Wish You Were Here by Lani Diane Rich Page B

Freya had set a shopping bag on her lap, and she pulled out a small souvenir spoon in a tiny plastic case.
    “ I never understood those,” Nate said. “What’s the point?”
    Freya snorted. “I have no idea.” She flipped it around so he could see it. “But it says Idaho, so I bought it.” She held up a small plastic bag full of small, round, white candies. “Idaho Snowman Poop. I mean, who thinks up these things?”
    “ People who get paid too much,” Nate said, taking a sip of his drink and watching her closely, amused by every movement she made. She might be having a mental breakdown, but she was doing it beautifully.
    She pulled out a ceramic potato on a red ribbon, running her hand under it in th e air like a television spokesmodel. “A potato Christmas tree ornament.” She glanced around, surveying the room, then pointed to the corner behind her. “I think my tree will look nice right there, don’t you?”
    “ You plan on being here at Christmas?” Nate said, surprised.
    “ Why not?” she said, shifting around again to face him. “Isn’t that what people do when they fail miserably? Start over in a new place?” She glanced around. “And this place is new. To me.”
    He looked at her. “I find it hard to believe you can’t bounce back from this. It’s just one deal.”
    “ It’s not,” she said softly. “It’s the last flaming hoop. And it doesn’t matter that I got through all the other flaming hoops. It’ll just matter that I fucked up the last one.” She lifted her glass and sipped, and her forced smile faded a bit.
    “ I’m sorry,” Nate said.
    “ So,” she said louder, her cheerfulness returning, “are you gonna tell me why you can’t sell me this place, even though you’re a chef with a restaurant back home that you can’t wait to get back to?”
    Nate kept silent for a moment, then sighed. He didn’t particularly like talking about his dad, but it was nothing to keep secret. “This was my father’s place. He was dying. I hadn’t spoken to him in years, never wanted to talk to him again, but he was dying.” Nate shook his head. “He made me give my word that I’d do something for him before selling the land. I still haven’t done it, so I can’t sell.”
    Freya stared at him blankly. “You turned down two million dollars to keep your word?”
    Nate took a drink. “Don’t remind me.”
    “ You know there’s honorable and then there’s just stupid, right?”
    He raised his eyes to see her smiling at him, and then shook his head. “I know which one I am. I don’t need you reminding me.”
    She sighed. “Okay, let’s take this from another angle. You just have to do something, right? What is it? Maybe I can help.”
    “ I have to find something.”
    “ I’m good at finding things,” she said, shifting closer on the couch. “What is it?”
    “ I don’t know.”
    “ You don’t know?”
    “ He started to describe it, and then he died. All I know is that it’s purple, and about”—he held his hands twelve inches apart—“this big.” Nate laughed at how ridiculous it sounded when he said it out loud.
    Freya was silent for a long moment, then said, “Forgive me for being indelicate, but was he on... maybe... painkillers when he elicited this promise?”
    “ My dad was on a lot of things in his life, but no. This time, he was lucid. Whatever this thing is, it’s here and until I find it, so am I.”
    “ So, I take it you’re a man of your word, then? You won’t go back on it? Even for the kind of money that could keep you and yours comfortable for the rest of your lives?”
    Nate took a large gulp of the vodka. “My word matters to me. I’m sorry if that makes things harder for you.”
    Freya put her drink on the coffee table, then leaned back, resting her head on the back of the couch and looking at him.
    “You’re not stupid,” she said.
    He angled his head to look at her. “Thanks.”
    “ I mean, from before. I said you were either