Page 15 of Hearts Adrift
I turn from the window. “The Fair?”
“And our numbers. This year compared to the last. And last year compared to before. The tourist turnout, it keeps dropping. Locals are staying home more often. Vendors are pulling, the paranoid bunch of fickle-feet they are. I’m sure you’ve wondered why we stopped doing fireworks every single weekend. Budget just isn’t what it used to be.”
My stomach sinks. “What’re you saying?”
“Haven’t told this to the girls just yet. May be smart to hold off a while longer. Not that those two can’t handle the truth, Lord knows, Heather and Brooke are a powerhouse team no matter what challenge they’re hit with. But I need time to make a plan first before they drive themselves nuts with a hundred ideas a day. Brooke, she’s the heart of the whole thing, I don’t want this to break her. As for Heather, well …” He shakes his head. “Not sure I’m ready to lightthatfirecracker just yet.”
My mind spins. I’m not sure yet whether the problem is worse than he’s making it out to be. If we really are in deep shit. If the Fair is truly at risk of going under.
This isn’t just a family business. This is our entire life. Ourlegacy. The one and only thing in the world we’ve all poured our lifeblood into since we were born—my father included, the legacy inherited from grandma and grandpa.
It’s our everything.
“If you can’t tell Brooke or Heather, why tell me?”
“Why do you think?” He finds my question amusing. He comes up next to me by the window and gazes out, as if looking at the bungalow too. “You always keep your head on straight. Nothing shakes you. I’ve seen you jump in the engine of the Ferris Wheel on a hot summer day. Or roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty with the rest of them. Seen you hold your ground when we’re graced with a visit from some arrogant big-shot from Galveston lookin’ to eat us up. You’re unshakable.” His tone softens. “You … even seem to take heartbreak in stride.”
I avert my eyes. I think he gives me too much credit.
But I won’t say that out loud.
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “I just … want you to prepare. Just in case it looks like we can’t turn this around. In case I have to … consider …” It’s like he has to wrestle down a bear to get this next word out. “… selling.”
I just realized I’m breathing funny.
Can I even imagine my life without the Fair?
“I’m counting on you to be strong,” he adds in a voice even quieter than before, as if my sisters are lurking around the corner. “You’re all I’ve got to lean on these days. I’m thinking I’m in need of something to lean on, and I’m way too young to be sportin’ a damned cane.”
It’s supposed to be a joke. I’m supposed to laugh.
“We’ll be alright,” he says, as if sensing my anxiety, then pulls me in for a hug. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll rise up above this like we’ve always done. Withstood slow seasons and hurricanes and what-have-you before, we’ll withstand this trying time, too. I’m just overreacting is all.”
Overreacting. That’s what he says.
But we both know that isn’t true.
The Fair is in real financial trouble. I noticed changes. Subtle ones. Brooke and Heather, too. But I don’t think any of us thought it was a warning sign of trouble. Our dad’s always been one to cut corners here and there, save a buck, make wiser choices, spend smarter. But I always assumed it meant we’re still good. Still on the rise. Able to afford this too-big house we all share that’s always felt a tad too empty since Mom passed so long ago.
“Great timing that we’ve got that surprise renter taking the Breezy,” he suddenly says, still hugging me. “Paying a pretty penny to stay there, too. Twice the asking price, just to keep us quiet about his being there. An indefinite stay. We can sure use that extra money to float through the fall.”
My eyes find the window again—and the bungalow.
River, who might be helping us more than he knows.
Our surprise renter I may have just written off.
Am I gonna have to eat my words?
Fuck.
Minutes later, I’m back in the kitchen. Protein shake on the counter where I left it, now clumpy and gross.
“What’d Dad have to say?” asks Brooke, who’s since changed into her PJs with her hair twisted up in a scrunchie and her glasses on, lenses glaring off the kitchen lighting.
I twist my mouth into a flat smile. “That you’re right, and I should go fix our guest’s lock and window.” I swipe my drink off the counter, choke down the rest, then set aside the empty shaker. “Catch you later. Maybe we can put on that movie you’ve been dying for me to see.”
“Promise?” she throws back.
