Eve adds, “Honestly? I’d trust Shelly to run the county in a crisis.”
Dixie lifts her mug. “Shelly for President.”
“I just… I want Bruce to see Everett the way we see him. Not overwhelmed. Not scrambling. Just… settled. Rooted. Capable. Loved.” I swallow hard. “If he can stand in that room tonight and see the lodge thriving and Everett steady in the middle of it… maybe something will shift. Maybe they can start fixing what broke.”
No one jokes this time.
Even Dixie stays quiet.
Then Charlie slips an arm around my shoulders. “Okay. Emotional moment logged. Now—where do we want the pictures that make him look like a rugged broody fairy-tale lumberjack?”
Eve lifts a pen. “Preferably not next to the ones where he’s seventeen and looks like a malnourished string bean.”
“He had potential,” I defend weakly.
Dixie snorts. “He had a metabolism that could commit crimes.”
They start laying photos out across the long table, grouping them by year, by mood, by how feral I must have been for him during each era.
Charlie waves a Polaroid. “This goes in the ‘sweet enough to ruin you’ section.”
Holly holds up a candid of Everett teaching a little kid to tie a boot. “And this one—this goes where he can’t miss it.”
Eve calls from the far wall, “I need two more verticals for the ‘you were never subtle’ column.”
I bury my face in my hands. “This is going to be on TV. God.”
Charlie pats my knee. “Yeah, and that’s why it has to be honest. If the world’s going to see something, it should be the truth.”
Holly folds a photo gently, her voice soft. “You’re not doing this for TV. You’re doing it for him. And finally, you’re doing something for you.”
Charlie grins. “So chin up, babe. If this is going to be immortalized on national television, at least it’ll be the good part.”
Dixie stands with her hands on her hips. “Alright, ladies. Feelings processed. Crisis addressed. Where do we want the thirst traps?”
I point to the far right panel. “There. But tasteful thirst.”
Dixie cackles. “Baby, nothing about this is tasteful.”
And somehow, that’s exactly right.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sierra
The great roomlooks nothing like it did this morning.
It's softer now. Dimmer. The fireplaces throw gold across the walls, and the storm outside growls just loud enough to make everything feel intimate instead of apocalyptic.
The entire lodge is tucked in together—sixty-four guests, two dozen staff members, a TV host who deserves coal until retirement, plus her entourage.
And smack in the middle of all of it?
My insanity. My heart. Pinned to foam boards. Strung on twine. Clipped with tiny gold clothespins Holly insisted on because “presentation matters.”
If I weren't already sweating, I'd start now.
Dixie nudges one last photo straight and whispers, “You ready?”
