“Originally, that was certainly an option,” Ryan says slowly.
“What does that mean?” Jovi’s confusion spreads from his knitted brow down to his clenched jaws.
“A year ago, both of you could have taken over Serendipity Ranch and sold it, leaving the children with a proper inheritance for college or business or first homes, etc. But Trent’s business was expanding, and growth requires investment.”
Jovi looks like he’s starting to understand. “The new pole barn. And the indoor arena.” He shakes his head. “How much debt is there?”
“He borrowed against the house,” Ryan explains. “The value was there and Trent and Lena both agreed that the business would pay back what they took to build the new facilities. And I don’t doubt that it could.”
“If he were here to run it.” Jovi falls back into the sofa cushions, his hands raking through his thick hair, pulling strands from the tie holding it back. “I haven’t worked horses since high school. There’s no way I can step in where he stepped out and keep things going. There’s no way.” He sits up straight again. “What are the options?”
Ryan sighs. “They’re not good. Unfortunately, without life insurance to offset the debt, it’s pretty simple. If you decide to giveup the business, Liz loses the house. The kids lose any assets they might have had to secure their future.”
“What if we split up the property? Keep the house, sell the business,” he suggests.
“There’s a twenty-acre minimum on land parcels out here,” she explains. “You’ve got twenty-nine acres here. You can’t split it.”
“What if we sell it all?” I say quietly. “Pay off the loan. Get out from under it. What does that leave for the kids?”
“Realistically?” Ryan looks pained. “With the current shift in the housing market, you’ll be lucky to break even. Trent was going big, and I don’t doubt that he would have turned it around and that it would have paid off, but to play big you risk big. Now you’re stuck picking up mid play. You got all the risk, but the reward hasn’t come in yet.”
“So…either we’re both all in…or…” Jovi never finishes his train of thought. He doesn’t need to. We all know where it’s headed.
“How much time do we have to decide?” I ask, wondering if any timeline will seem long enough to make this decision.
“There’s no set time,” Ryan says, laying out several more papers for us before packing her file back into her briefcase. “There’s enough in the business account to cover costs for a month, maybe two. Then you start to risk the bank deciding for you,” she goes on. “As for the kids, I think we all know, the sooner the better. After what they’ve been through, they need to know there are still things,people, they can count on. The sooner we remove them from this state of limbo, the faster they can regain some semblance of security.”
She pauses once all of her belongings are put away and just watches us. “I understand that it feels like a lot has been dropped in both your laps at the moment it feels as though your worlds are collapsing. But, as pressed for time as you may feel to make these lifealtering decisions, maybe you can find some comfort in knowing the people you would likely turn to for advice in this situation already offered their input. And unlike you, they felt they had all the time in the world to come to their conclusions.”
She doesn’t smile with her mouth, but the encouragement shows in her eyes. “Call me when you’ve settled on how to proceed, and I’ll see to it everything is taken care of the way you wish.”
“Thank you,” I mumble as I watch her get up to leave.
Jovi gets to his feet to walk her out. “I appreciate you taking the time to come out here to explain everything to us,” he says, opening the door for her. “I’ll let you know as soon as we figure things out.”
She nods, leans back one last time to wave in my direction, and then, she’s gone.
The door is closed.
The house is silent.
And I can almost pretend she was never here.
Almost.
Jovi, standing across the living room looking as wrecked as I feel, makes it impossible to commit to my denial. The pain seeping from his dark brown eyes pierces the last remaining stich of armor I had guarding my heart. Before I can bleed out in front of him, I lean into my one remaining coping mechanism. Morbid humor.
“They’re assholes,” I mutter.
He looks up at me, surprised. “Excuse me?”
“Trent and Lena,” I start again. “Total jerks.”
He starts to smirk, and I can't tell if I'm annoyed or comforted that he's amused. “Which part do you find more offensive? Them up and dying on us? Or their woefully poor choice to put us in charge of keeping their legacy alive?”
“It’s hard to say,” I admit. “The dying bit was a shit move. But forcing me to even consider making long-term commitments that involve you? That may be the most heinous part of all.”
He shakes his head, his chuckle a bittersweet sound as he starts back for the recliner and plops down into it a second later. “You know, you’re no picnic either. You think my biggest hang-up here is not having trained horses in ten years? It’s not. It’s you.”
