Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
25
MAX
“It’s just like da house in Cowboy Caillou!” Ripley screams. She’s clomping through our rustic two-bedroom cabin in the cowgirl boots and hat my mother bought her, shrieking with delight at every bit of “dude ranch” flavored decor. I look over at Marnie and not surprisingly, she’s grinning from ear to ear as she watches her enthusiastic daughter. The second Marnie’s eyes meet mine, however, her smile vanishes and that same nonchalant look she’s been shooting me all day overtakes her features again.
I’m guessing Marnie felt offended by my sudden about-face on the sex thing last night. But I don’t know that for sure since we’ve been around other people throughout our travel day with no chance to speak in private. I didn’t mean to offend her, obviously. Things were feeling too intense for me, all of a sudden. Overwhelming. So, I decided to take some space to pull myself together. Which I did. But ever since then, from the moment we saw each other this morning until now, Marnie’s been icy and distant toward me.
Case in point, when I catch Marnie’s eye again and shoot her another amused grin, she quickly picks up a welcome packet off the coffee table. “Let’s see what’s in here,” she says. She begins leafing through the pages. “Did you know the Walters’ ranch is twenty thousand acres?”
“Now, that’s a big ranch.”
“It sure is.”
I wait for her to look at me. When she doesn’t, I add, “Hit me with some more factoids about this place. Dazzle me with information, Red.”
My use of that nickname definitely hits its target: Marnie almost smiled just now when I said it, albeit while continuing to stare at the paper in her hand. “Well,” she begins. “Did you know the Walters family is renowned for breeding champion racehorses on this ranch?”
“I did. But tell me more.”
“They’re quite prolific.” She lists all the winning horses sired at this property and their notable achievements and wins, which prompts me to say I didn’t realize the extent of their success. Marnie says, “They’ve also got an entire section of the ranch devoted to therapy horses for children with autism.”
“That’s so cool.”
“Isn’t it? That part of the ranch is open—for free—to charities tasked with bringing in children in need of therapy.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Oh, wow, there are almost two hundred guest cabins on this side of the property, which the Walters bizarrely call ‘The Guest Area.’”
I laugh. “That’s a bizarre name for it, for sure. Weirdos.”
Marnie can’t help smiling. She looks up from her paper for the first time, her eyes twinkling. Is she thawing a bit? It sure seems that way. She says, “Do you think the family rents the cabins out, like a resort, for big groups? Maybe for conferences and company retreats and weddings?”
I shake my head. “My boss told me Mr. Walters and his family host lots of large groups here for free—mostly, groups from children’s charities they support.”
“They’re sincerely passionate about philanthropy, huh? It’s not only for show.”
“It sure seems that way.”
Our attention is pulled to Ripley when she clomps into the room holding a little book about horses she discovered on the nightstand in one of the bedrooms, and we gush over it with her before she runs out again to continue exploring.
When Ripley is gone, Marnie returns to the welcome packet. “Oh my gosh. There’s an itinerary and list of activities for our week. Holy crap, Maxy! Listen to this.” Well, that confirms it: Marnie is definitely thawing toward me. That’s the first time she’s called me Maxy, like Ripley does, when we’re outside of Ripley’s presence.
Paper in hand, Marnie lists off a dizzying array of activities and amenities available to us this week—some to be enjoyed at one’s leisure, and others that have been arranged for the whole camp at a designated time. We’re going to enjoy a barbeque with a “hoedown,” whatever that is. If we’re interested, there are classes all day, every day, in the arts and crafts tent and in the archery area. There are sports activities, games, and tournaments. A belly flopping contest at the pool, as well as a scavenger hunt. There’s hiking, mountain biking, and horseback riding, all of it led by one of the ranch’s many “camp counselors.” And on and on.
“Ripley, come in here, honey!” Marnie shouts. “You’re going to want to hear this!” When Ripley clomps into the room, red-cheeked and wide-eyed behind her thick glasses, Marnie says, “It says here they have a whole bunch of exciting activities planned especially for kids your age!”
Ripley squeals. “Like what?”
Marnie rattles them off. “And besides hanging out with Max and me and Grampy and Gigi, they’ve got a bunch of camp counselors to play with you, so you can run off and do fun stuff with the other kids, while the adults are relaxing or doing fun stuff, too.”