The Boy I Love by Nina de Gramont Page B

nice enough. But you’re not old enough to date.”
    â€œRight,” I said. “Except you know that I am.”
    Dad laughed. When a bird trilled from the top of a longleaf pine and he looked at it through his binoculars, I knew he was going to ask me to identify it, so I went ahead and said, “Carolina wren.”
    â€œGood girl,” he said, even though I’d known that one since I was five, seeing it was the bird he’d named me after.
    I waited for him to say something like he usually did, about me being his Carolina wren, or else for him to say something more about Tim. In a weird way I kind of liked it that everyone, including my parents, thought that such a cool and handsome guy liked me. It made me feel special, even if it wasn’t true. Even if what was true might change Tim from one of the most popular guys at school to an outcast like Jesse Gill. Which seemed so unfair, and I hoped again that Tim wasn’t worried about me telling Allie, or anyone else.
    Meanwhile Dad had apparently said all he meant to about Tim, as he switched the subject completely. “I guess I don’t need to tell you, Wren. We’re in a bit of trouble here.” He put his binoculars down and sat on a log. A couple of greenheads buzzed around his hat, but he didn’t even bother waving them away. He just started talking. He said a lot of things I already knew, like how donations to my mother’s rescue efforts had pretty much dried up since the economy fell apart, and how Mom kept turning down offers to adopt horses even when they did come in, because she always wanted their homes to be just perfect.
    â€œNot that any of this is her fault,” he put in quickly. “She did a great job with this place for a long time. She couldn’t have known what would happen.” He started talking about how much money people had been losing in the last few years. And then he said that they hadn’t wanted to tell me,but Mr. George Lee, one of Mom’s biggest donors—the man who owned the Mercedes dealership—had committed suicide because his business went under.
    â€œNot Mr. George Lee,” I said. I couldn’t believe it. Mr. Lee used to bring his kids by the farm to visit with the horses. His youngest daughter was just a few years older than me. Tears sprang to my eyes, thinking of her losing her father in such an awful way.
    Dad must have seen how I was about to cry. He took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry to have to tell you all this, Wren. But you need to know. Things are bad all over. And now the university’s going through all kinds of cuts. They’re not going to renew my contract. Already I was down to one class this term. They’re canceling my class next semester. So that’s another piece of income lost. And my forest service job isn’t near enough to pay for all this.” He waved his hand in a wide sweep, indicating the house, the barn, the Jeep, the car, the land.
    He told me that they hadn’t paid their mortgage in full for two months. Mom had been scrambling to find more donors but without any luck. “We’re so far behind at this point. Last time we refinanced, the real estate market was booming. Now this place is worth . . . well, not as much. Not nearly as much as we owe. And even if it were, there aren’t any buyers. Not even if we wanted to parcel the place up.”
    â€œDad,” I interrupted, thinking on what he’d saidyesterday, about all of us ending up on the street. “What’s going to happen to us?”
    He stood up and walked a little ways away from me. Picked up his binoculars like he was staring at a bird. But I knew there wasn’t any bird, not at that moment, and after a bit he put the binoculars down. “I know you love this place, Wren,” he said. “I used to love it too. I was born here just like you. But now I feel like it’s time to let go. I know