The conversation Dan, Pat, and Tom were having amongst themselves has stopped. I keep my eyes on the table, focused on the cupcake. It’s a delicious shortcake, the perfect mid-summer dessert. I chew slowly, glancing under my lashes to see Dan, Pat, and Tom all staring at us. Oh, joy.

“My production partners and I have successfully crowdsourced two music videos and a short film,” Rune sounds completely unaffected by Jack’s taunt. He’s still looking at his phone, “Shelby has over a hundred comments on her most recent post, polling her followers for who she should draw for her next coloring page. I’d say that’s engaged.”

“Really?” I ask, afraid he might be exaggerating for drama. Rune hands me his phone. He’s telling the truth. Wow. I start scrolling through the comments. “Jaime Campbell Bower is still in the lead,” I tell him.

“I can live in hope,” he gives me a sweet smile as I hand him back his phone.

“You’d really be okay with it?” He’s the perfect person to draw as Wizard Howl. He almost is Wizard Howl.

“Yes,” Rune says as if he’s surprised I’d question this. His phone starts to vibrate, “Pumpkin time,” he tells me, our signal for needing to go pick up Lorelei, “It was lovely to meet all of you,” He tells the table as he gets up, looking at everyone but Jack.

“Okay, Alpine, good luck,” Jack says as if he hasn’t been a complete asshat, “Keep me posted.”

That’s precisely what I’m not going to do, I think. But I’m smiling as I say goodbye to everyone. Yes, Jack is a jerk, but I have one hundred and fifty comments! And Rune is okay with me drawing him as Howl. How sweet is that?

I’m in a happy daze as we make our way through the still-celebrating people. I wave goodbye to Luna, chatting with a group of women at another table. Once we exit the tent, I gaze up at the Western sky as we cross the courtyard to the gate. It’s nine-thirty, but still dusk. Overhead, the sky is that beautiful, rich, deep, dark blue that’s so hard to capture well in art. I can see an array of stars, but clouds have gathered on the horizon. The last vestiges of the long lingering sunset make a gorgeous array of rainbow sherbet hues.

We’re quiet as we exit the gates. Crickets and frogs sing their evening tunes as we go down the quiet, well-heeled residential street.

“I have one question,” Rune says when his car finally comes into view, “You’re probably going to be mad at me for asking, and I probably wouldn’t be asking it if I hadn’t had two strong drinks first…”

“Spit it out, Ruination,” I say, calling him the nickname I made up for him as a young teen based on the word botheration used in How’s Moving Castle, “It’s your car; I can’t leave you here.”

“Do you always date your mother?” He asks, using his wide-eyed, curious gaze on me.

“What?” I’m so shocked I stop in the middle of the street to stare at him. This is a total buzz kill.

“Jack is so your mom,” Rune tosses back at me over his shoulder as he keeps walking.

“They look nothing alike!” I huff, jogging to catch up, “My mother has auburn hair and totally different features!”

“It has nothing to do with what Jack looks like, Seashell. Your mom has that same way of trying to pull the rug out from under you in public; so does Franklin Hause, for that matter, and that dreadful PR friend of his with the ruined voice,” he says, taking the keys from my hand and opening the driver side door for me.

I open my mouth to protest. I can’t, he’s right. I slip into the car, stunned.

“Do you mean Pamela Lyons?” I ask as he gets in beside me.

“Yikes, yes. God, I hate that woman,” he says, putting his seat belt on.

“I used to work for her,” I admit as I start the car and pull out, “she wants me to convince you to become a social media client of hers.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“As if,” he almost growls, “I’d almost get back on social media as Asher Dillion and work to make it a success on my own just to spite her.”

“Why don’t you?” I ask, an idea brewing, “Didn’t you say it would make your audiobook clients and production partners happy if you did?”

“Yeah, it would be smart, but it’s so not my thing,” he says tiredly.

“But it is mine,” I say, “I could help you.”

I can feel his eyes on me even though I keep mine on the dark road, “I’d be happy to pay you,” he says, sounding much happier.

“I don’t want you to pay me,” I say, “that would be too weird.”

“Why? I pay friends to do things for me all the time.”

“Just help me sell Theo’s clothing collection to the right TV or film people for a good price, and let me put your stage name on my graphic resume.”

“Okay. Do I get to go shopping through it first?” Rune asks.

“Of course, Wizard Howl, but don’t clean us out; I have property taxes and a new roof to save up for.”

**

I awake in the dark, expecting the Tsunami to crush me again. This time I realize more quickly I’m at home in bed. Outside, I can hear the wind whipping and moaning around. The rain’s coming down in torrents, but I’m safe and warm in here. I remind myself it was only a dream and drift back to sleep.

The second time I wake on Monday morning, it’s light out but still early. I glance at my phone. It’s 5:30, fifteen minutes early. The wind has died down. So, what woke me this time? I lie still, straining to catch what it might be. Was it Butterscotch downstairs in her crate? Is she in some kind of trouble?

After a few moments, I hear a distinct heavy drip somewhere in this room. Oh no. As I sit up to turn on my nightstand lamp, I notice a damp patch as my leg moves. Crap.

I sit up, turn on the overhead light, and put on my slippers. Sure enough, as I walk around the room, I find three more big wet patches on the carpet in different locations. Crap, crap, crap.

Did I curse myself Saturday night when I told Rune I needed to save for a new roof? Gunnar told me it was probably time last summer, but my sister and I have been hoping we could wait at least another year.

I throw on my flannel robe and go down the hall to check on Theo’s room. It’s a musty, closed, disastrous mess. Theo had become something of a packrat in here since Rueben’s death, and then I made it worse.

When the hospice workers helped me move Theo into the downstairs spare bedroom, I also moved everything not needed down there up here. It was winter and wet, and with everything going on, it was easier than carrying everything out to the barn.

Boxes and stacks of clothes cover the bed. More boxes and stacks of books cover much of the impressively large bedroom’s floor. I turn on all the lights but can’t see any wet patches.

Jack's comment comes back to me as I move around carefully, looking and feeling for dampness and listening for drips. Did I signal to him and the universe that I wasn’t serious because I hadn’t cleaned out Theo’s bedroom yet?

I find it highly annoying that Jack could be right about anything right now. I’d prefer to wallow in my anger at him. No, that’s not true. What I’d rather be doing is savoring those splendid kisses with Rune the other night at the fundraiser. This feels dangerously unwise. Rune is as unavailable as Jack is. Not only is he (as Jack so helpfully pointed out) pretty darn famous, but he’s also a self-declared hot mess. So here I am, alone again, naturally, as the old rock song says.

I can find no leaks in Theo’s room. Nor are there any in any other parts of the house that I can find. Still, it needs to be checked out. Marguerite will have the name of Gunnar’s roofer, but even she isn’t up at this hour. It’ll be longer before I can nudge Rune about his costume contacts. Lorelei’s informed me he’s a night owl and no fun in the morning.

I take a container of my favorite apricot yogurt and a mug of tea into the office to kill time. I’m not in the mood to focus on any work for clients or to draw yet, so I do what I do when I’m seriously stressed about money. Sitting with Butterscotch’s comforting warmth on my lap and occasionally staring out the window at the continuing storm, I make lists.

The roof will likely cost more than twenty thousand to repair, going on what Gunnar told me he spent a few years ago. Even if Sydney has half of that available, I only have about two thousand in savings right now.

Theo left us things to clean up financially when he died. He made an excellent living while working, and Reuben had a generous retirement income when they retired. The challenge was that they hadn’t been officially married long enough for Theo to continue to receive those benefits when Reuben passed. Just in the couple of years Rueben had been gone, Theo had already racked up quite a debt.

I’ve been putting what I can towards paying off Theo’s credit line against the house so that it’s ours free and clear, but I’ll be paying it off for another few years.

Sell the house, come home, and find a real job with a top agency, my mom insists in my head as I scribble down ideas of who I can reach out to for more work graphic design work.

Oh, please, no, I think, desperately, writing faster. I so want to take a stab at doing some kind of crowdsourced Horse Girls project on my own. All things considered, that’s probably a pipe dream right at the moment. I keep scribbling income ideas, including contacting the teaching platform I edit videos for to let them know I’m looking for more work. It isn’t exciting, and it’s not illustration work, but they pay on time, and that’s important.

What about Rune’s social media? Theo reminds me, he’s willing to pay you.