Great.
Madeline returned to the kitchen. Her belly rumbled with hunger. She looked around for something to eat, but it was all food that Libby had brought to the house. But there, on top of the fridge, was what was left of the bag of chips from that first meeting with Jackson. She took the bag down and opened it, ate a couple of chips. With the bag in hand, she walked into the dining room.
Libby had left some papers and the reunion file next to the phone. There was a pad of paper onto which she had made some notes. Just below those notes was another one that said Emma, with a phone number following it. Madeline ate a few more chips, pondering that number and debating. She ate a few more, dusted off her hands, and dialed the number.
It rang several times.
Madeline was about to hang up when Emma answered. “Hello?”
The raspy, hoarse voice sounded just like Madeline’s mother—rough and hungover. “Emma?” Madeline said, just to be sure.
“Who’s this?”
“Madeline.”
“Who?” Emma demanded.
“Madeline Pruett. Your, ah…”
“God, what now?” Emma groaned.
“Thanks,” Madeline said pertly at that warm reception. “I called to speak to you about the ranch problem.”
“Shit, first Jackson, then Libby, now you—”
“We inherited it, Emma,” Madeline reminded her.
“Yeah, I know. I was there, remember?”
“So we have to do something with it. Are you coming back? Libby wants to make this some reunion Mecca, but I need to get back to Orlando.”
“So go. Why is that my problem?” Emma asked.
Madeline could hear things like plates and glasses banging around in the background of the call now. Her pulse began to ratchet up. “Listen, Emma, I didn’t ask for this any more than you did. We have to come to some conclusion. Libby thinks you might want to keep the ranch, too.”
“Sometimes Libby hears what she wants to hear,” Emma said through a yawn.
“But what about you? Do you want to keep the ranch?”
The banging suddenly stopped. Emma said nothing for so long that Madeline thought maybe she’d lost the connection. But then she heard Emma sniff.
“Are you there?”
“I’m here,” Emma said. “Okay, listen, Madeline Pruett. I don’t give a shit what happens with that ranch. Can I be any clearer than that? I told Libby the same thing. You guys decide—sell it, keep it, I don’t care. Just don’t bother me with it. Okay?”
“Wow,” Madeline said, truly taken aback.
“Hey, don’t you try and read me!” Emma snapped. “You don’t know me at all. You have no idea what my life or Libby’s life has been like, and I don’t owe you any explanation.”
“I’m not asking for one,” Madeline shot back. “And you don’t know my life, either, Emma. All I want is to have this thing resolved. And since it appears as if neither of us wants to be here, it seems to me we should try and work together to get rid of it.”
“Libby wants it. Why not let her have it? What difference does it make to you?”
It seemed so very obvious to her, and Emma… Emma was crazy, that’s all there was to it.
“If Libby can’t turn a profit, then we sell it. But if she can, don’t sweat it. Just calm down and let people do what they want.”
“Now who is trying to read who?” Madeline said angrily.
“It’s not hard,” Emma said. “You’re a one-way street. I just can’t figure out what you’re so afraid of.”
“I am not afraid—”
“Whatever,” Emma said, cutting her off. “I gotta go.” And she hung up. Just like that, the line went dead.
Madeline gasped with outrage. She glared at the receiver in her hand, then slammed it down. That was the last-ever consideration Madeline was going to give her. If this was what being sisters was all about, Madeline would take a pass, thank you.
She marched into the kitchen, looked wildly about. Okay. She was out here on her own. Out of her element. Drifting on a life raft. First Luke, then Julie, then Libby and Emma—What are you so afraid of? Emma’s words echoed in her brain.
“Forget that,” she muttered. Busy. Be busy, that’s what she had to do. There was still quite a lot of work to do, starting with the erection of the big party tent. First things first, she needed to know if the spot she had in mind was big enough. She needed a tape measure. She’d seen one in the garage a couple of days ago.
Madeline marched out to the garage, sidestepping the dogs, who rushed out from under the porch to greet her, her hands up. “Garage!” she snapped, and all four of the dogs obediently fell in line behind her, trotting along as she rounded the corner and stepped into the dusty garage, where they fanned out to sniff things as she surveyed the workbench. She found the tape measure and as she was turning away from the bench, she saw the keys hanging on a hook on the wall.