I take in the poster boards scattered over the sitting area of Ford’s suite. I think they’ve multiplied since I was last here. Logos in different colors are printed across them—Watchful Wanderers logos, but modernized. Instead of the brown and green logo I’m so used to seeing, these logos are orange and blue and neon green. Instead of a homey, family feel that gives you comfort, they look like a bunch of corporate logos that don’t read expensive—just impersonal.
“I thought I’d stop by.” I scan the room again, my eyes falling on one logo in particular, bright orange with a fox as the mascot. What on earth is that? Reminds me of some sort of wannabe tractor company. “What’s going on in here? Looks like rebranding to me, Ford.”
Larkin looks between us. “Oh, I’m sorry, was I not supposed to—？”
“You said something to her?” Ford asks Larkin.
“I thought . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” Larkin stumbles over her words, and I feel a pang of sympathy for her.
Ford looks off to the side. “Could you go get us some drinks so I can talk to my sister?” His tone is clipped.
“Oh yeah, sure thing,” Larkin says, her head down. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ford talk to her like that, and it shows from her reaction that he hasn’t. Larkin scurries out of the room, shutting the door behind her without another word.
“You didn’t have to send her out like that!”
“She’s fine.” But then his eyes soften as they travel toward the door, almost as if he’s trying to keep this angry exterior, but there seems to be some longing there. Guilt.
“Is she?” I ask. “Because it looks like you just embarrassed her.”
His eyes pull away from the door, and he clears his throat. “Listen, Palmer, don’t tell me how to handle my employees. I have enough going on—I don’t need that from you too.”
“‘Too’？ What do you mean ‘too’？ What else have I done?”
He lets out an irritated sigh. “The bickering with Cooper over emails. Do you really think that’s something I want to read, given how busy I am during the day? I don’t want to be the peacemaker between you two all the time.”
“You’re not the peacemaker all the time.”
He lets out a dry laugh. “Okay.”
“Uh, excuse me, but what’s with the attitude? I thought I would come here and talk to my loving older brother . . . could you perhaps direct me to where he is?” I glance around the room.
“Palmer, I don’t have time for this. I’m under a lot of stress—”
“With rebranding the store?”
He grips the back of his chair and stares down at the wooden seat. “Yes, with rebranding the store.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? This is a huge deal, Ford, the kind of thing you include everyone on. Does Dad know?”
“Yes, of course Dad knows.”
“So why didn’t you say anything to me or Cooper?”
“Cooper knows as well.”
“What?” I say. Once again, I’ve been left out of the family business. It’s like high school all over again.
When I was in high school, I told my parents I wanted to help with the store in any way possible. Contrary to what my brothers probably think—thanks to my teenage groaning—I actually loved everything about the store. It always felt like home to me. But at that point Ford was already in charge and starting the franchising process. Mom and Dad told me to talk with him. They were sure he would give me something good to do, at least an internship.
He gave me nothing.
He told me that the store wasn’t my passion and to not rely on something safe, to reach for something I actually wanted.
But that’s what I thought I wanted. Despite not loving nature as much as Cooper always did, I still loved everything about the store—the memories, the smell, unpacking new products. Spending weekends in the back office with my dad, listening to him teach Ford everything he needed to know about business and management. I listened, I learned, and out of spite, I took that information and ran with it. I ran away to other countries, searching for that happy.
And the sad thing is I never found it.
“What do you mean Cooper knows?” I repeat, heart pounding.
“He hangs with Mom and Dad—Dad told him.”
“That’s great,” I say. “So, everyone knew but me? Were you going to tell me?”
“Frankly, no,” Ford says. “This is a big decision, and I don’t need too many cooks in the kitchen.”