grabs Ripley’s hand. “Come on, cowgirl. Something tells me you’re about to have the time of your four-year-old life.”
“Four and a half.”
26
MARNIE
Holy crap.
And here I thought I was doing Max a favor by coming to this ranch.
Looking around at the astonishing opening party on this perfectly manicured, sprawling lawn, I can’t believe I had the clueless audacity to dole out the terms and conditions of my attendance. Little did I know then, Max was offering a once-in-a-lifetime experience to my daughter and me. Something far more than a simple vacation. A week that’s sure to create lifelong memories for us both, as well as for Dad and Gigi, too. If I’d known what kind of Nirvana this place would turn out to be, if I’d only known about the incredible amenities and activities lined up for this week free of charge, I’d have begged Max to bring us here. True, it’s now fairly certain this week with Max will ultimately lead to a broken heart for me. But that feels like a fair price to pay, all things considered. Broken hearts mend, but joyful family memories last a lifetime.
I continue surveying the opening party in unfettered awe. The Walters family has gone all out. There are games such as horseshoes, corn hole, and bocci ball in one area. Carnival games in another. Roaming rodeo clowns are making balloon animals for the kids while face painters turn them into horses, cows, and other barnyard animals.
In another area, there are several different obstacle courses to try, each with varying degrees of difficulty and each staffed with cheerful camp counselors in cowboy hats and brightly colored T-shirts. There’s food, too. So much food. And a live band providing a soundtrack for all of it. And the best part? As we enjoy the party, we’re surrounded by spectacular views of mountains, trees, blooming wildflowers, and endless, blue, late-afternoon Wyoming skies.
When I finish my turkey leg, Dad insists on playing me in a game of horseshoes, so we head over there with Gigi while Max and Ripley are off doing who-knows-what together. After our meal, Ripley grabbed Max’s hand and physically dragged him to the roaming face painter. And that’s the last we’ve seen or heard from the pair, ever since.
When my horseshoe game with Dad ends with him soundly beating me—no surprise there—I suggest Gigi take a crack at him.
“Please, Gigi,” I say. “Humble him for me. He hasn’t let me win at anything since age ten.”
Laughing, Gigi says she’ll do her best, while I set off to find my fake fiancé and very real daughter. I scan the packed crowd and, to my surprise, discover Max carrying Ripley on his broad shoulders while chatting with none other than Mr. and Mrs. Walters. Well, good for him. He’s wasted no time infiltrating his target. I head over there, figuring I’ll take Ripley off Max’s hands, so he can schmooze his dream employer in peace. When I get over there, however, both Mr. and Mrs. Walters greet me with such warmth and enthusiasm, it’s immediately clear grabbing Ripley and sneaking away isn’t in the cards.