Page 113 of Built & Burned
I stare at the charred brush, at the small burn that didn't catch. The dream Becca built on land that was never supposed to be buildable due to the government red tape.
"He overpromised it to the Yarrows before he even had it," I say.
"And when he lost the salon deal and couldn't deliver quickly—" she pauses.
"He panicked," I finish, clenching my fist.
She nods. "Desperate people do desperate things."
She scrubs back through the footage, pausing on the timestamp. “I’ve got this, plus all the texts,” she shares confidently. “Dates, times, his escalations, all in a Google Drive.” I laugh at her organization.
I glance at her. “Color coded?”
She shrugs, a little embarrassed. “It is easier to find the information that way.”
God, this woman. I can’t hold back anymore. I grab her in for a hug and hold her close, breathing in the familiar smell of her shampoo.
I shake my head once, looking back at the screen. “He really thought this would work.”
“When people feel threatened, they tend not to think rationally,” she mumbles, eyes going distant, replaying scenarios she has seen over the years, many people in similar situations.
It’s true. The second I had pulled him out of the deal with the salon, he became erratic, unhinged. I shake my head, wishing for the thousandth time I didn’t fall for his schemes.
“What do you want to do?” I ask.
She stands, brushing her hands off. “We don’t confront him ourselves.”
I nod. “Agreed.”Even if I am shaking with rage inside, I know Becca does not need a husband with an assault charge.
“We document everything,” she continues. “We send it to the police, let them handle it.”
“You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” I say.
She gives me a knowing look, as if she has seen this all before.
“I didn’t know for sure,” she trails off. “I just … know what happens to people in a bad financial situation. Many won’t do anything violent, but desperation takes a toll on you, physically and psychologically.”
And I know she is thinking about her childhood, what she saw growing up, maybe not directly with her family, but with her neighbors and friends. The constant need to survive and catch up on your bills has long-lasting impacts. Our eyes lock, and I brush my knuckles gently down the side of her face.
“Your past, as hard as it was, prepared you to be the badass woman I love. You not only made your dreams come true on your own financially, but your experiences protected them.”
Her breath hitches, and I can tell she knows that I see her, all of her. I am not judging the way she was brought up; I am applauding all she has survived.
Before she can speak, my phone starts vibrating. Grandad is calling. I feel a moment of guilt, realizing I probably scared the hell out of him storming out of there.
“Hey Grandad, everything okay?” I ask, sounding like a guilty teenager.
“I don’t know, Son, mind telling me why you broke curfew and snuck out of our house like a bat out of hell? The least you could do was be sneakier.”
I can’t help but laugh. Before I can say anything else, Becca holds out her hand, asking for the phone. I hand it to her without hesitation, knowing she will melt his anger.
“Hey, old man,” Becca says warmly.
She quickly explains that there was a situation at the cabin, but that everyone and everything is fine. She seriously charms the pants off that cranky old man. In two minutes, she has eased the tension.
“Okay, yes, Grandad, I will take care of him. We will be by tomorrow to pick up his stuff.”
My heart stops. We? The rest of my stuff?
