In this year-long serialized novel set on the Vineyard in real time, a native Islander (“Call me Becca”) returns home after two decades to help her eccentric Uncle Abe keep his landscaping business, Pequot, afloat. Abe fears and detests Richard Moby, the CEO of an off-Island wholesale nursery, Broadway. Convinced that Moby wants to destroy Abe personally, and all Island-based landscaping/nursery businesses generally, Abe is obsessed with “taking down” Moby. A series of increasingly disastrous direct attacks last year did nothing to dissuade Abe; he changed tactics to a “smear campaign” against Moby, but has just given up on that, too. Mott is Pequot’s long-suffering general manager, who left weeks ago after almost poisoning Abe in a rage; Quincas is a Brazilian staffer at Pequot with whom Becca is enarmoured.

Dear P:

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know you want to hear all about the Quincas-Becca romance (which is slowly but inexorably progressing, yum yum yum), but today I have to talk about what’s been going on at work. I’m sure you’re sick of hearing that by now, but bear with me:

Mott came back. Just showed up Wednesday as we were all twiddling our thumbs, praying to be laid off (how many people in this country are saying THAT these days?).

Us bein’ Yankees and all, the initial moment of giddy relief was quickly replaced by hyper-casual “Hey there,” and “How’s things?” and “You get a haircut?” Only Quincas openly expressed his delight that our ringleader was back. “Hot dog!” he said, showing off the less-foul language he’s learning to impress me. “Now we get the show on the road!”

“There’s no show, and we’re staying put,” Mott said, a shy smile tweaking the corners of his lips.

Hearing Quincas, Abe came out of his office (where he now lurks every day). He saw Mott and stiffened. Mott nodded tersely, said “Abe,” waited for a response.

Abe almost spat at him. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I work here,” Mott said mildly.

“Not for the past month you don’t,” Abe snapped.

“That’s news, I’ve been getting paychecks.”

Abe turned on Fran, the bookkeeper, who announced defensively, “You told me to pay him, Abe.”

“Well, stop paying him, the turncoat.”

Mott blinked. “Turncoat?”

“Traitor,” Abe clarified, furiously. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to? This past month? Cozying up to that villain Moby? Giving him all our secrets –”

“We have secrets?” Stu exclaimed. “You mean my plants?” He giggled. “Moby’s getting into ... hemp production?”

“Quiet, Stuart,” Abe snapped, his glare still on Mott. “You think I’m crazy, Mott?”

“Well, yes,” Mott said peaceably.

“So you’ve taken Moby’s side.”

“Of course not,” Mott said. “You’ve been my mentor for decades. I hang my hat with you.”

“Not anymore,” Abe retorted. “Moby sent you here to gain my trust so you could get something from me.”

“That’s ludicrous,” Mott said, still calm.

“Oh, is it?” Abe demanded viciously. “Prove it.”

Suddenly something changed on Mott’s face. It was subtle, a glint in the eye, but when he glanced at me, I understood, and I nodded tentatively to let him know.

“What would Moby want from this place?” Mott said, with an un-Mott-like edge. “Pequot’s a holdover from the 70’s, there’s no future here. All you’ve got of worth are your employees, and you’re sure treating them like crap. It wouldn’t take my interference for them to realize they’d be better off working for Moby.”

The entire staff snorted collectively in shock. Abe’s face turned the color of a cardinal. “Traitor! Benedict Arnold!” he yelled. “Out of this building!”

Mott shrugged. “You think I didn’t hear about Becca applying for her MBA? If I heard about it, don’t you think Moby’s going to hear about it?”

Trying not to look startled, I blushed just as Abe turned his amazed stare at me. “What?” he demanded.

“You are such an ass,” I made myself hiss at Mott. “Do you really think you could have lured me away from my own family to work for someone like Richard Moby?”

“MBA?” Abe stuttered.

We ignored him to develop our fake feud. “MBAs are expensive,” said Mott. “I bet you’re spending your whole savings on it. Do you really think Pequot can ever pay you enough to make it worth your while? Do you think Abe would ever give you autonomy?”

“Do you think Moby ever would?” I snapped back, as Abe gaped between us. “I’m developing a Web-based marketing platform for Pequot.” (Boy, that was quick; where’d I pull that from? I’m not even sure what it means!) “Screw Moby.”

“What is he talking about? How does he know more about your career plans than your own uncle?” Abe was nearly screaming now. “Mott, you’re fired, you backstabbing ass! Don’t you ever set foot here again or I’ll sic the dogs on you!”

Mott managed an un-Mott-like exit as the rest of the staff look dumbfounded. I turned to Abe with an apologetic expression, hoping I understood what Mott had been trying to steer me to do. “I’m really sorry, Uncle Abe,” I said. “I haven’t applied for grad school, I was just thinking about it. I don’t know how Mott even knew that, and I don’t like how he tried to make it sound like something I was doing behind your back.”

“But you were doing it behind my back!” Abe retorted.

I shook my head. “No, I talked to Ralph and Wally about it,” I insisted, making a mental note to call my cousins as soon as this conversation was over. “I’ve been keeping it in the family.”

“She mentioned it to me, boss,” Quincas added helpfully. “Not to work for Moby. To move Pequot into modern day. She wanted to surprise you.”

Abe looked back and forth between Quincas and me for a while. Finally he said, “Alright. I believe you. But I don’t like surprises.”

“No more surprises, I promise,” I said at once.

When I got home later I found a note on my dresser: “He’s all yours now, but at least he trusts you. Let me know if I can help. Yours, Mott.”

In other news, it’s still winter.

Becca

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Vineyard novelist Nicole Galland’s critically-acclaimed works include Crossed: A Tale of the Fourth Crusade. Visit her Web site, nicolegalland.com.