“He tries hard at everything.” I carefully guide the car around a hairpin turn. “That’s how he can afford the Bentley. And Blue Mountain Farm.”
“I thought you said he and his siblings inherited the farm from his dad?”
“He did. But his dad was sick for a while, so the property was pretty neglected by the time the kids got their hands on it. Beau was always determined to fix the whole place up. He had a vision for what he’d wanted to do with it back in college. And now he’s made it happen, with a slight detour along the way.”
I can hear the grin in Mom’s voice. “I wouldn’t call what he did a detour.”
My ears pop as we crest a hill. I work my jaw side to side, trying not to get distracted by the pretty mountain vista that stretches out to our right. It’s a sunny spring day, bright and crisp. Carolina blue sky above, smoky blue mountains below. The trees are in full bloom, bright green everywhere; pollen coats my windshield, and for the third time since we left Charlotte, I spray some wiper fluid to clear the view.
After I talked to Beau at the pharmacy, I called my boss, Matt. I pretty much laid it all out for him. Having him agree to another month of leave was like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. I have a new start date of April 1.
I don’t exactly love my job, but I do like my boss. I got lucky in that department.
It took Mom and me a week to pack up ourselves and the baby. I figure we’ll stay at the resort for a long weekend. A week at most. Long enough to feel rested, but not so long that we miss home.
I also don’t want to take advantage of Beau’s already-generous invitation. Knowing him, he’d have us staying on the mountain for the entire month.
We should be getting close. My GPS tells us we have five more minutes to go.
We go up a hill, then up another, each one steeper than the last.
Maisie starts to fuss in her car seat beside Mom. My stomach clenches and my shoulders tense, the way they always do when she cries. I feel the creep of overwhelm rise inside my gut: a quiet tide of exhaustion and shame and anger.
As if reading my mind, Mom says, “She’ll be fine. My ears are popping so hers probably are, too. Paci will help.”
I look up at the rearview mirror again. “Thank you, Mom. For coming with us. I really appreciate the help.”
After my parents divorced, Mom quit her job at the white-shoe law firm where she’d worked for decades (“white-shoe” meaning an established, elite firm that’s among the best of the best in the business). She landed an executive position at a local nonprofit specializing in women’s advocacy.
Yes, she’s a rock star. And yes, I hope to make a similar career change at some point in my life, mostly because I see how much happier Mom’s been since she made the jump.
I just have no clue what the hell I’d do outside of finance. I went into bond sales because I liked economics and, frankly, wanted a job that paid well. I figured the more money I could save in my twenties, the more time it would give me to chase that second act I always dreamed of but couldn’t quite figure out.
The pay is great. So are my co-workers. I’m well liked, and I’m good at what I do, but I don’t see myself doing it forever.
That being said, I’m not sure if I have any real skills that might translate to another role, one that’s ideally more fulfilling, with less-insane hours and more flexibility.
“My pleasure.” Mom is focused on the car seat, one hand holding in Maisie’s paci. “I want you to feel better, Annabel, and I’ll do what I can to help you get there. Doesn’t sound like it will be much hardship staying at the farm anyway. Tom and Marianne were just up here and said it was fabulous. Best food and wine they’ve had in the South.”
“The Beauregard boys always loved their food,” I say.
We round a bend, and a clearing comes into view. A wide creek—river—not sure what it is—ambles along sun-bleached boulders. A trio of figures stands in the water, fishing poles in hand. One of them, a tall guy with broad shoulders, casts a line as we pass. The sun glints off