She wags her tail and trots back to the van. I scan the area one last time. And then I walk a little unsteadily toward my vehicle, my eyes focused on my dog. She jumps into the front seat, and I slide in behind her. A little voice inside my head says, “Don’t look back.”
I start the engine and keep my eyes focused on the road in front of me.
***
“I wasn’t expecting you in person, Mr. Woodbury. Won’t you please have a seat?” The stout real estate broker motions with his hand toward the empty chair in front of his desk.
“Please, call me Adam.”
“Of course. Adam, it is.”
I watch him shuffle through a stack of papers sitting on his messy desktop, the remnants of his hoagie pushed to the side. The air lingers with the smell of onions and vinegar.
“Yup, here we go.” He triumphantly holds up a folder. “This won’t take long. I’m going to need your signature in front of a notary. Good thing my admin, Lori, is one.” He grins. “Once it’s signed, it will be filed with the county. We prepare all the documents and handle the recording.”
“That’s it?” I ask.
“There’s also a change of ownership report and some transfer taxes. Easy-peasy.” He opens the file and slides it across the desk toward me. “Make sure the deed contains the correct spelling of your legal name, and double-check the legal description ofthe property. As I said in my email, I’ll need two forms of identification as well. I’ll go get Lori so you can sign.”
“Okay.” I hear the click of the office door shut and sigh. This is it. This is me moving on.
I read the particulars and nod. And then I see it. The buyer’s name.
Dirk Enterprises LLC
“Dirk?” I say out loud. I rub my eyes and look at it again. It absolutely has the word “Dirk” typed on the buyer’s line. I am not seeing things. What are the chances this is Justin Dirk himself, dipping into his family’s millions to casually buy my property without talking to me first? I rifle through the entire file to try and find a full name and come across a handwritten sticky note.
Buyer wishes to remain anonymous. Legal entity only.
“Are you kidding me?”
The office door opens, and the agent bumbles inside. “Here she is, here’s Lori.” A tall blonde wearing horn-rimmed glasses offers me a pleasant smile. “She’ll notarize the document once you sign…”
“—I’m so sorry,” I interrupt. I stand, gripping the piece of paper in my hands and shove it toward him. “Do you know this buyer?” He seems confused and takes a step back.
“Do I know this buyer personally? Well, no. We’ve only talked over the phone. They are, uh, out of the country and have made arrangements to sign the contract virtually via electronic signature. I hope you know this was available to you as well. I wasn’t expecting you to drive across the country for your signature. That’s why I was so surprised to see you today, Mr. Woodbury.”
I slam the paper on the desk, making the duo jump. “I’m gonna need a minute to make a phone call. I may or may not be back.”
I rush past the two of them, out the office door. Once I’m in the parking lot, I pull out my phone and hurriedly dial Roxy’s number. I know they’re in Bali on their month-long honeymoon, but I really don’t care at this point. I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the back by my cousin. Why would she do this without talking to me first? And what does Justin intend to do with my property? Does he know something I don’t about the real estate market? Is he part of some outside investor group, taking advantage of California fire victims down on their luck, ready to buy up cheap real estate in a picturesque corner of the state that lacks housing?
The phone instantly goes to voicemail. I groan and grip the back of my neck with my free hand. The honeymooners are probably holding hands and skipping across the white sand beach while sipping from hurricane glasses filled with pink liquor topped off with colorful umbrellas. I hope Justin forgot his sunscreen andgets fried by the Indonesian sunshine. I clear my throat and talk as calmly as I can.
“Roxy? It’s Adam. You have some serious explaining to do regarding my property. I’m here at the broker’s office. Call me immediately when you get this.”
I shove the phone into my back jeans pocket, tilting my head back and closing my eyes against the bright California sun. I need to calm down. I take in a few deep lungfuls of air and picture Keri in her cerulean pageant gown, posing for me on the precipice of Feather Falls. Sweet Keri, who wanted to be here with me while I navigate this major transition.
And I told her no.
I stand on the hot asphalt of the parking lot with my hands firmly planted on my hips. The way I see it, I’ve got two roads ahead of me. On one road, I can keep blaming myself for what happened two years ago. I keep going over it in my head and what I could’ve done differently. I pushed people away, and I suffered because of it. Because that’s what I thought I deserved.
And then there’s another road, where I finally find a way to accept what happened. Find a way to accept my choices. It doesn’t mean I have to like it or understand it or never think about it again. I just accept it. And I move forward, living the best life that I can.
“I’m done with this,” I mutter under my breath.
I pull my phone out of my back pocket again, my hands shaking as I dial the number. Three rings. Another voicemail.
“Hey, Keri. It’s me. Please call me back. Please…”
