After the Summer Rain

by Gerri Hill

  “I’ll have Carol Ann send the particulars out to you all. This isn’t up for discussion. Now—Brent, you may be excused.”

  “Why do they get to stay?”

  “Because, as usual, you are lagging far behind them. You only have four projects, Brent. Four. All four are behind schedule. Why don’t you go work on those?” He held his hand up when he would have protested. “You’re dismissed.”

  Brent shuffled out of the room, tossing daggers with his eyes at both her and Joyce. Her father stood up and went to the bar, pouring them all a glass of water.

  “Erin?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You’re not going to like what I’m about to say, but this too is not up for discussion.”

  She felt her brow furrowing. Now what?

  “You need a break.”

  “A break? Like…a vacation?”

  “A lengthy vacation, if you want to call it that.”

  She felt panic about to set in. What? Was he firing her?

  “We’re worried about you,” Joyce said gently. “You don’t sleep, you don’t eat. When’s the last time you’ve looked in the mirror, Erin?”

  “What are you talking about? I sleep. I eat.”

  “You live off of Red Bull, bourbon, and cigarettes. You’re a shell of yourself. You’re wasting away to nothing.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Nobody wants to work with you anymore, Erin,” her father said bluntly.

  She turned to her him. “What are you saying?”

  “The contractors. You push too hard. You’re on their ass every day. No one wants to work with you. We can’t afford to lose contractors, Erin.”

  “The more I push, the quicker they get finished. They can go off to another job sooner. It’s a win for both of us.”

  Her father came and sat down beside her. “I’m worried about your health, honey. Joyce is right. When’s the last time you’ve truly looked at yourself in the mirror? Because I’ll be frank. You look like hell. Your eyes are bloodshot. You smell like cigarettes and booze. You’re going to kill yourself if you don’t stop.” He shook his head. “Why in the world did you start smoking?”

  Joyce, too, came around the table, sitting beside her. They had her surrounded and she felt like she was suffocating. Yeah, she’d looked in the mirror. She didn’t recognize herself. And yeah, she felt like hell too. So she had a drink at lunch? She needed it. And in the evenings? Yeah, she may have a drink or two in the evenings. Or three or four. But what was she to do? There was stress to deal with. There were deadlines. There were projects to complete. There were contractors to yell at.

  “I found a place,” Joyce said. “For you to go to.”

  “A…a place?” She pushed away from the table, escaping the claustrophobia from being between the two of them. “A place?” She pointed her finger at Joyce. “You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m going to rehab or something. Christ. I have a few drinks when I get home from work. Who doesn’t?” She paced across the room. “And yeah, I keep a bottle at my desk. The stress gets to me sometimes.” She opened up the cabinet above the bar, pointing to the shelf with four bottles of booze. “We all do it. I happen to know that you keep a bottle of scotch in your credenza,” she said to her father.

  “Yes. And that same bottle of scotch has been in there months now. It lasts me longer than a week or two, Erin.”

  “I don’t have a goddamn drinking problem!” she nearly yelled. “And I’m not going to goddamn rehab!”

  Joyce stood up. “I didn’t say anything about rehab. But Dad’s right. You’re going to kill yourself. And as much as we fight and bicker here at the office, I do still love you. You need to get away, Erin. Get your life back. Put things back into perspective.”

  “I have things in order and my life is fine, thank you very much.”

  “You’re only lying to yourself. You have nothing but this job. Nothing. It consumes you. Your friends have disappeared. Your—”

  “They have not.”

  “Who’s still around, Erin? Who? When’s the last time you’ve been out to dinner with someone? To a party? To a movie? To a friend’s house? When’s the last time you’ve been on a date?”

  “A date?” She stared at Joyce. A date? She didn’t date because… Because there was… What was her name? Joyce must have seen the confusion on her face.

  “It’s been months since Jessica’s been around.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t even know she was gone, did you?”

  She looked away. “I’ve…I’ve been busy. I’ve—”

  “You’ve been killing yourself,” her father said. “My fault. This stupid competition thing that I dreamed up—I should have known. You got my drive, Erin. And my stubbornness. Brent got none of it, as you both know. I thought this would be a way to push him along, keep up with the two of you.” He shook his head. “I had no idea what this would do to you, though.”

  She ran a hand through her hair. “I’m fine, Dad.”

  “You’re not fine, Erin. You’re not going to talk your way out of it this time.” He paused. “I’ll fire you if I have to.”

  She felt a lump in her throat and she tried to swallow it down. “Fire me?” She would shrivel up and die if he did that. She had nothing else. She had no one. This job… Joyce was right. She had nothing but this job. “Okay.” She blinked several times, shocked to feel tears threatening. “I’ll…I’ll do whatever you want.”

  He nodded at her. “Three months.”

  Her eyes widened. “Three months? I can’t be away three months.” She pointed at the door. “I’ve got ten—”

  “I know what your projects are. I’m going to personally handle them while you’re away. This isn’t negotiable, Erin. This is final.”

  Was he serious? She turned her back to him and squeezed her eyes closed, trying to make sense of it all. Her mind was a jumbled mess for some reason. Might have been that shot of bourbon she’d had a while ago instead of lunch. Apparently it had gone straight to her head.

  “Erin?”

  She turned back around. “You can’t make me do this. I’m a grown-ass woman. You can’t send me away as if I’m a child. Not for three goddamn months!”

  Joyce came over to her. “It’s like a vacation, Erin. God knows you could use one. It’s in New Mexico. It sounds lovely.”

  “New Mexico?” She narrowed her eyes. “New Mexico?” She shook her head. “No. No, no, no. No way. I’m not going.”

  Her father pushed away from the table with a weary sigh and stood up. “I’ll let you two iron out the details.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I’m not going!”

  He stared at her, his eyes hard. “Go there, Erin. Or we’ll arrange a clinic somewhere—a rehab, as you said—where you can have counseling. That would have been my choice, but Joyce suggested this. These are your two options. It’s your decision on which you choose.” He pointed at her quickly, then motioned to the door. “You’re not staying here. I’ve already had your access removed, disabled your accounts, passwords—the works. You’re out of here. Effective immediately.”

  She felt her breath leave her, felt her throat close up. “Dad? Please?”

  “I’m sorry, Erin. I love you too much to watch you become…become this,” he said, motioning to her. “You’re…you’re a mess. I hardly recognize you.” He moved closer to her. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, honey. I really am. That pretty, carefree girl you once were, that easy, happy woman you grew up to be—she’s long gone. You look…You look ten years older than you are. The stress is etched across your face, your eyes are lifeless. You’ve shriveled up to next to nothing. Your unhappiness shows, Erin. It’s there for all to see. This job isn’t worth it. We’ve tried for the last year to get you to slow down. Nothing’s worked.” He held his hands out.

  “So I’m sorry, but yes, I’m forcing you—grown-ass woman that you are—to take a break. Three months. Your sister found a place that she thinks would be great for you. You sho
uld hear her out.” She stood stiffly as he hugged her. “I love you. I know you don’t like me very much right now, but I love you.” When he pulled away, his eyes were serious. “This is hard for us too, Erin. But it’s for the best.” He gave a rather curt nod and turned and left them.

  Her hands were shaking as she pulled a bottle from the cabinet, intending to pour herself a stiff drink. Joyce stopped her.

  “Please don’t. I want my little sister back. And you—you’re not her anymore.”

  Erin buried her face in her hands. How had it come to this? When did she become so obsessed with beating the numbers? Beating Joyce? When did she become so obsessed with the job?

  “I’m good at what I do,” she said weakly.

  “Yes, you are. Too good. Maybe that’s the problem. You can juggle multiple projects. You can coordinate and manage the contractors like no one else. You can negotiate contracts in your sleep. You’ve got it down to a science. But you can’t control the weather. You can’t control lumber prices or whether stone gets delivered on time. You can’t control everything, Erin. Sometimes, we get behind. You used to be able to handle that, you took it in stride. But now? You push and push and push, trying to catch up until you break everyone around you. Dad was telling the truth. The contractors—they don’t want to work for you anymore. You know why, Erin? Because you make them miserable. No matter how much money they make, how much you make, everyone is still miserable. Including you.”

  She sank down into a chair, suddenly so very tired. She’d slept for a few hours last night—two, maybe three. She’d been poring over spreadsheets, trying to find a way to get those three houses back on track. Poring over spreadsheets like she’d been doing for the last few weeks. She took a deep breath, leaning her head back as she stared at the ceiling. Yes, how had it come to this? When had she turned into this crazy, hard-to-get-along-with, demanding workaholic? When had she turned into this person that no one liked?

  Was that why Sarah had left her? Not just left, no. She’d been in such a hurry to get away, she’d left more than half her things behind in her haste. She didn’t leave the dog behind, though. Nope. She took the little yappy thing with her when she flew off to the East Coast to be with her new lover. Who knew she’d miss the stupid little thing so much?

  She looked over at Joyce, who was watching her thoughtfully.

  “I have been miserable,” she admitted quietly.

  “I know. It’s been well over a year, Erin. You’re killing yourself.”

  She closed her eyes for a second, looking inward. “Okay. So tell me about New Mexico.”

  Chapter Three

  The bright sunshine felt good on her skin as she pedaled along the bumpy dirt road toward Stella’s house. It felt good, but she’d rather be at home, alone. She hated these monthly get-togethers with “the tribe,” as Stella called them. But after all these years, she’d grown to tolerate them.

  She’d moved to Stella’s Eagle Bluff Ranch seven years ago last month. Even before her little cabin was built, she’d broken ground on her garden, as she’d been instructed to do. Growing your own food, being resilient, was one of the requirements to living out here.

  “Womyn’s land,” Stella called it. She’d purchased the land—all seven hundred acres of it—over forty years ago and had retreated from society along with her lover at the time. They’d both been from Los Angeles and didn’t know the first thing about living off the land. Sustainable living had always been rule number one, however.

  Rule number two? Women only. At first, lesbians only. In the last twenty years, she’d relaxed that rule, but there were still only two straight women who lived there. Stella had other rules too. Being vegetarian. She’d adapted to that rule, even though occasionally she’d eat fish when she was lucky enough to catch a trout in the creek. And like the other women here, yes, she’d retreated from society, but she wasn’t completely cut off. She had satellite—she had Internet and TV. Not that she used either all that much.

  “Hey, Mel,” Angela called from Stella’s front porch. “Thought you were going to be a no-show.”

  Melanie leaned her bike against the porch railing, noting that the white paint was starting to chip in places. She loosened her backpack and smiled at Angela as she walked up the steps.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she lied. “It’s one of the few times I get to see everyone.”

  “We have two guests coming next week. Stella wants to go over that before we have dinner.”

  “Two?” She frowned. “It’s not my turn, is it?” she asked hopefully. She hated when she had to host.

  “No. It’s Lindee and Pat’s turn and then Rachel’s.”

  Melanie nodded with relief. “Right.” Then she laughed quietly. “Rachel? Poor guest.”

  “I know. But Rachel would get her feelings hurt if we skipped her.”

  Rachel was the oldest of the group at eighty-two. She’d lived out here thirty-nine years. Alone for thirty-eight of them. Rachel’s hobby was knitting. And inevitably, when it was her turn to host the guest, she tried her darndest to teach them to knit and sew and even quilt. She also ate nothing but beans and vegetables. Every day. Every meal.

  The others usually took bets to see how long a guest would last with Rachel before requesting a change. Two days was usually the max. She’d seen some run after only one day.

  “There you are. Come in, come in.” Stella beckoned, waving them inside.

  Everyone else was already there, crowded into her living room. There were seventeen ladies who called Eagle Bluff home. Melanie was the youngest at thirty-seven. Angela was the closest to her in age at fifty-six. The others were all in their sixties and seventies, including Stella at seventy-five.

  “I just love this time of year. It’s so nice to have guests with us, isn’t it?” Stella glided gracefully across the room, her lithe body belying her age. “We have two coming next week. One has been scheduled for months already, but the other just contacted me on Thursday. Well, her sister contacted me.” She stood in front of the fireplace, getting everyone’s attention. “She is booked with us for three whole months,” she said to gasps from some of the women.

  “Three months? Whatever for?” Valerie asked.

  “Well, I didn’t ask, of course. Maybe she’s interested in joining us out here and is looking to get a feel for it.” Stella waved her hand. “Doesn’t matter, does it? At five thousand dollars a month, that will surely help our coffers, won’t it?”

  Melanie had found that most of the guests who came to Eagle Bluff were looking for a spiritual connection of some sort, looking for some meaning in their lives. Very few came here for what Stella had originally intended—an extension of rehab. Stella had started hosting guests after her niece had stayed two months, way back in the late eighties. Her niece had been in rehab for drug use, and Stella’s sister had been afraid she’d relapse. Since no drugs or alcohol were allowed out here and they were more than an hour’s drive to a town of any size, Stella had offered to put the niece up for a while. It had been such a success—and money was tight—that Stella started advertising in some of the gay papers in nearby large cities. It had never taken off quite like she had envisioned, but they had enough guests each year, mostly during the summer and fall, to add to the “coffers” as Stella called it. Enough to keep them afloat, anyway. She knew a lot of the houses needed repairs, but there weren’t enough funds for that.

  “Lindee, I’ve got you and Pat lined up for our first guest, Melissa Haywood. She’s coming to us all the way from Seattle. She’ll be with us for three nights. I’ll be picking her up on Monday.” Stella cleared her throat. “Rachel? Are you up for a guest?”

  “I believe it’s my turn, isn’t it? I so look forward to having the company. And for three months? Won’t that be delightful?”

  Melanie smiled at her words. No way would someone last three months with Rachel. Her smile faded. She knew that it would be her turn after Rachel, which meant she’d be hosting the gu
est for the bulk of the three months. She wondered if Stella had intentionally set it up that way. Lindee and Pat—her partner of forty-something years—were also in their seventies, but she supposed it would be asking a lot for them to host someone for that long. Most of the guests who came out here rarely stayed longer than a week.

  “Erin Ryder,” Stella continued. “She’s coming to us from Houston. I’ll be picking her up on Thursday. Now—who wants to ride with me and do their monthly shopping? We can split it up. Some on Monday, some on Thursday.”

  Melanie looked out the window, letting the conversations around her fade to the background. It had taken her nearly a year to get used to doing her grocery shopping only once a month. That was when she’d still been trying to cook based on her old lifestyle. Now? Now she did pretty much what the others did—ate seasonal and out of her garden. She’d also become very proficient at canning vegetables so the wintertime meals weren’t quite as meager as they’d once been.

  She looked at the puffy white clouds outside the window, wondering when the daily afternoon rains would come. The monsoon season usually didn’t start until July. Living here along Eagle Creek, they weren’t quite as dependent on the rain as other places. But the rain provided relief from the heat, and it filled the smaller creeks, which were usually dry by the time the monsoons came. It would be nice to take her morning walk along Mule Creek while listening to the water trickle over the rocks. By late August, the summer rains would dwindle to short, quick showers, and by early September, they’d be gone completely.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Angela said as she nudged her arm. “Everything okay?”

  Melanie gave her a quick smile. “Yes.”

  “I made a berry pie. What did you bring?”

  “A squash dish. My yellows are really coming in.”

  “I got my garden in later than you, I think. I’ve only picked one so far.”