Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [52]
“What?”
“Let me tell you something right off that not many people know. Nora and I weren’t technically full siblings.”
“You weren’t?”
“My father raised Nora from the time she was two years old, but her biological father owned an oil company. Our mother was his secretary for a couple of years. He was married, of course, so when she got pregnant, he paid her off, and she came up here and eventually married my dad. Nora never even knew until after mom died and we found the adoption papers.”
“That must have been such a shock.”
He leaned back on his elbows and stretched out his legs. “It was, but she handled it pretty well. After the initial discovery, we never talked about it again. As far as I’m concerned, she is . . .” He paused. “Was my sister. Period. Then a few months ago Nora got a letter from a law firm in Los Angeles telling her that her biological father had died and left her some land. Apparently he felt guilty in his old age. It turned out to be Bonita Peak and the land surrounding it.”
I gave a low whistle. “That land’s worth a fortune.”
“You bet, and she was determined to sell. The rumors about that housing development are true. The papers were being drawn up this week.”
“Why would she sell Bonita Peak to a developer? She grew up here. She knew how much it means to the people of San Celina.”
He sat up. Anger shadowed the planes of his face. “It was the only thing in our life that we ever really disagreed on. All our lives we depended on each other. Dad died when I was only eleven and Nora thirteen, and that’s when Mom started drinking. We had to grow up real fast and somehow we sensed early that fighting against each other would only make things harder. I was so happy when she inherited that land because I thought she felt the same way I did about it. But Nora went crazy after Joey died. She got it in her head if the hospital had only had the right trauma equipment and staff, Joey wouldn’t have lapsed into that coma . . . that he’d still be alive today.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
“Who knows? General Hospital had taken a lot of cuts in the last few years. You know they closed their trauma unit down five years ago. The closest one is in Santa Barbara now. The doctors won’t say, of course. All they’ll say is it never hurts to have the type of personnel and equipment trauma units provide. Who’s to say if they’d had all the latest equipment that Joey wouldn’t still have died? But when she inherited the land and the developer told her how much he was willing to pay for it, she decided to sell it and donate a big chunk of money toward revitalizing the emergency room at General Hospital and some to an AIDS hospice for children down in L.A. She got involved with this group of parents who lost children, and went down there to tell stories to the children four or five times. She said that it helped her to see that there were worse ways for Joey to have died.”
“Both are good causes.”
He turned troubled eyes on me. “I know. But I understand what the GreenLand Conservancy is saying. If we develop all our open land, we’ll end up looking like Los Angeles or San Jose—all concrete and shopping malls. What kind of legacy is that for the next generation?”
“I guess none of that matters when your child is dying.”
“I guess not.” He drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do now that I’ll have the responsibility of the land. Either way I’m going to look like a jerk. Nora had already told the hospital and AIDS hospice they could expect big donations. And now that the decision is mine, I’m not so sure that Peter and my beliefs are the right ones. Even if one child’s life was saved because of the equipment that money could buy . . .” He cradled his head in his hands.
“You don’t have to make a decision right away, do you?”
He shook his head. “No, but everyone’s pulling at me. The lawyers are going to try and rush this through probate so I can make my decision. There’s no way I can afford the taxes, so I’ll either have to sell it or donate it to the conservancy.” He stood up and slung his guitar