Chapter 4 #2
“What I mean is, if I were to volunteer for you full-time. Could I do that in exchange for accommodation here?”
“Don’t you already have somewhere to stay?” she asks, her brows narrowing to something closer to suspicion. “If you’re digital-nomading, I assumed you already had a place and all your stuff is there.”
Since I’d intended this to be a day trip, I don’t exactly have much stuff with me.
The shoes, sweater and wool jacket I wore here are in the trunk of my car, along with my laptop.
And I left the car in town and took a taxi here because I was afraid my spotlessly clean silver Mercedes might not give the impression that I am a downhome rural spirit who’s good with animals.
But at least I’d foreseen this question and thought through my story.
“I’m staying at the Park ’N’ Sleep. I was traveling in a camper van.
But it was stolen a couple of days ago, along with everything I had in it.
I need a new one. And that’s one of the reasons I came to Warm Springs.
There’s a local guy who builds out custom vans.
Saw him on Instagram. Thought maybe I could get a new one from him. ”
“Your investments must do well, then,” she says. “Those things aren’t cheap.”
I hold her skeptical eyes. “They do, yes. Very well.” Also one hundred percent true. “Staying here would be much more interesting than that boring hotel, though. There’s Wi-Fi in here, right? Because I’d still need to do my own work as well as help you with all the…donkey stuff.”
“Yeah, I had someone come out and set up a whole new high-speed system a year or so ago when the old one died. I was trying to get Grandpa to do some social media with funny donkey videos to raise awareness, but he couldn’t get into it.
So I had a high school girl do it as a part-time job.
And she did great, was getting us real traction.
But then she left for college, and I couldn’t get anyone else to take over and stick to it.
It’s hard for me to manage anything from a distance.
So all that stuff’s been virtually dead for a while. ”
“Where is your grandpa, by the way?” I suddenly remember I’m not supposed to know. So bad at the pretending thing.
“Staying in a rehab unit at Senior Central.” She giggles, her mouth turning into that one-sided smile again.
“That’s what the locals call the retirement home.
He’s recovering from a double knee replacement.
That’s why I’m here. To make sure he actually does recover and doesn’t keep sneaking out to scrub the water troughs or check the donkeys’ hooves or anything that might set him back. ”
“Both knees? At once?” I ask. “That’s seems like a lot.”
“Yeah, he opted for that because then it’s just one recovery time. He can’t bear to be away from this place. Also, I wouldn’t have been able to get two chunks of time off work to cover for him. And he wouldn’t trust anyone else to do everything right.”
“How will he cope alone once he’s home?” If I can sow the seed that his time being able to manage this place is limited, maybe she’ll realize that selling isn’t such a bad idea after all.
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to figure out.” Her brow tightens, like that thought weighs heavily on it.
“Well, while he’s gone, I’m here to help with all the things you don’t want him doing.” How the fuck do you check a hoof? And what are you checking it for?
“And maybe you’ll be here even after he gets out.” Her expression changes to one of hope. “I mean, if you decide Warm Springs is the place for you. And you like the animals.”
Frankie gazes around us. “But, for now, if you’re going to stay here you’d have to use the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom at the house.
Because, obviously, there are no facilities at all in here.
” She gestures at the huge empty space that’s home to nothing but dust and a precipitous drop to the tractor below.
This place is actually the stuff of my nightmares.
It’s like camping. But worse. First, I don’t have my own toilet.
Second, I have to try to get a woman to like me.
And my track record is not spectacular. Sure, they think I’m fine for the first couple of months of exclusive restaurants, weekends away flying first class to the best hotels, invitations to high-profile events packed with recognizable faces.
But then the vocabulary always changes to include words like “emotionally unavailable,” “commitment phobe,” and “workaholic.” And not one of them has made me want to change one iota of who I am.
“That’s very generous,” I tell Frankie. “I promise not to get in your way. So does that mean I’m in?”
She eyes me for a second, pulling her top lip in with her bottom teeth. Then releases a quick sigh before saying, “Welcome on board, Miller…?”
She leaves a gap clearly meant for me to fill in with my last name, her eyebrows rising with the upswing of her voice.
“M—” Instinct takes me as far as the start of my surname before I remember I’m not supposed to be me. At least not a me she can find on the internet as Boston’s Condo King and a one-quarter owner of the Boston Commoners soccer team.
Now I’m stuck with coming up with a fake last name that starts with the M I’ve already uttered, my brain lunges for my mother’s maiden name. “McSweeney. Miller McSweeney.”
“Okay, then,” Frankie says, “Mr. Miller McSweeney, the digital nomad investor with brand-new boots and a jacket so new it still smells like the store. Welcome on board.”
She tips her head to one side with a smile that says she’s really not sure she’s doing the right thing but she doesn’t have much choice.
And when did she sniff my jacket?