The Bequest

"It's a lot if you're talking about days," Ethan says. "It would be a lot of Skittles. But as far as people living in a town go, three hundred and sixty-five is pretty small, buddy."

He's right. It is small. Smaller than I realized.

But I can do anything for one summer, right?

"I'm hungry," Gabe says. "Are we almost there?"

"We're close," I say. "Really close." Although, I'm not sure what kind of dining options there will be at the actual farmhouse since it's been uninhabited for three weeks. When Mr. Swift overnighted me the key, I didn't think to check in with him on the state of the premises. It all happened too quickly for better planning.

The word 'market' catches my eye and I point. "We should probably try and buy some groceries. At least some milk and cereal and bread."

"Where?" Ethan glances over at me like I've lost my mind.

"Pull in there." I'm already pointing, but I wiggle my hand around so he notices.

"Mom, you're clearly still tired. That's a hardware store." Ethan scoffs. "See? True Value."

"And it says 'market' below it." I slug him on the shoulder. "That's their grocery store, I'd bet money on it. A town of under 400 wouldn't support a bigger one."

His skepticism remains, but he does as I ask and parks in front.

All the kids pour out of the car. It's times like this, when we've been cooped up inside a moving vehicle for three hours, that it feels like I have more than four children. "Guys, I'm going to pick up some stuff I think we may need." I drop my voice, but make sure Izzy and Ethan are listening. "Why don't you see if there's a bathroom and make sure the little ones go?" The best thing in my life is having older children. It makes caring for the younger ones so much more manageable. Ethan and Izzy nod, far less peppy than they were three hours ago, which makes sense, as it's eight-thirty in Houston, and we all woke up at five this morning.

"Mom," Izzy says. "Don't go crazy. That car's already packed like Gabe's lunch box."

My kids pack their own lunches for school, and Gabe has a tendency to get carried away. Like, most mornings he almost can't close his zipper. "I'll be mindful." But in a new place, with four kids to care for, I'd be remiss if I didn't get enough for us to eat. My phone says we're still twenty minutes away. It's not going to be a quick jaunt into town, even for groceries from a hardware store.

There's a surprisingly robust selection of food options, thankfully. I mean, all the aisles could fit into the clothing section of an H-E-B, but so could a lot of full grocery stores. By the time I reach the checkout, my cart's almost full. "Mom." Ethan probably says my name more than anyone else, but he has at least a dozen different inflections. This one means, You have lost your mind. Again.

"You'll be thanking me when we get there and there's nothing to eat except the squashed fruit snacks at the bottom of Gabe's bag." I just hope there's a functioning refrigerator, or we're going to be eating a lot of frozen pizzas and toaster strudel in the next few hours.

"I'm not holding all that on my lap," Ethan says.

"Always the gentleman," Izzy quips.

Sometimes I'm really proud of her for roasting him. It hasn't been easy to come after him in the family order-he's not always the most considerate brother. He loves her, but he's a little abrasive. "What I mean is, of course I'll hold it on my lap, unless you want me to drive," Ethan says.

And that's when I'm the most proud of him. He says what he thinks, all the time, but often, once he hears the words out loud, he amends his declarations. Not everyone can do that. His dad was like that he'd admit when he was wrong and acknowledge it publicly.

I pay, and we're out the door. It takes almost five minutes to get all the kids and all the groceries squeezed into the car, but with the sun setting, I'd rather not try and find a place to buy dinner. Ethan lets me pile him up with stuff, including a rather precarious stack of produce. At least no one argues with me or begs for McDonald's. With four kids and more than fourteen hours of travel under our belts, it's a small miracle.

"I'll hurry," I promise.

The sun has lit the entire sky an orangey pink by the time we're cruising down the street off which the ranch is set. Ethan's so excited that we're close that he's belting "On Top of the World" by Imagine Dragons. It's making it hard to think, much less hear The Jetsons in the back.

"Cut it out," Izzy says.

He ignores her.

"We're almost there," I say.

"Shut up, Ethan!" Whitney throws something-not sure what-that knocks the bag of apples sideways. They roll off Ethan's lap and spill all over the center console. One rolls down into the floorboard. "Guys!"

"Sorry, Mom!" Whitney says. "But Ethan won't shut up and I can't hear."

I slow way down so that I can grab the apple. It's totally unsafe to have anything anywhere near the pedals on the car. I finally end up stopping in the middle of the road while I rummage around for it. I'm lucky this road has no traffic on it. My hand finally wraps around the shiny, smooth skin. "Ha, ha!" After I sit up again, I look around to make sure it's clear for me to drive.

There aren't any other cars, but there is a tall, shirtless man mowing the front lawn of a small white farmhouse. It may not be that warm outside, but his body still glistens with sweat. I can't look away from the defined pecs, the bunched biceps, and the washboard stomach. Ohmygoodness, I'm too old to go entirely blank when I see someone who's magazine centerfold hot. I'm sure he's young enough to be

But then he looks up, and I realize he's not young at all. He's close to my age. And he's staring right at me staring back at him, and he has no idea that I wasn't staring at him the entire time we were stopped. My foot slams against the gas pedal and we shoot forward, but he waves in spite of my quick departure. I wonder whether this man, who must be a relatively close neighbor, could see through the window and might recognize my face. I really hope not. The sun has dropped so low that there's barely a golden glow when we crest the ridge and turn into the driveway my map is bleating at me to take, and my heart has finally settled down to a sustainable rate. "I think this is it, guys." All four kids sit up and turn toward the ranch. Someone even pauses the stupid Jetsons and eliminates the infernal and obnoxious noise. None of them say a word.

I don't blame them. Bathed in golden sunset, with a backdrop of some of the prettiest, pine-ringed mountains I've ever seen, the whole thing is like a scene right out of a movie. There's a sprawling farmhouse at the top of the drive, with a smaller, more modest house a few dozen yards to the left of it. Beyond the house, there's a large brown barn. It looks fifty years old, but I'm sure the harsh winters weather the wood quickly out here. It's not dilapidated or falling down, so that's good. Past the barn are two more outbuildings, one of which is a smaller red barn with white trim, and one that looks in this lighting like a metal building. That's probably the storage building mentioned in the will description. "Wow," Whitney says. "It's so pretty."

"Yeah, I like that red barn. I call it," Gabe says.

Ethan laughs. "You can't call a barn, buddy. Sorry."

"Why not?" He doesn't even wait for a reply before asking, "Can I call the animals inside it?"

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Izzy rolls her eyes. "You can't call any of that."

"What about the little house? No one else will even want that." Gabe's voice grows whinier by the minute once we pass seven o'clock...Texas time. He's probably almost at maximum capacity by now.

Uncle Jed must have lived in the nicer house, which means that smaller one probably hasn't been cared for or cleaned or maintained. "We'll have to check it out later," I say. "If it's as big a mess as I'm worried it might be, no one will want it." His little face falls, and it's so pathetic.

"I'm sorry, bud, but when we get inside, you can call a room. How's that?"

"Fine." He presses his nose against the glass, and it's cooled down enough outside that it fogs up from his breath.

I park in the circular drive that loops right in front of the maroon farmhouse. The maroon paint looks fine, but the white trim is peeling. "That trim would look so much nicer if it were repainted-maybe in navy blue."

"There's a chimney," Izzy says. "I wonder if it'll be cold enough for a fire."

"It's cold enough now," Whitney says. "Look at the glass." She points at where Gabe's breath has fogged it up.

"I doubt it's cold enough for a fire," I say.

"Let's find out." Ethan opens the door, and cooler air rushes in.

But not cold. Definitely not fire weather.

"Maybe we could light a fire outside," Ethan says. "Roast some hot dogs and marshmallows."

"I didn't buy any of that," I say. "But we have a whole summer ahead of us. I'm sure we can do it soon enough."

"This is awesome." Whitney opens the door.

Gabe shoves past her, knocking two boxes of cereal and a bunch of bananas to the caliche-rock ground. "Sorry." But he doesn't slow down. He has a room to claim, after all.

I grab two gallons of milk and my purse and march up the porch steps. I stop dead in my tracks when I hear an unfamiliar low noise.

"Everyone stop," I say.

The kids freeze, thankfully.

They notice it too. "It's a dog," Whitney says.

"A Border Collie," I say. "Or at least, I think it is. It's black and white. I suppose it could be an Australian Shepherd."

If you're loving the book, nel5s.com is where the adventure continues. Join us for the complete experience all for free. The next chapter is eagerly waiting for you! "Is it Uncle Jed's dog?" Ethan asks.

"Mr. Swift didn't mention a dog," I say. "But he didn't say much about animals other than the cows."

I set both gallons of already-sweating milk down and rummage around for my key. It takes me a moment to find the large golden key, but now that I have it, it's time to approach the very unfriendly looking dog.

"I thought Border Collies were nice," Izzy says. "They're really common farm dogs."

"Assume every dog is a threat until you know it," Ethan says.

"Does anyone have the sandwich meat?" I look around.

Izzy nods. "I think I do. Hang on." She shifts a few things and then digs in her bags. "Yes." She tosses it to me.

The dog's head whips up at the movement, its eyes finally looking interested.

"Is it sick?" Whitney asks. "Why is it just lying there and growling?"

"Maybe it's sad," Gabe says. "If it's Uncle Jed's dog."

It took a seven-year-old to figure that out. Now that he's mentioned it, I'm positive he's right. "I wonder if anyone has been feeding it." I crouch down and approach slowly, extending my hand with a few pieces of turkey in it. The dog begins to growl again.

I pause.

It relaxes and I move closer again.

"Maybe we should get a hotel," Ethan says. "We can call Mr. Swift in the morning."

"Let's see," I say. "We just need to show it that we're not scary." I shift a little closer. "Here you go boy, or girl. We're the nice family that has come for the summer."

It lifts its head a little and whimpers. The sound kind of presses on my heart. That's how I felt after Nate died.

"You're okay, boy. I swear you are." I toss the turkey and he snaps it up. "See? Nothing will fix it, but food helps." In my scariest move yet, I reach out and pat his fluffy head. He whines again, this time for longer. "I'm going to move you over, okay? So that we can go inside."

He whimpers, but doesn't object when I shift him over and slide the key into the lock. It turns smoothly, and we're in. Every single one of my kids crouches down and pats the dog on the head, but he simply drops his face back down over his paws and closes his eyes.

"Is he okay?" Gabe asks.

"I think he's just sad," I say. "I'll make sure to grab some food for him tomorrow. He doesn't look emaciated, so I bet someone is feeding him, but it can't hurt."