Chapter 5
Britain
It’s funny all the things you never remember, but then you experience them again and you can’t believe you ever forgot. Like the smell driving down 99, right around Turlock and Livingston. I never really knew whether it was manure or fertilizer, but I’ve discovered it still smells exactly the same.
When I tell someone that I grew up in California, they think LA, Hollywood, Silicon Valley, beaches, maybe even San Francisco or Napa Valley. But when I think of California, I think of ranches and dairy farms, and orange and almond orchards. I think of grape vines and raisins, and hot summers. I think of the foothills, and the two weeks in spring when they turn green before turning back to rolling mounds of gold. I think of tall mountain peaks, and a cold lake surrounded by evergreens.
There’s a lot of land between LA and San Francisco, and that’s where I’m from — the valley. And the valley is country, through and through. As I drive through farmland, I decide to call Jess for a quick update.
“Hi,” Jess answers the phone.
“Hi, just wanted to let you know I’m on the road. Still. I think I’m like 30 minutes out from the realtor’s place. How’s Miss Eden today?”
“She’s teething,” Jess says grumpily.
“Awww, poor babe,” I say in a sickeningly sweet voice.
“Yes. Poor. Babe,” Jess deadpans and I laugh to myself. I remember those days. “I need a distraction, what was in the box?” Jess demands.
“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.”
“You haven’t opened it YET? Your mother left you ONE box from her entire estate, and you haven’t even looked in it YET?”
“No. I don’t know, I was just caught up in catching up with Rose. And then when I got in the car, I just wanted to go. And also, I’m a little bit afraid. Like what if she left me a big box of gardening tools or something? Like what am I supposed to do with that?”
“OR what if she left you a box of all her sex toys???” Jess asks in a scandalizing voice.
“Oh my god, Jess, eww. And if so, I will gladly take that box straight to the dump, or an incinerator.”
“Oh, don’t be misogynistic, Britain. Women are allowed to enjoy sex, watch porn, and use toys,” Jess scolds me.
“Hundred percent, couldn’t agree more. But I don’t want anyone's hand-me-down vibrator, especially one from my mom.”
“That’s fair,” she says.
“Oh, and I’m assuming you know what I’m driving right now, since the car was reserved for London Scott?” I grill her.
“Yup, sure did.”
I laugh, “And you didn’t think that was something I should have been privy to? I thought the valet was trying to give me the wrong car, and then CHP was going to pull me over and arrest me for auto theft.”
“Ha!” She laughs, “oh crap. I didn’t even think about that. Sorry. I just thought, if Damian wants to waste all his money, I should at least help guide him to something worthwhile. In fact, if I were you, I’d be gloating. He spent more on your Porsche than he did on Summer’s engagement ring.” Her and I both suck in a sharp breath. “Shit, I wasn’t supposed to say anything. Britain, I’m so sorry.”
“We’re not even divorced yet,” I say bitterly.
“I know, um, Tommy mentioned that he’s going to do it soon. Tommy’s holding the ring for him, that's the only reason I know.” May 6th. That's the REAL reason for the car. And the generous settlement.
“Got it,” I ground out. “I’m sort of wishing I hadn’t just eaten In-N-Out in the car now that I know it’s not a rental. That, and I might be sick.” Ugh.
“I was not trying to drop this knowledge bomb on your day, babe. I’m so sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. Like literally, nothing at all. I’m glad I heard it from you and not from Damian, or even worse, from the girls. Now I’ll be ready.” And that’s the honest truth. I don’t want or need anyone pitying me, or walking on eggshells around me, or withholding truths. I’m a big girl. I can handle this.
The exit signs are starting to look familiar and I know my turn is coming up.
“Hey, I have to go, but what was the realtor’s name again?”
“Her name’s Tori, and she said she’ll be in the sales office. She’s expecting you.” Jess takes a moment, “I really didn’t mean to shit on your day. We okay?”
“We’re good. But, hey, I gotta go. Love you.”
“Love you, too, babe. Bye.” And with that, Jess ends the call.
And to think, the day started on such a high note. This is good, though. Once I get past the shock, because it is a little shocking, I’m going to move past this. There’s nothing wrong with Damian moving on. Granted, I wish he would have waited till after our divorce, but it is what it is. Reminds me of my favorite quote from my favorite movie, When Harry Met Sally:
“When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”
I can’t fault him for wanting to start the rest of his life.
I take my exit off 99 and drive through town, soaking it all in. Surprisingly, much is the same as it was all those years ago. There’s a few places that look like they’ve undergone renovations or gotten a fresh coat of paint. There’s definitely a few places missing, but much of it has been preserved and for a brief moment, it feels like I never left.
I drive past the turn that would take me to Georgia’s house. I ponder heading there first, but today has been enough already. I don’t really need to add one more thing. I remind myself, I’ve got nothing but time, a whole six weeks ahead of me. So I continue on as the businesses and neighborhoods start to thin, indicating my approach to the hills.
I come up to the turn for 68 and notice a new sign. Well, new to me. It could have been there for years for all I know. The sign says “Broken Ridge Ranch” with an arrow pointing the way. Perfect, hopefully this place is easy to find, so I can get in, get out, and find the relaxing solitude I’m desperately craving.
It’s a 15-minute drive from the turn to Broken Ridge Ranch. The highway has clearly been modernized to accommodate the heavy flow of residential traffic since the last time I was here. There’s at least four new lanes to make it safe for vehicles to turn. As I pull up to the main entrance of this seemingly large residential development, an eerie feeling flows through my body and my mind registers what my body already knows. I’ve been here before. A chill races down my spine when I recall his words, “I can’t do this…with you.”
The entrance is framed by large stone pillars made of river rock and surrounded by perfect landscaping. Tall grasses, lavender, and rosemary are all growing together, wild, and yet everything is perfectly in its place. It feels a bit more like something you’d stumble across in the French country rather than the central valley.
I follow the four-lane road into the neighborhood, following the signs for the sales office. After I pass through a grove of trees, on the left hand side of the road is an empty residential street, but it’s what sits on the left side of the mouth of the street that blows me away. The boulder is still cracked right down the middle, but now with an iron sign drilled right into the flat face of granite. Broken Ridge Ranch.
I have a moment of panic, there’s no way this is his doing, though. All this. I continue on Ridge Lane and pass signs noting amenities: stables, an archery range, orchards, vegetable gardens, and the gym/pool. It’s such a smart concept for a neighborhood. This piece of land is just secluded enough to be peaceful and wild, and yet, all the activities have been brought to you. It’s a neighborhood and a tailor-made lifestyle all rolled into one.
I don’t think I have anything to worry about. This is clearly the product of a skilled and experienced developer with the backing of some major corporate builder funds. I breathe a little easier as I finally approach the sales office, complete with a neighborhood cafe attached. Again, such a smart concept.
The only parking spot available is front and center so I snag it. Looking at the office and cafe, I’m still a bit blown away by how nice everything is. The sales office/cafe building has an exterior composed entirely of gray stone with tall, black, iron-framed windows gracing the front and sides, all flanked with massive exterior shutters in sage green. It’s all very provincial, even the top of the building is topped with a small clock tower.
I exit my car and step on to the decomposed granite pathway that leads to the office entrance. The sales office door is a massive iron window panel that sits on a swivel to allow people in or out. I push it open and am immediately met with a 5’9” supermodel with a perky butt and big lips. She doesn’t even need to tell me her name, I know it’s Tori. Tori’s got on her sky high Louboutins, a chocolate brown, leather pencil skirt, and a crisp white blouse tucked in. Her long blonde hair rolls down her back in perfectly styled waves, of course. Welcome back to California.
“Hi there,” Tori says cheerfully with her blinding white smile. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m Britain. You were expecting me.” She tilts her head and once I see the look of confusion start to pass her face, I quickly correct myself. “Sorry, I mean, I’m London. London Scott. You have the keys to my rental at Spearhead?”
Her perfectly poised and chipper demeanor returns instantly. “Yes! London. I’ll get the keys for you, but first…” Oh, boy, “what brings you to our little corner of the world? Your assistant said you were coming in from D.C., right?” I groan inwardly. What is so hard about leaving a key under a mat? I mean, really?
“Well, I actually grew up around here, which feels like another lifetime ago now, but um, I’m back to take care of some personal business,” I say in my best, “trying hard to be polite” voice. Now go get the keys so I can leave.
“How long has it been since you were last here?” So we’re doing this now. Okay, great. Just great.
“It’s been 17 years,” I say, not wanting to give anything more. I should just say “none of your damn business,” but my manners and people-pleasing personality won’t let me, so I’m stuck.
“Oh my gosh! What?! Did you leave when you were like 5?!” Tori exclaims, attempting to win me over for some reason I truly don’t understand. Like a predator buttering up their prey for slaughter, and I realize she terrifies me slightly.
“Ha!” A laugh bursts from me. “No, I left when I was 18. I’m sure you can do the math.” I pause briefly not waiting to see how that comment plays out, and say “Do you think you could grab-”
I’m cut off by her screech. “Wait, so that means you’ve never seen Broken Ridge Ranch before?!”
“That’s not entirely true,” I say barely above a whisper.
“What was that?”
“Um, nothing. This is truly something.” I say then wave my hand around in the general vicinity to indicate everything here.
“Well you’re in luck!” I somehow get the feeling her idea of luck, and mine, don’t match. “I’m going to give you the VIP, personal tour myself!” Oh no.
“Oh, that’s not necessary!” I say in my most placating tone. “I really should be getting on my–”
I’m cut off, again, with “Nope! I won’t take no for an answer.” It’s then that I realize this is why she wouldn’t just leave the key under the mat. She needs to make her sales pitch. I decide to give in once it’s clear that the more I prolong this argument, the longer I’ll be here.
“Well in that case, let’s get this show on the road then, yeah?” I respond with a fake smile plastered on my face. I’m hoping my voice didn’t just betray me, revealing I share none of her same enthusiasm.
“Let me go get the keys to the golf cart and we’ll be on our way!”
“Sounds perfect,” I force out. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Tori turns and heads down the hallway leading to the back of the space where two doors sit on either side. The left door has been cracked open since I came in, which is where Tori heads to. A shuffling of papers and a gentle sounding thud come from the office, followed by a low male voice that hisses out “shit.” I laugh to myself imagining he’s just as terrified of Tori as I am.
Once Tori enters the office, she closes the door behind her, and I can hear the faintest sound of a muffled conversation. Since I’m now being held hostage, I look around the room that looks nothing like a sales office. The space looks more like a set from a Nancy Meyers movie. The only tell that it’s not is the marketing materials hung against the German schmear, stone walls. That and the iPads displaying floor plans, laid out neatly on the huge Restoration Hardware, raw-oak table. The floors are wide plank, white oak, and all the lighting is reminiscent of something you’d see in a French chateau.
Tori pops back out of the office, holding up the keys like she’s baiting a puppy with a treat. “I’ve got them!”
“Great,” I say, fake smile in place. And it's then that I mentally prepare myself to lose all the remaining hours of daylight here. Instead of being in bed, with a pizza, and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, like I wanted.