Chapter 40 Rowe
Rowe
That is not the worst of it.
It’s gone.
All of it.
Where the house stood, there’s a pile of rubble—splintered wood, shattered glass, crumbled shingles. If all the planks and tiles and walls were glued back together, there would be a house.
But that’s not what I’m looking at. I’m looking at a pile of garbage.
My heart cracks in two as, the next morning, I take stock of what’s left. Pane, the piggies, Buster the Cat, and Stella are safe and sound. That’s what matters. That’s what should matter. But right now, my entire life has been obliterated.
What are we going to do?
My phone rings and it’s Mom. I can’t even begin to tell her what’s happened, but I can’t ignore the call, either.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Honey, are you okay?”
I force myself to talk around my shrunken throat. My gaze lifts, searching out Pane, but he left to go into town. He was on the phone all morning, trying to get men out here to clean up. Turns out there was a lot of storm damage in the area, and the work crews are all busy.
Not once did Pane say anything about the competition. His heart must be just as broken as mine.
“Yeah, Mom. Yep. I’m fine. We survived.”
“Did the storms do any damage? Clarice Sinclair said they ripped up part of her yard, but she didn’t know how you’re doing.”
I can’t bear to tell her the truth. She had so much hope these past couple of months. She believed in me so hard and put her trust in me because I’d put mine in Pane.
To tell her that we’ve lost everything will destroy her. It’s destroyed me. There’s an abyss in the pit of my stomach that will never be filled now.
“We’re all safe,” I squeak out, doing everything to keep my voice from breaking. “Mom”—I exhale a staggered breath—“can I call you back?”
“Sure, honey. Sure. I can’t wait to hear how great things go when Pane wins today. The spa’s fully booked, right?”
“Right,” I say lamely.
Oh, God. The competition. The spa. Saving the farm. There will be none of it now. None of it. It’s over before it even began. That dream has been eviscerated.
The farm won’t be resurrected. It will go into foreclosure.
What will I do?
My heart doesn’t just break for me. It throbs for Pane. For six weeks he worked on this place, giving it everything he had—and now his wish, this business . . . they’re both dead before earning the chance to fly.
It’s so awful that I can barely breathe. “Listen, Mom, I’ve got to go.”
“Sure, honey. I know it’s a busy day for you. Keep me posted. Fingers crossed.”
“Fingers crossed,” I repeat weakly before hanging up.
There’s so much that’s a mess that I don’t even know where to start. And I can’t even begin to know how to deal with today.
The sound of Pane’s truck rumbling down the drive grabs my attention. At the same time, Buster the Cat runs out from under a line of bushes and attempts to wrap his body around my legs like a pretzel.
I reach down and pick him up. “It’s okay, Buster. I’ll find you some food soon. Maybe you can eat starfizz berries, too.”
It’s literally the only food we have.
Pane exits the truck holding two coffees. “Power’s out all over town, but the coffee shop has a generator.”
He glances over at Dancing Trails. Somehow they managed to escape the eye of the storm.
Of course they did.
Pane hands me a coffee and I sniff. It’s a mocha.
I bite back the sob that swells in my throat. “What do we do?”
He brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “It’s going to be okay. It’s all gonna be fine.”
“No, it’s not. You’ve lost the competition. I’ve lost the farm.” My face scrunches up in sadness. “I’m so sorry.”
He knuckles away a tear that streaks down my face, and when he looks down at me, emotion brims in his eyes. “I’ve already won everything I need.”
His words make my heart quiver. “But the house—”
“Houses can be rebuilt.”
“But the foreclosure?”
There, he’s silent, because he knows as well as I do that we don’t have a chance.
Before he can argue, or agree with me, or say anything at all, Clarice Sinclair rumbles down the road, honking her horn. Behind her are at least a dozen vehicles. They all swing into the driveway and I watch in horror as people I’ve known my whole life fill up our small gravel drive.
They’re here to see Pane win. But now he won’t.
They slowly get out of their cars and drift listlessly toward what’s left of the house. Their expressions are filled with shock and sheer disbelief.
Cristina runs up and throws her arms around me. “It’s gonna be okay.”
I manage to keep the tears in check.
Ron appears and pulls his hat off his head, squashing it between his hands. “It was gonna be so great.”
Isaac squeezes Pane’s shoulder. “I can’t believe it, man.”
McCauley pulls up in his work truck and just stares.
It’s all any of us can do. Just stare.
The scent of defeat is heavy in the air. Some folks start picking up boards, but there’s no place to put them.
I’m so shocked that I don’t know what to do first—cry or collapse.
It’s while Cristina’s still hugging me that Luke’s truck rolls into the driveway. Oh, God. He’s here to see if I have the money to keep the house from going into foreclosure.
It’s so insane that I want to laugh. There’s no money. Pane has lost the competition, and whatever chance I could have had to somehow win back the farm is gone.
Caput.
Done.
Right behind Luke, fast on his heels, is a limousine.
Acid churns in my stomach, rolling up into my throat. It takes all my willpower to swallow down the urge to vomit.
Please, let’s just get this over with.
Luke parks and kills his engine. But it’s not Luke who everyone’s watching. All eyes are on the limo as it comes to a stop.
The driver, wearing a black suit, exits the vehicle and opens the rear passenger door. Sylvia Maddox emerges, once again wearing all white from head to foot. She takes a step and surveys the damage. Her brows pinch, and a look of surprise sweeps over her face before it is quickly schooled.
She knows that Pane’s lost. There’s no way for him to recover from this.
From the other side of the limo comes a short man wearing a tweed suit and wire-rimmed glasses. He’s carrying a clipboard in one hand and surveying the land with a confused expression. It’s like he’s thinking, Isn’t there supposed to be a house here?
“The valuator,” Pane tells me, putting an arm around my shoulders. “He judges what the business is worth.”
A bitter scoff escapes my lips. “What business?”
But Pane just squeezes me, offering what comfort he can, before releasing his grip to greet his mother.
“Pane.” Sylvia air-kisses his cheeks. “I heard about the storms. Rowe”—she nods to me—“I’m sorry for what happened.”
“Thank you,” I tell her.
Luke is out of his truck and watching. He’s got a load of paperwork in his hands, and he’s eyeing the house like a snake about to sink its fangs into a rabbit.
Mrs. Maddox’s gaze sweeps across the yard as she slowly takes in the rubble. “Stone’s business has already been valuated. Your brother has done well.”
“I’m not surprised,” Pane tells her.
She shakes her head. “As much as I’d like to extend the contest, you both signed a contract. Your brother has worked hard, just as you have. Given the circumstances, I’m afraid that there’s no choice but to award the president and CEO position to—”
“Wait.” Pane flings out his hands. “Just wait.”
His mother rolls her eyes. “You can’t save this.”
“Yes, I can,” he insists in a tone that makes her pause. “Just watch me.” He then turns his back on her, cups his hands over his mouth, and yells, “Donner! Donner Wright!”
There’s a brief silence before the answer comes. “Here!”
Donner slips out of the tangle of people and approaches us, looking as oiled up as ever.
Pane gestures to his mother. “Sylvia Maddox, meet Donner Wright. He runs the off-grid yurt community.”
Donner’s glistening pecs glint in the sunlight as he approaches with a grim smile. “Pleasure.”
Sylvia shakes his hand with the tips of her fingers.
“Donner helped with the renovation,” Pane explains.
“Wonderful.” Sylvia gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Pane, none of this changes the fact that—”
“This property is in foreclosure,” Luke announces, deciding to take this moment to step up and let everyone be graced with his presence.
“In accordance with the terms of the loan, if the land owner does not have the funds to pay a substantial amount of the mortgage that is owed, then the property returns to the bank and will go to auction.” Luke’s smug gaze lands on me. “Do you have the funds, Rowe Wadley?”
Anger rakes over my chest. Does it look like I have the funds? I want to spit. I’m silent for a moment, feeling the weight of the crowd staring at me.
It’s a fight for me to get the words out. “No, I don’t.”
Sylvia Maddox stares openly at me. She must think I’m such a loser. This woman will never approve of me, not with how messy my life is.
Luke starts to shove a piece of paper under my nose, but Pane steps between us. “Wait. This isn’t over.”
“It’s not?” Luke says sarcastically, scratching his head. “It looks over to me. Rowe just admitted that she doesn’t have the money. If she doesn’t have it, then the property returns to the bank. End of story.”
A thought occurs to me and hope flares in my chest. “What about home owner’s insurance?”
Luke shakes his head. “Your mother canceled the policy.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me,” he sneers. “She couldn’t pay the mortgage, so she stopped the insurance.”
“Donner,” Pane says.
Why is he so focused on Donner? What is going on?
“Pane, I’m sorry.” Sylvia starts to walk off. “I have no choice but to award the company to your—”
“Wait, Mom. Wait.” He grabs her by the arm and pulls her back into the crowd, who watches the scene with their gazes ping-ponging from Luke to Pane, to Donner, to Sylvia, and now back to Pane.
Pane’s gaze flicks to Donner. “You need electricity, right? You want clean power. Isn’t that so?”
Donner scrubs his cheek, looking uncertain. He’s probably wondering where this is going.
I was until that very moment. Now a tingle cartwheels down the back of my neck as I realize Pane’s plan.
His gaze snaps to me, and I rush to the crumpled fence, where Tallulah’s foraging for roots. I hoist her into my arms and carry her back to Pane. It also just so happens that I’ve got starfizz berries in my back pocket.
You know, ’cause you never know when you’re going to need to feed a pig some starfizz berries.
At least, that’s what I thought earlier this morning when I shoved them in there.
“Everyone, follow me,” Pane says. “Mom, you come, too. You too,” he commands the valuator.
His mother sighs, but she, along with the rest of the crowd, follows Pane to the gazebo, which surprisingly, is still standing.
He points to the string of lights. “The yurt community outside of Mystic Meadows and plenty of other off-grid communities want power, but they don’t want solar panels or wind. They need something that doesn’t intrude on their lives but is also a clean source of energy. Enter, the piggycorn.”
I pose with Tallulah like a model on The Price Is Right, swishing this way and that.
People laugh nervously. I’m sure they’re thinking Pane’s lost his mind.
Luke guffaws. “He’s done lost his mind.”
Don’t say I didn’t tell you so.
But the townsfolk have no idea what’s coming. Hope bubbles in my stomach as I feed Tallulah a handful of berries. Her tongue slides over my palm as she snuffles up the last of the treats.
Pane points to the lights. “Tallulah, make them glow.”
Does she understand him? I have no idea. But as she finishes chewing the berries, her horn begins to shine. She snorts happily, content with the feed, and as her happiness grows, her horn shines brighter, and then the gazebo lights flare to life.
The crowd gasps. People murmur in delight. They’re surprised. Elated. Amazed.
It’s not just the gazebo lights that flare, either. The streetlamp on Luke’s side of the road flickers, and people’s cars power up as headlights blink on and radios sing to life.
Donner’s jaw drops. “Can one pig light a whole village?”
Pane’s face breaks into a handsome smile. “I believe so.”
“I’ll give you fifty thousand for her.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head in disbelief. “What?”
“We need her.” Donner places his hands on his hips. “Everyone will chip in. If that’s not enough, we can go to sixty.”
Pane squeezes my hand as he walks past me and speaks to the valuator.
“There are communities all over the country who want something like this. There are private homes that would pay, too. I predict that by the end of the week, we’ll be sold out of piggycorns.
The demand for them will only continue to grow, and we”—he drapes an arm over my shoulders—“can supply piggycorns to people all over the world.”
Luke’s face is beet red, his cheeks puffed out. He glares at me. Stares at Pane. Watches the valuator worriedly.
The valuator cocks his head back and forth. “This is an interesting business. What do you think, Mrs. Maddox?”
Fascination sparks in her green eyes. “Pane, this is your competition entry?”
“This is it.”
She nods to the valuator. “Estimate the worth.”
My stomach does flip-flops. The crowd is silent while the valuator gets to work plugging numbers into a calculator that’s attached to his clipboard, then writing down whatever it is he’s penning onto sheets and sheets of paper. After a while Tallulah becomes restless, and I set her on the ground.
After about ten minutes of pure agony, he gives a final nod and whispers something into Sylvia’s ear.
She listens intently. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Then Sylvia Maddox, current president and CEO of the Maddox Group, fixes her penetrating gaze on her son. “Pane.”
“Yes?”
The air buzzes with intensity. I’ve got all my fingers and toes crossed, praying that he wins.
A slow smile breaks across her face. “Congratulations, son. You’ve won.”