At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [89]
“God, I’m so tired of being poor,” Lindsay said. She came around the corner with a hoe, her voice and her posture heavy with defeat.
“We’re not poor,” Bridget returned sharply. “We’ve got food in the freezer and wine in the pantry and—and chickens in the sunroom. We’ve got broccoli and carrots and sweet peas and lettuce coming up out of the ground, for Pete’s sake, and we are not poor!”
Cici managed a faint, crooked grin. “Now if we just had a cow for milk.”
“And a barn to keep it in,” Lindsay pointed out glumly. “Let’s face it, girls, we’re a bit over our heads, here.”
Cici glanced at her. “And you’re just now figuring that out?”
“God, I just don’t see why this had to happen now, on top of everything else. We’ve got that meeting with Carrie tomorrow and I can barely even remember why. It just doesn’t seem real, any of it.”
“I know what you mean,” agreed Cici. “But let’s just focus on one disaster at a time.”
“I can’t even decide which one to focus on.”
“I’m going to suggest the burnt barn. At least that’s something we can do something about.”
And Lindsay replied, “Like what?”
“Okay, okay.” Bridget had a determined look on her face. “We’ve dealt with crises before. We might not have the resources the Blackwells did when they built this place, but we’re doing okay. We can handle this.”
In a moment, Lindsay took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “You’re right. We’ve been through all this before. We’re in it for the long haul, and we knew it wouldn’t be easy. What else is new? Come on, let’s see what we can do with this mess.”
Cici watched as Lori crossed to turn off the spigot, then, leaving the garden hose stretched across the ground, wandered over and sat on the stump of the hickory tree they had cut down last year. Her expression, even from the distance, was noticeably bleak.
Cici said, “You guys go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute, okay?” She crossed the yard toward her daughter, and then sat down beside her on the stump and waited.
“Nothing bad has ever happened to me before,” Lori said. Her gaze, sad and a little unfocused, remained on the smoldering skeleton of the barn. “I mean, I thought it had. But not really.”
She looked at her mother. “Last night was really scary. Someone could have been hurt. The animals could have burned to death. The fire could have spread to the house, and we all could have been trapped inside. I don’t think you realize how important it is to feel safe until suddenly you don’t anymore.”
Cici had to swallow hard before she could speak. “No mother ever wants her child to learn that the world is not a safe place. I’ve worked so hard trying to make sure nothing bad ever did happen to you.”
“I know,” Lori said softly. “But I’m not a child anymore.” She took a breath. “Even though I’ve been acting like one. All of that nonsense with sheep and chickens and jam and expensive B&Bs . . . they had nothing to do with real life. This is real life.” She gave a small shake of her head. “I should have stayed in California with Dad, where the only thing I’d have to think about was whether I’d put on enough sunscreen before I went to the pool. I don’t belong here. I’m no good at this. I’ve just been wasting my time and making your life harder.”
She started to stand, but Cici put a hand on her knee.
“The only way I got through college,” Cici said, “was by taking remedial algebra courses. Even then I barely passed. I had to take the real estate exam twice. It was the math. It’s always been hard for me. Of course, there was a lot of math in my line of work, and over the years it got easier, but it’s still a struggle. Even yesterday, building the chicken coop—we had to tear down everything we’d done, not because Bridget measured wrong but because I multiplied the fractions wrong. And I’ve been doing this for over twenty years.”
Lori was silent for a while.