Page 13 of Built & Burned
Rick
Good seeing you last night. Let’s catch up about the reno deal. Swing by if you’ve got time this morning.
I almost ignore it, but I don’t. Instead, I find myself pulling into his driveway less than an hour later.
Rick Saunder’s place looks like a magazine cover. It features steel, glass, and concrete. There’s a Tesla in the driveway and a cigar ashtray by the door that costs more than my first truck. I knock once and let myself in, because that’s how Rick likes to operate with his partners: boundaries optional.
“Sammy!” He grins, slapping me on the back and handing me a black coffee from his Jura machine like we’re frat brothers. He launches into chatter about the buildout for the salon, how he knows a guy who can do luxurymarble tile for cheap, and another guy for Instagram ads. “This thing’s going to print money, I’m telling you.”
I nod along. The unease in my gut that started last night is still there. But hearing Rick's confidence in the plan strengthens my resolve.
Sure, I may be biased when it comes to Holly, but Rick is a successful property developer. He has been extremely successful in Portland. I have looked up some of his past projects, and it’s clear this guy has a knack for finding gold. If he sees potential with Holly's salon, I know it’s the right move.
Rick leans against the counter and narrows his eyes. “You didn’t tell Becca about the investment, did you?”
I tense. “No. She found out last night.”
He smirks. “And let me guess, she’s pissed?”
“She left.”
Rick shrugs. “That’s the price of leadership, man. You can’t build empires if you’re stopping to get permission at every step.”
I flinch. Rick says it like I won something. Meanwhile, my wife just walked out the door.
“She sounds like a smart girl,” he continues. “But sometimes women like that … they don’t get it until the money’s in the bank. They're too cautious. That isn't a bad thing. But you, you’ve got vision. You’ve got hustle. And you’re backing your family; there’s no shame in that.”
The words land the way they always do with Rick: smooth and convincing.
I want to believe him. I want to think I’m doing the right thing. But somewhere under the buzz of his voice, I hear Becca’s laugh, low, knowing, and unamused.
Back at home, I hear a car pull in. Mack’s dropping Becca off. She enters the code and walks in, dropping herbackpack by the door. She's in the emergency clothes she had packed, a sensible long-sleeve and leggings.
“Thanks for leaving the bag,” she says quietly.
“You’re welcome,” I grunt. “Ready to talk some more?”
She hesitates. “Sure. Give me a minute to shower.”
Twenty minutes later, she walks out with a duffel and a carry-on suitcase she bought on discount but never got to use. My blood runs cold. The memory of her buying that hits me like a truck.
"Sam, look at this carry-on I got for our trip to Palm Springs next month, sixty-five percent off!" Becca beams excitedly at the new deep green bag.
I smile at her and feel some instant guilt about ruining it. "About the trip …"
Her face falls.
"I was at Mom and Dad's last weekend during your catering shift, and Mandy was there for dinner too. She pulled me aside and reminded me that the weekend we are going to Palm Springs is the fifteen-year anniversary of Holly's accident."
Becca nods, urging me to continue.
"Mandy said that Holly's been off all week. She usually doesn't make a big deal out of it, Bec, but when I asked her later how she was feeling about it she shrugged and said ‘It's weird, fifteen years since the accident, since I was fifteen, really. I thought I would be somewhere by now, but instead I feel like that same girl sometimes … I don’t know. It’s stupid.’’
"You see, Becs, she needs me."
Becca eyes me softly. "Sounds like she feels stuck."
"Exactly," I say, relieved that she gets it. "Besides, we are getting closer to our goal, money we don't need to spend on fancy places to eat and hotels."
