Let’s write a story – Chapter Three
This page may contain affiliate links. If you click a link and buy something, I receive a commission for the sale. This does not cost you anything. But if you do use my links, I appreciate your support.
Start here to learn about our cast of characters
This story has not been edited.
CHAPTER THREE
ZACH
Zach pressed Aunt Jenny’s phone to his ear, blocking out the craft fair noise. “Zach Meadows.”
“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.” His brother Adam demanded.
“Helping Aunt Jenny with her craft booth.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have to track you down, little brother. When are you going to get a cell phone like a grown-up?”
Zach bristled. “You found me. What do you want?”
“A heads-up. Dad found out about your studio.”
“So? It wasn’t a secret.” Not really. Zach just hadn’t mentioned it.
“Well, Dad thinks was, and he’s not happy. He said you were considering joining the firm.”
“No, I’m not. I told him that.” Over and over. But their Dad never heard anything that conflicted with his own plans.
Adam sighed. “Look, I don’t care if you join us or keep playing with your glass bubbles. I’m just telling you—Dad bought your building. He’s going to terminate your lease.”
“What?” Zach stopped dead. His voice echoed across the nearby booths, drawing curious glances. He lowered his voice. “Seriously?”
“One way or another you’ll be working here, Zach. I just thought you should have a fighting chance.”
Zach sucked in a breath and let it hiss through his teeth. “Thanks, Adam.”
“Get a phone, would you?” The line went dead.
Zach slipped the phone back into Jenny’s purse while she was distracted by a customer and bolted for his Jeep. The drive back to town was short, but long enough for his stomach to knot into a hard rock. Could he actually do it? Zach had a lease, but his dad had resources that often stretched the law.
He dismissed a sudden impulse to skip town and start over under an assumed name. He wouldn’t join his father’s firm no matter how much he was pressured. He just had to win that contest. Once he had that internship in Italy, they’d have to take his art seriously. He thought of the alpaca fiber tucked into his pocket, confident that inspiration would find him soon.
He pulled up to his studio expecting the building to indicate the approaching storm. Nothing looked different.
“Zach, there you are.” His landlord, Tony, stepped out from the shop next door. “Did you get my message?”
“No. I just got back.” Zach fumbled with his keys, his hands clumsy.
“We need to talk.”
“Let’s talk inside.”
Zach pushed to door open, and a blast of dry heat greeted them. He inhaled the welcome scent of smoky charcoal, charred wood, and beeswax. Some of the tension left his shoulders.
Tony coughed, wiping sweat from his forehead. “How do you stand it in here?”
“Electrolytes and cotton shirts.” Zach offered a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He gestured toward a workbench stool.
Tony shook his head, folding his arms. “There’s no easy way to say this. I got a cash offer on this building. A big one.”
Zach stiffened, picturing his dad’s satisfied smirk.
“The thing is,” Tony continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “the new owner is canceling your lease.”
“How? I have a contract.”
“You have a month-to-month sublease, Zach. It’s all legal. You’d have to negotiate a new one with the new owner.” Tony pulled a white envelope from his pocket and set it on the workbench. “I’m sorry, man.”
When the door clicked shut, Zach leaned over, bracing his hands on his thighs and squeezing. This couldn’t be happening. Not when he needed to focus on the contest. His gaze landed on a shelf of imperfect ornaments. He grabbed two, and strode to the cullet bin. The steel drum, which had seen better days before he’d rescued it from a junkyard, held a pile of remnants to be recycled. He hurled the ornaments against the inside metal wall.
The clank-crash was the most satisfying thing he’d heard all morning.
Then he noticed the red light flashing on his answering machine. He went to the phone and hit play.
“Zach, Tony here. Listen…” Skip.
“This is Adam. Call me.” Skip.
“Zachary, contact me immediately.” His father. Skip.
“Mr. Meadows, this is Phil Blanchard from Imperial Coast Resorts. I’d like to talk with you about a commission opportunity.”
Zach froze. He replayed the message, scribbling the number on the back of the eviction notice. His hands shook as he dialed.
“Phil Blanchard.”
“Mr. Blanchard, this is Zach Meadows.”
“Yes. Thanks for the quick return call.” Blanchard launched into a pitch for a massive centerpiece at their flagship hotel. When he named the commission fee, the phone slipped from Zach’s hand.
He scrambled to pick it up. “I’m sorry, would you repeat that?”
The man said the number again. Zach’s eyes widened. It was the largest commission he’d ever undertaken, both by price and by size.
“I’ll have to check my schedule, of course,” Zach said, his voice surprisingly steady. “And have my attorney look over the contract.”
“Not a problem. I’ll email the details. I’ll need an answer by Friday.”
Zach hung up, excitement fired through his chest. He wrote the dollar amount on the envelope in large, looping numbers and circled it with a flourish.
“Yes!” He pumped a fist. “Take that, Dad.”
Then he looked around the room. The furnace was running, the glass waiting, and the eviction notice sitting right in front of him. He had the commission of a lifetime and no place to make it.
SIERRA
Sierra let her mother take Noah through the craft fair while she worked the booth. Between the steady flow of customers and keeping an eye on Reginald, she managed to function almost normally. She avoided her phone; she knew she’d need a quiet space to listen to the voicemail she was dreading.
The ride home was filled with her mother’s voice, regaling Noah with tales of Africa.
“There is no place on earth like it,” her mother sighed, brushing a lock of silvery-brown hair from her face. “The wild animals come right up to the terraces. You feel as if you’re living in the wild with them.”
Sierra gripped the steering wheel. Funny how her mother was enamored with African wildlife but couldn’t be bothered with the alpacas in her own backyard.
“Do you wish you lived there, Bibi?” Noah asked from his booster seat, his eyes wide.
“If I could live anywhere, it would be Africa. Someday I’ll go back. Maybe I’ll take you with me.”
“And Aunt See?”
Her mother glanced at Sierra. “Sierra would be welcome, of course—if we could ever tear her away from the herd.”
Sierra bit the side of her cheek, not willing to be drawn into another battle today.
“Do you want to visit Africa, Aunt See?” Noah asked.
Sierra thought of her childhood and the many places her parents had taken her to—England, Brazil, Japan—but Africa was after she was old enough to claim her freedom and put down roots with her grandparents. The mere thought of traveling anywhere outside the county made her head ache.
She forced a smile for Noah. “Africa sounds like a great place, buddy. But Grandma’s right—it’s hard for me to leave the farm right now.”
Her mother stiffened. “I told you not to call me that. It makes me sound old.”
Not to mention that ‘Bibi’—the Swahili version of the same word—stood as a reminder to everyone the she never wanted to be here.
Once the van was unloaded, Reg was secured in his home pen, and the house was quiet with afternoon naps, Sierra walked out to the fence line. She loved this time of year, where the weather was at the cusp of turning colder but the summer tried to linger. The alpacas were coming into their fuller fleece, looking plush and huggable.
She took a deep breath and held the phone to her ear.
“Hey, Sis! So busy you can’t take my calls?” Sylvia’s delighted laugh felt like a punch to the gut. “Listen, I’ve only got a minute, but I’ve got big news. I’m getting married!”
More laughter and a shuffling sound.
“I’ll be there in a few days with Hugh. That’s my fiancé. We’ll be taking Noah back with us, so start packing his things. Oh, there’s so much to say, but I’ll wait until I see you… That’s our flight. See you on Wednesday or Thursday!”
The line went dead. Sierra’s breath went with it. She checked the other messages—all Sylvia, except for one from a bill collector. She deleted that one without listening and held the phone to her chest.
Her mother was right. Noah was leaving.
Sierra dropped her chin and let the sobs shake her until her throat ached. A puff of warm air blew across her neck, followed by a soft, familiar hum against her shoulder.
She started, turning to find Reg. “How did you get out again?”
At least he was on the right side of the fence. She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his softness. “You always know when I need you, don’t you, buddy?”
The tears started anew, dampening Reg’s fleece. He stood perfectly still. Her guardian angel.
“Sylvia’s taking him, Reg. What am I going to do?”
He studied her with dark brown eyes. Sierra’s reflection bounced in them.
“Maybe Mom’s right. Maybe I can’t handle the farm.”
Reg pulled away, lifting his nose with a huff.
“Don’t be that way. How am I supposed to keep you fed with these bills piling up?”
The alpaca turned and meandered toward the barn.
“So the conversation turns to money and you leave?” she called out. He disappeared in the shadows. “Story of my life.”
After her father passed away following her high school graduation, her mother kept traveling. Without his support, her mother dug a deep financial hole. Last year, tragedy struck again when Sierra’s grandparents died in an auto accident. Her mother returned only to claim the inheritance—the farm itself—but health issues and lack of funds trapped her there. Now she was a disgruntled guest in her own childhood home, and blamed the world for her misfortune. Sierra fought to keep the debt collectors at bay, but between rising medical costs and the demands of the farm, there was nothing left to clear the debt. If only she could find a way to make more money without sacrificing the farm.
She walked toward the back acreage where her grandfather’s man cave stood in all its aluminum glory. The structure needed some work, but was stable enough for storage. Sierra unlocked the side door and flicked the lights; they hummed and came to life, illuminating bales of hay, metal fencing, and plastic storage boxes.
She ran her hand over the sturdy wooden workbench. She could still see her grandpa sitting her on a stool, showing her how to fix a machine.
“If you’re going to run the farm, Sierra, you need to know how to do fix it,” he’d told her.
“I’ll take good care of it, Grandpa,” she had promised.
She’d eagerly taken his instruction as well as her grandma’s lessons turning alpaca fiber into roving and then yarn. What would her grandparents say if they saw her now?
Sierra sat on the metal stool and pressed her palms into her eyes. The weight of the debt, the medical bills, and the impending loss of Noah pressed on her shoulders.
“Lord,” she whispered in the quietness. “I can’t lose this farm. I can’t lose Noah. Please help me. What should I do?”
Okay, readers, what happens next? Comment below.
Seems like Zach and Sierra have the solution to each other’s problems, doesn’t it? But how do we get them to figure that out?
