Page 99 of Once Upon a Fall

I find some of my grandma’s old jewelry and take a few pictures to send to my mom, asking if she wants any of it. She texts back that she doesn’t, telling me it’s nothing but junky costume jewelry anyway.

Rosie has a potluck she’s going to tonight, so instead of making dinner, I stay at the farm and work until late.

When I get back to the inn, it’s quiet, so I check on Rosie to see if she’s still up working on festival things for tomorrow.

She’s not in the kitchen, so I check her room and that’s where I find her, face down on her bed, fully clothed, her shoes still on.

And she’s snoring. For real this time.

I smile to myself as I go over to her.

I slowly pull off her shoes, one at a time, trying not to wake her. Then I manage to wrestle the blankets out from underneath her with little cooperation on her part.

Pulling the covers over her, I tuck her in.

“Dean?” she asks, her voice groggy with sleep.

“Shhhh,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”

“Marry me,” she says, the words slurred.

I chuckle. “You’re talking in your sleep.”

She mumbles something unintelligible, nestling into the covers.

And then she’s fast asleep again.

On Friday, I meet Owen at the farm.

“Everything’s ready for the junk haulers, I think,” I tell him as we stand on the porch. “What’s next?”

He looks at his notepad. “We get the crew in, have the house cleaned out, then we’ll get photos once the place is empty.”

“How much do you think we can get for it?”

He shrugs. “Hard to say. The acreage is really what’s carrying the value. Similar properties are selling between one seventy-five and two twenty-five. I’d list at two hundred.”

“Right,” I say, understanding the subtext.

No one is buying this place for the rundown house, the partially burned barn, or what’s left of the orchard. Whoever buys it will most likely tear everything down and start over.

Two hundred thousand dollars.

I do the math before I can stop myself. Whatever I give my mom is going to end up with Ed. How long would that last her? Two years. Maybe three, if she’s careful.

She has never once been careful.

She texted me yesterday from Vegas. A picture of her and Ed in front of some casino, both of them smiling like this move was the best decision they’d ever made. I wanted to ask if she still hated the desert, but didn’t.

I thought once I got the raccoons out, and the things I wanted to keep, I’d feel better about my decision.

Instead, I just feel empty.

“When do you want the listing to go up?” Owen asks. “Crew will be here Monday, and I can get the photographer in probably midweek.”

“Whenever it’s ready,” I tell him. I leave Tuesday, which means I won’t be here to see the sign go up.

That’s probably for the best. Still, “probably” doesn’t make me feel any better about it.