Page 112 of Never Let You Go

“Well, you saw the picture.”

She laughs. “Dress the part. You got that covered,” she says and takes another draw. Is she smoking weed? “But is that what you want? Bunch of snakes there, you know.”

That’s the whole point. My thoughts are beginning to take shape. “Can we change that?”

There’s some ruffling on the line, like she’s getting comfortable, settling in for a long conversation. “What are you thinking?”

“You know why I accepted Red Barn Baking—why I accepted Rita’s offer. I saw it as the only family I’d ever have. I thought if this was her family, then it would be mine. I thought this was Rita’s love letter to me.”

“Mm-hm. I know.”

She knows where I’m going with this—it’s in her voice. But I need to get it off my chest anyway. I need to spell it out for her and, mostly, for me. “Well, Red Barn is not run like a family business, and it’s certainly not a family. It has no moral values, and no values that relate to the business of making bread.” I pause. “Rita was full of shit.”

“It’s more complic—”

“I don’t care about Rita anymore. I never should have cared about her. But in the end, I don’t regret my decision. I did what I thought was right at the time.” I lower my voice. “And now I’m here. And the thing is, I can do something really good. I feel it in my bones. I can make Red Barn Baking a really good company.” I have a responsibility to the people who make the company—the employees—and are treated unfairly. People like Carlos, and the hundreds of others I don’t know about. “For the first time in my life, I can make a difference, Barb.”

“Okay, Lexie,” she says softly.

“I have ideas for some drastic changes, but I need to think it through before I share them.” There’s one thing we can start discussing, though. “We’ll probably need a consultant to help us out, since it will only be you and me.”

“Okay… What about Christopher Wright? He’s knowledgeable.”

“No! God no, he can’t know anything.” The idea makes my palms clammy. He would end me in a heartbeat.

“Why not?”

My mouth is dry. How will he react when he eventually learns the truth? “Believe it or not, he hates Red Barn with a passion. I don’t know how I kept my apprenticeship here once he knew where I worked.” I’m whisper-talking now.

“Oh. So he doesn’t know about you? Being Rita’s granddaughter and the whole inheritance deal?”

I tug my knees up against my chest and bring the comforter up to my chin. “No, and he can’t. It would jeopardize everything. I guarantee you, he would cancel the apprenticeship, and you know what that means.” As the words leave my mouth, I realize what I fear losing is Christopher, not Red Barn.

Barbara grunts. “I’m sorry to hear that, Lexie. That can’t be easy for you.”

“I’ll be fine.” All I need to do is focus on the good things. “I like the idea of you and me working together to change Red Barn.”

“Me too, sweetie,” she says in her warm, honey voice, the one she has when she’s truly happy. There’s some background noise, and then the telltale sign of giggling.

Oooh-kay. Time to go. We hang up.

That was a good talk. Good decisions. Moving forward.

But meanwhile, I need to make immediate financial decisions to avoid being in the red.

I call Sarah, tell her I need to sublet my room for now. It’s getting late on Sunday night, and she has work tomorrow. Our call is short, and to the point, and ends with a plan for her to visit after the snow melts.

And no questions about my sex life.

Yay!

The next few weeks, winter storms pummel us, and the accumulated snow is impressive. Tree branches are heavy, and repeat plowing created small snow walls along the sidewalks. Last week we went back to King’s Knoll Farm and helped with sugaring.

I’ve been thinking more and more about Mom lately, no doubt because of the talk I had with Christopher in the barn. And also because at the farm, I observed the young women of Emerald Creek, and how they seemed to have solid role models around them, and I didn’t. It made me think how the structures we grow up with set us up for the future. How mine is set to be so different from theirs. It also opened up a dam of memories, and they come in gusts now, flooding me.

I don’t try to resist it anymore. I just let the memories resurface, like they do right now, out of the blue, while Skye pours a glass of milk, places it in front of me next to the cookies she assembled in a neat little pile, then climbs on my lap.

I used to do that too.

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