epilogue The insurance company had paid off on both the house and the property, taking the burned land off their hands. Barry had no idea whether the company planned to sell the lot as is or put up a new house and rent it out. He didn't care. He never wanted to see or think about Bonita Vista again.
They were moving on.
The red Acura hugged the curves as Jim J. Johnson drove through downtown Willis and onto a side street that wound up the ridge. Barry reached for Maureen's hand and squeezed it.
"This is the most remote neighborhood in town," the real estate agent said, turning onto a narrow dirt road that passed through a copse of scrub oak, pinion pine, and juniper. "They're still on the sewer system, but there's no cable out here. Strictly satellite dish." Two empty lots separated by an abandoned half-finished A-frame popped up on the right. A one-room log cabin was set far back from the road on the left.
"See what I mean?"
They looked through the car window at an old dented trailer, two duty kids fighting over a spraying hose in the yard.
"Like I said, I'm not sure you'll be happy here," the agent told them.
"You look like the kind of people who would appreciate more, shall we say, refined surroundings. Now we have a gated community here in Willis, a new planned neighborhood with two manmade lakes and a private golf course. The views are spectacular, the best in town, and strict zoning ordinances ensure that you'll never have to put up with trashy neighbors. What do you say I
drive you out to Rancho de Willis and let you see for yourselves?"
Barry stared out at a poorly constructed patio attached to a rundown shack, saw a child's broken Big Wheel lying upside down in a patch of weeds.
"No," he said, looking at Maureen.
She smiled.
"This will be perfect. This will be fine."