They finished the rest of the meal in silence, with him reading his magazine. When he was done, he pushed back from the table and stood up. Reaching for the sweat-stained brown felt cowboy hat that hung on a hook by the door, he said, “Make me proud.”
“I will. ’Bye, Dad.”
After he left, Vivi Ann sat there, feeling unsettled.
For most of her twenty-four years she’d been like a leaf on the water, just floating along, following whatever current came her way. She’d tried changing direction a few times, but every attempt (like community college) had ended quickly, with her returning to this land.
She loved it here, plain and simple. She loved being around the horses, training them, and passing her expertise on to the bright-eyed girls who idolized her riding ability. She loved that everyone in town knew who she was and respected her and her family. She even loved the weather. Lots of folks complained about the gray days that followed each other, one after another, from November to April, but she didn’t mind at all. No rain, no rainbows. That was her motto, and had been since she was twelve years old, a girl standing beside a freshly dug grave, trying to make sense of an incomprehensible loss. Then, she’d told herself that life was short and having fun was what mattered.
Now, though, it was time for her to grow up. Water’s Edge needed her for once, instead of the other way around. She wasn’t sure exactly how to make a change. Business and planning were hardly her strong suits, but she was smarter than people gave her credit for being. All she had to do was think about it.
But first she needed to borrow three hundred dollars from one of her sisters.
She’d tell them it would be a good investment.
Winona liked running the show. Any show; every show. And not from the sidelines, either. In college, all it had taken was one constitutional law class, and she’d glimpsed her future. Now, at twenty-seven, she had her life pretty much as she wanted it. Not completely, of course (she was unmarried, not dating, childless, and struggling with her weight), but pretty much. She was far and away the most successful attorney in Oyster Shores. It was common knowledge that she was fair, opinionated, and smart. Everyone said she was a good person to have on your side. Winona valued her reputation almost as much as she did her education. Dad and Vivi Ann might worship at the altar of their land, but Winona had a broader religion. For her, it was the community that mattered and the people who lived here. It was okay that Vivi Ann was the beautiful heart of town; Winona strove to be its conscience.
She reached for the intercom on her desk and pushed the button. “The council will be here in about ten minutes, Lisa. Make sure we have enough coffee.”
Her receptionist answered promptly. “Already done.”
“Good.” Winona turned her attention to the slim pile of paperwork in front of her. There were a couple of environmental reports, a proposed short plat map, and a real estate sale contract that she’d written up.
It could save Water’s Edge.
Well, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration; the ranch wasn’t poised on the edge of financial ruin or anything. It was more like one of those pathetic starving horses Vivi Ann kept rescuing: limping along. Every month Dad and Vivi Ann barely made enough to keep the place running, and the taxes kept going up. This secret corner of Washington State hadn’t been “discovered” yet by the yuppies who turned rugged waterfront lots into gold, but it was only a matter of time. Someday soon a developer would realize that their sleepy town sat on a spectacular stretch of beach that overlooked the Swiss Alps–like Olympic Mountain Range, and when that happened, Dad would find himself sitting on one hundred and twenty-five desirable acres. The rise in taxes would force him to sell the land or lose it, and no one seemed to notice the inevitability of this future except her. It had already happened all across the state.
She jotted notes down on her yellow pad, words to use in talking to him. It was imperative that he understand how important this was, how she’d found a way to save and protect him. Equally imperative was that she be the one to solve the problem. Perhaps then, finally, her father would be proud of her.
The intercom buzzed. “They’re here, Winona.”
“Send them into the conference room.” Winona slid the documents into a manila folder and reached for her blue blazer. Slipping into it, she noticed it had gotten tighter across the bust. Sighing, she headed down for the conference room.
Her office was housed in a large Victorian mansion on a corner lot in downtown Oyster Shores. She’d bought it four years ago and renovated it room by room. The entire downstairs was completed so far. She could hardly have people judging her public rooms and finding them lacking. Next year, she’d begin on the living quarters upstairs. She had saved up almost enough money.
In the hallway, she paused at a mirror just long enough to assess her reflection: A plump, pretty face, dark brown eyes set beneath arching black brows, full lips, the shoulders of an NFL lineman, and enough bust for three women. Her one outstanding feature—her long black hair—was pulled back from her face and held in place by a white and blue scrunchie.
Forcing a smile, she kept walking and turned into what had once been a ladies’ sunroom. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows and a pair of antique French doors covered the back wall. Through the rectangular panes could be seen her winter-brown garden; and beyond that were the brick and wooden buildings along Front Street. In the center of the room was a long oak table. The members of the Oyster Shores city council sat around it, including her father, who wasn’t technically a member, but was invited to every meeting nonetheless.
Winona took her usual place at the head of the table. “What can I help you with today?”
Beside her, Ken Otter, the town’s dentist, smiled broadly. He always smiled broadly, saying it was free advertising. “We want to talk about what’s going on at the reservation.”
The reservation again. “I’ve told you before, it’s not possible to stop them. I think—”
“But it’s a casino,” Myrtle Michaelian said, her round face turning red at the very thought. “Prostitution is sure to follow. The Indians are—”
“Stop,” Winona said firmly. She glanced around the table, eyeing each person for a long moment before she turned to the next. “First of all, they’re Native Americans, and you don’t have the legal right to stop them from building the casino. You can spend a lot of money fighting them, but you’ll lose.”
They argued on for a few moments, but the mention of spending money had pulled the wind from their sails. In the end, their dissent conked out like a dying engine and they rose to leave, thanking her for saving them money and helping them out.
“Dad?” she said. “Could you stay for a minute?”
“I got to be in Shelton in forty-five minutes.”
“It won’t take long.”
He gave her a short nod, just a flick of the chin, really, and stood there, arms crossed, while the council members left. When everyone was gone, Winona went back to her place at the head of the table and sat down, opening her manila folder. As she glanced over the paperwork, she couldn’t help feeling a swell of pride. This was a good plan.