The Bequest

It takes us nearly four hours to reach Manila, which only reassures me that a road trip would have been a terrible mistake. What's worse is that we only stopped once and it still took me that long. I've forgotten how to drive I'm a nervous wreck, being passed the whole way. "Finally," I say. "We're only twenty minutes away."

"If you didn't drive like a grandma, we'd have been here an hour ago." Maren yawns.

Is it bad that I want to spank my fifteen-year-old daughter on the first day of our trip? Probably. "Your grandmother drives like a maniac, which is precisely why I drive so safely."

"Safely, huh? Or..." Maren coughs. "Slowly."

"Same thing," I say. "And if you ever learn to drive, I'll be sure to teach you to copy me."

"Not a chance."

We breeze past downtown Manila in thirty seconds, even going twenty-five miles an hour. "Wow, that's a small town." "It's cute, though," Emery says.

She has always been my cheerful child, but the flip side to the highest highs is that she usually has the lowest lows, too. It's nice to see her in such a happy mood. Looks like this trip might be great for more than just me. Now if I could only get Maren to stop grumping about every single thing, that would be a miracle.

The GPS on my phone bings to tell me that we've arrived, but we're at the end of what appears to be a long driveway. It's not dirt-it's covered in small, packed white rocks, at least, but they're not very smooth. The van bounces and jostles and whumps so badly that I finally slow to a crawl. Up ahead, there's a very old Corolla parked in front of a tiny house.

I sincerely hope that's not the 'generous farmhouse' Mr. Swift indicated was part of the property.

The car must be something Uncle Jed left behind I wonder whether it even runs. I'm not sure whether it would be worse for me to drive that old tin can around town, or this enormous school bus. I slowly creep around it, and as I do, I see a much larger, almost sprawling farmhouse at the top of the rise, thank goodness. Beyond the farmhouse are a large brown barn, a huge metal building, and a cute little red barn with chickens scratching around on the ground beside it. The breathtaking mountains that rise up on either side in the background almost make this whole drive worth it. I put the car in park and hop out, unwilling to miss the chance to snap some photos of this view. I frame up the larger, maroon farmhouse with the wrap around front porch, with the sun behind it. I snap a handful of shots from two angles, one of them disguising the badly peeling trim paint, and hop back into the car. I can't help editing them quickly while the car idles. I'm delighted to notice there's a bright red chicken on the front porch, and another white one off to the side of the house that really frame up the whole thing.

"Mom, really? You can edit those later. We're going to be here for a week, at least."

"I'm surprised you even noticed we stopped," Emery says.

"The cell reception here sucks," Maren says.

"Now I get it." Emery's smile is adorable, especially when she's making fun of Maren.

I climb back in. "Alright, you two, I'm going to park and get this house unlocked, and then we'll look around and see what we've gotten ourselves into."

"Are we going to eat?" Maren asks. "Because I'm starving."

"Of course we will," I say. "Let's get our stuff inside, and then we'll find someplace that makes something in town."

"Another twenty minutes away?" Maren's whining is starting to grate on me, badly.

"Just grab your stuff," I snap. "And stop complaining every single second."

Her eyes widen, but she listens. Thankfully.

"The air is so nice," Emery says. "It smells like..."

"Mountains," Maren says.

Then the wind shifts and it smells like... manure. Ugh.

I sling my laptop bag over my shoulder and heft both my huge suitcases to the ground. Ideally, I'd haul them both in, but with the front porch steps, that's unlikely to end well. I settle for grabbing just one. The heavy base whams on every single stair, but eventually I reach the top. My purse is stuck under my laptop bag, and the key Mr. Swift overnighted is in the front pocket of my purse. I try sliding my hand around the laptop bag to pull it out, but everything gets all jumbled and I end up dropping it and nearly falling on my face. The rental car agreement gets jostled and flies out, and the wind takes things from there. It's halfway across the porch and still moving.

Emery stomps on it.

That sequence of bizarre happenings is probably why I didn't notice the minivan pulling up the drive, but it's hard to miss when it stops right behind our monstrously large white passenger van. Who on earth could be It's Abigail.

I think back to our text conversation. I told her I was passing. Didn't she say she wasn't coming either? So what's she doing here? Mr. Swift didn't mention anyone else was coming. I worry that the old Corolla belongs to yet another relative. Abby's hair falls in beautiful, darkening layers over her shoulders as she opens the door of the minivan and steps out. Of course she's wearing a perfectly pressed pant suit and smiling at me, as though my presence here is a mystery and not the other way around.

"Amanda?" When her eyebrows pull together, a tiny crease forms between them. "I thought you said you were passing."

"I got the impression from all your laughing emojis that you were, too," I say.

Her laugh is just as loud and unbridled as I recall. "Well, I certainly wanted to, but apparently my kids had other plans."

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It must be Ethan who climbs out of the sliding door on the minivan, but he looks like he's twenty-something, not seventeen. His hair's longish and dark blond, and it falls naturally across his ridiculously handsome face. His sky blue eyes, his golden tan, and his dimpled smile are a powerful combination-he looks like a California surfer. He couldn't be more out of place here, in the middle of the wilderness.

I almost feel sorry for Abby. He looks as charismatic as Paul, which means he's bound to be just as self-centered. I imagine she hasn't had an easy time dealing with him since Nate died.

"How long are you planning to stay?" I ask.

"The entire summer," she says. "We arrived last night."

"We're only here for a week or two," Maren says. "Thank goodness." Her exhalation of air puffs her hair up around her face.

More kids are pouring out of the minivan. I'm always a little stressed out when Abby's around. Her kids are very polite, for children, but there are so many of them. "Maren!" Izzy is so much taller. If she didn't have the same shock of short blonde hair that she had at Paul's funeral, I might not recognize her at all. She races around Ethan and barrels toward Maren.

My daughter's eyes widen in something close to mortification. Good for Izzy. Maren could use a good slap, but maybe some excited normal adolescent behavior will help. When Izzy plows into her, knocking Maren's phone out of her hands and sending it clattering against the wood slats of the porch, Emery snickers.

"Wait, Emery?" Abby asks. "You've become so stunningly beautiful! You got your braces off and your teeth look amazing." She climbs the steps and hugs a delighted Emery.

Meanwhile, Whitney and Gabe are pushing past Ethan on their way to hug us too. I forgot how touchy-feely their entire family is. I brace myself seconds before Whitney hugs me around the waist. I hope her hands aren't sticky. "Aunt Mandy," Whitney says. "It's so nice to see you." She certainly hasn't gotten braces yet. Her teeth look like a jumbled deck of cards, with several pointing at odd angles.

"It's nice to see you too." I pat her back, trying my best not to be awkward. I don't even hug my own daughters very often whenever someone grabs me and hugs me without asking, it always feels like a violation. Why do kids get a pass? Gabe, unlike his sisters, hangs back, hovering near the bottom step. "Aunt Mandy?"

"She married Dad's brother," Ethan says.

Gabe blinks. "Dad's brother was named Uncle Paul." If I hadn't heard him try to speak as a toddler, I might not notice, but the careful way he forms his words reminds me that he was severely speech delayed. He's made excellent progress. "But Uncle Paul is dead. So she's not actually related to us?"

Ethan cringes. "No, Gabe, don't say "

"It's alright," I say. "Don't worry about it. You and I aren't blood related, no, but my children are your first cousins." I can't quite bring myself to say that I love him the same as if he was part of my family. I've never been very good at lying convincingly.

Gabe nods as if he's weighing my words. He's a strange seven-year-old. "It's nice to meet you, Aunt Mandy."

"It's good to see you too, Gabriel."

That earns me a smile, and it actually makes me smile in return. He's odd, but he's also pretty cute with his mussed, wheaten hair and angelic blue eyes.

"Have you seen the chickens yet?" Whitney asks.

Izzy hops up and down on the balls of her feet. "Or the goats?"

"There are goats?" Emery's eyes light up.

"Why am I not surprised there are goats?" Maren asks. "Can we go inside already? I really need to charge my phone. The car charger wasn't working right. It kept kicking on and off."

"You may not be very happy with the cell phone reception," Abby says. "It's pretty spotty."

"Have you tried connecting to the WiFi?" I ask. "Enabling WiFi calling did wonders for us when we were staying in Brussels—"

"There isn't any WiFi." Abby's lips compress tightly and her nostrils flare, like she's telling me the entire world is suffering from typhoid fever.

"No WiFi?" Maren sounds like she can't believe it either.

A tall man on the side of the porch clears his throat. "Reception is rough in this entire area, but there's a pretty decent spot up on the top of the hill." He points. "Old Jed jokingly called it his office." "This is Kevin," Abby says. "He's one of the two ranch hands who've been running things for a while, now."

"I started here four years ago," Kevin says. "Jeff's my brother-he started a year before me. He's finishing up with moving the water, but he'll be back in a few."

"That's a relief," Maren says. "I thought we were going to have to do the farm work ourselves."

"We will," Ethan says, "if we want to fulfill the requirements of the bequest."

"How do you know?" Maren asks.

"I read the will," Ethan says, "and I intend to fulfill every single one."

Oh, yeah. He's going to give Abby a lot of headaches.