CHAPTER 40
What had MJ meant? What did she know about Skye Blue that I didn't? I'd been sleeping at Skye's apartment, inviting her to live in my building, and I didn't really know anything about her.
I'd completely forgotten to get the locks changed. So much for safety.
Drat!
I walked back into the store with every intention of talking to Skye, but I stopped short because she wasn't alone. She was standing between the foot of the stairs and the front door. Towering over her was a tired-looking fellow with dark circles under his eyes and an ashen complexion. His comb-over stuck straight up like a rooster's feathers, and his hands moved constantly, patting his down pockets, smoothing his tie, and tucking his shirt inside his pants.
“Cara? This is Irving Feldman, Essie's son.” Skye slid her hand sideways in a graceful gesture that invited me to step closer so our guest and I could shake.
“I think we met a long time ago, when your parents used to rent the apartment upstairs,” he said. Irving's hand was sweaty, and I resisted the urge to dry my damp palm on my pants. His eyes roamed the building instead of focusing on me.
Yes, we had met before. Back then, Irving had spoken with a trace of a lisp. The sibilance had not left him. He'd been a geeky kid, the kind who gets teased for his awkwardness. With a speech impediment added to the mix, you had a recipe for disaster.
Life had been rough for Irving, or so I'd heard second-hand from my mother after she learned as much from Essie. I had sympathized with Irving because I, too, had been picked on as a child. Unlike him, I had been targeted because I was too precocious.
“Yes, that was years and years ago,” I said, feeling suddenly self-conscious about how dirty I was. “Your mother was wonderful to me.”
“She had her moments,” he said. “I heard you bought this place. Snatched it out from under Cooper Rivers. Word gets around.”
I nodded.
“Don't you work at Pumpernickel's?” Irving said to Skye.
“I do. I'm just helping Cara out.” She tilted her head toward the piles of furniture. “Someone really trashed this building.”
Irving's voice turned defensive. “I don't know how this happened. The executor of my mother's estate should have been keeping a closer eye on the place. I've been getting calls from the downtown merchants' association complaining about the building being an eyesore. Thought I'd drop by and see for myself. Didn't expect anyone to be here.”
“You can forward those calls to me from now on,” I said. “You're right. The executor of the estate really should have kept a better eye on the property.”
“It probably doesn't matter now that you plan to knock this place down.”
“I'm not,” I said.
“You're not what?”
“Tearing it down.”
“But that's why I dropped back by. To see it one last time. Before the wrecking ball hits it. What happened?”
“There was a change of plans,” I said. Evidently the grapevine hadn't supplied the details. Good. The fewer people who knew, the better.
“You are planning to sell this place to Cooper, right? Making a fast profit? Then he'll knock it down?”
“No, I'm not flipping it. My plan is to re-open The Treasure Chest.”
“You're kidding.” He wiped a hand across his brow.
“No.”
He raised his eyebrows at me and puckered his mouth before stuttering, “I-I-I think you should know that Mother was losing money hand over fist. If you plan to re-open, you'll be throwing good money after bad. Believe me, I thought about taking over, but I knew it would be pure foolishness. A losing proposition. You'd be much smarter to sell it. Make a buck and get out.”
“I appreciate your concern but I think I can make a go of it. The merchandise will be slightly different, but the name will stay the same. I assume you don't have any objections to me keeping the name?” I chose my words carefully.
It's not unusual to pay for use of a business name if it's deemed to have value, and surely “The Treasure Chest” had some local name recognition.
Obviously Irving hadn't inherited his mother's business acumen. He folded his arms over his chest and looked around. “Do whatever you want. I'm w-w-warning you, re-opening is not a good idea. It'll cost a fortune just to get this place cleaned up. Twice that amount to fill it with merchandise. I really don't see how you can hope to be profitable.”
“I think we'll do just fine.”
“But he—” Irving stopped himself and started over. “But Cooper Rivers has a franchise. They approved this location.”
“Yes, but Mr. Rivers didn't buy this property. I did.”
Skye had been standing at a respectful distance listening in. She cocked her head to one side, studying him, and said, “Is there some reason she should tear this place down? Is there a problem with the building?
“N-No,” he said, spreading of his hands to emphasize how bleak the situation was. “No. That's not it at all. It's just that I went over this with my accountant, and I think you're making a mistake. Even renting out both of the apartments upstairs, Mom couldn't make enough to cover her expenses.”
“I'll economize where I can. Since I'll be living upstairs, I won't have a house payment.”
“You could always change your mind. It's not too late.”
“I’ll take that under consideration,” I said, which was my way of giving him the polite brush-off. He was starting to get on my nerves.
“How's your wife?” asked Skye. She could sense that I was growing tired of defending my decision.
Thankfully, this seemed to distract Irving. “Evelyn is going through a rough patch.” His voice rasped with emotion. “There's an experimental program for MS up in Toronto. I'd love to see her get into it, but there's a lot of expense involved.”
“Then it's good news for you that I've decided to purchase the building,” I said. “You will also be pleased to know that I won't have any trouble getting financing.”
“Yes,” he said, as he turned slowly to take in his surroundings. “It's all good news.”
CHAPTER 41
After seeing Irving to the door, Skye and I trudged our way upstairs. It had been a long day. Skye hesitated in the hall with one hand on the doorknob to her unit.
“I've been meaning to tell you that I really appreciate you letting me move in so quickly. Can I pay you the first and last month in installments?”
This was my chance to ask her what MJ might have meant with her cryptic comment about “giving Skye a chance.” The words leapt to my lips, but I couldn't say them. Not with those honest blue eyes staring at me with such happy anticipation.
Surely if Skye was a criminal, Detective Murray wouldn't have delivered me into her care. My instinct told me that I could trust Skye. Hadn't she already proved herself to be my ally?
“Let's not worry about the security deposits right now. At this rate, I'll be owing you money for your help.” The moment the words left my mouth an idea came to me. I did need all the help I could get, and Skye was crafty and creative.
“Skye, what do you think about working at the store? When you aren't at Pumpernickel's? I can't offer you a lot of money or promise you a certain number of hours. Maybe your time at The Treasure Chest could offset your rent.”
She brightened. “I could certainly use a second job. Any time I'm not scheduled at Pumpernickel's, you can count on me. I think your new store is going to be fun.”
With that we officially wished each other goodnight. Standing in the middle of the empty living room, a sense of being overwhelmed hit me. I needed sleep. I needed to recharge my batteries. I picked up the folding chair and carried it into my bedroom. After I covered the mattress with plastic bags, taped them in place with masking tape, and covered the mess with Tommy’s sleeping bag, I sank down on my new bed. Although the pressure was off my feet, it seemed to shift to my shoulders. Lying there, staring up at the ceiling, I felt the heavy burden of responsibility. Was Ir
ving Feldman right? Was I making a huge mistake? Was it possible that my ego had clouded my judgment? Without money coming in from the restaurant, how would I make ends meet?
Now I had roped other people into my mad scheme! MJ would expect a paycheck. Skye had her hopes up. Yes, I'd encouraged her, but was it the right thing to do? What about my obligations to Bobby Gander and Jimmy McConnell, the tile guy?
My dad believed that he owed his employees more than a paycheck, because they gave so much of their time and their talent to our restaurant. As a natural consequence of that philosophy, he was always looking for ways to do a good turn for them. Whenever one of our waitstaff needed a loan or a day off, Dad came through. When one of our cooks found out that his mother needed eye surgery, Dad gave him time off and took up a collection that we matched to help cover her medical costs. When a waitress was in a car accident, Dad held her job and sent her flowers. With a few notable exceptions, our employees appreciated us. Many told us that we were the best people they'd ever worked for.
“With,” I amended my mental commentary out loud as I spoke to the speckled ceiling above me. “People work with us, not for us. This isn't the old plantation system. We're in this together.”
The irony of my situation hit me full force! Here I'd hopped in my car and driven all these many miles to repeat the employment circumstance I'd claimed to be leaving. Once again, I would be responsible for the livelihood of other people. I had this mental image of Dr. Phil sitting across from me and asking, “How's that working for you?”
“Not exactly as I had expected, I guess,” I said, to my empty bedroom before speed dialing my son.
“Yo, Mom,” he said. “Wassup?”
And here I thought he didn't like foreign languages. I couldn't help but laugh at this teen-speak.
“Got a few minutes to listen?” I told him about buying a business. I pointedly did not tell him about the dead man I'd found.
“Cool beans, Mom. Granddad would be proud of you.”
I smiled to myself. Tommy was right. My father would have been happy for me.
“How's Poppy?”
I told Tommy the high points, and he promised to text message his great-grandfather a “get well” sentiment.
“Dad called,” my son said, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.
I should have figured this was coming. A hard knot formed in my stomach. Dominic Petrocelli had a way of inserting himself into Tommy's life. He did not act like a typical father, dispensing advice, and staying involved. No, Dom was what our family therapist called a “Disneyland Dad.” Dom showed up when and if it was convenient. When times got tough, Dom disappeared.
Dom did his best to make me look like the heavy. He would dump loads of presents on our son, flout all my rules, make fun of how hard I worked, take Tommy places I couldn't afford, and then walk away, leaving me to be the “Mean Mom.”
“How is your father?” I choked on the title. “Sperm donor” was a more accurate description. “What did he have to say?”
“He wants to come down for Parents' Weekend.”
That hurt. From the start of our relationship, Dom knew how to exploit my vulnerability. He was a master at being able to get under my skin.
When the court ordered him to contribute toward Tommy's education, Dom made it clear he would expect something in return. In my ex-husband’s mind, that meant he had the right to show up when and where he wanted in Tommy's life. I could count on Dom to take an unearned bow for his meager participation in his son's upbringing.
This turn of events wasn’t at all surprising. Now that Tommy was a young man and in college, my husband wanted to take advantage of his parenthood, on a grand scale. Squeezing my eyes shut, I could see Dom doing a star turn at Parents’ Weekend. Whereas I planned to blend in with the other parents, Dom would show up in a fancy car, flash his Rolex, and pose in his Armani. He’d be the dad who brought a bottle of champagne and a box of Cuban cigars. You could always count on Dom to turn heads.
But this wasn't about Dom. Or about me. It was about Tommy.
“How do you feel about having your father visit?”
“I've been talking to the upper classmen. They tell me it’s better if your parents visit any weekend but Parents' Weekend.”
“Oh, really?” That didn't make much sense.
“Yep. They say that during Parents' Weekend all the parents take their kids and their kids' friends out to eat. The weekend after that, we're all stuck here in the dorms eating cruddy college food. So I was thinking maybe my dad could come down for Parents' Weekend and you could come the weekend after.”
My son was wise beyond his years. He'd figured out a smart way to keep his father and me from crossing paths. Of course, this plan also meant that I wouldn't be able to attend the lectures and events being held for parents. I would miss out on the educational aspects of my visit and on the chance to build camaraderie with other parents.
However, Tommy had come up with an ingenious solution. By coming one weekend later, I would be able to take my son and his new friends out to dinner without competition for their time. My son would realize that I'd heard the plea in his voice, the request that I step aside, because he couldn't ask the same of his dad.
“Honey, I'll come whenever you want. For now, let's plan on getting together after Parents' Weekend.”
“Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.”
CHAPTER 42
After saying goodbye to Tommy, I phoned the hospital and checked on Poppy. I couldn't go to sleep without knowing our small tribe was all accounted for.
“Your grandfather's insulin level is still unstable,” said the duty nurse. “I can't speak for the doctor, but I imagine he won't be letting your grandfather leave without an insulin pump.”
“Insulin pump?”
“You really need to talk to your grandfather's physician,” said the nurse, by way of ending our conversation.
After a long hot shower, I got ready for bed. I couldn't help thinking about Cooper, wondering how my life might have been different if he and I hadn't been separated. Of course, that was silly. You can't turn back the hands of time. If we hadn't gone our separate ways, I probably wouldn't have fallen so hard for Dom. If I hadn't fallen for Dom, I wouldn't have Tommy. I wouldn't trade anything in the world for my son.
“The past is the past,” I told my reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror as I talked around my toothbrush. “Get over it and move on.”
When I sank down onto my makeshift bed, the plastic made a crinkling noise. I told myself that sound should be reassuring, not upsetting. After all, thanks to the liberal application of plastic and masking tape, I'd managed to protect myself from any little critters who might want to come out and play on my snoozing self.
I'd need to do a load of laundry sooner rather than later. All this hard labor was causing me to go through my limited wardrobe rather quickly. I could buy new clothes, but I hated wearing things that hadn't been washed.
Tomorrow I would ask MJ to find a washer and dryer. She seemed to know how to get a good deal. Of course, that meant yet another expenditure. What a mess my life was in! I squirmed around on my bed and tried to count my blessings. My tummy was full, I had a place to sleep, my son was okay, Poppy was on the mend, and I had money in the bank.
“Thanks, Big Guy.” I offered up my prayer of gratitude and promptly fell asleep. The next morning, I awakened to the sound of Skye moving around in the twin unit. She and I must have had complimentary body clocks. We arrived in the hallway at the same moment.
“Breakfast at McDonald's? I'll buy,” she said.
“You're on.”
We were climbing into Black Beauty when MJ pulled up. She requested our help with her purchases. Skye and I assisted her by carrying a new coffee maker, grounds, cream, sugar, and sweeteners. When we told her about our planned McDonald’s run, she said, “Bring me an Egg McMuffin, and I'll start the coffee.”
Less than an hour later, we'd been fed, caffeinated, and
coordinated, so we went at it again. Skye bustled around cleaning. MJ made phone calls and handled paperwork. I sorted the odd items that had been left behind. I also called the hospital and sat on hold for five minutes. A nursing supervisor told me that Poppy was having tests and couldn't come to the phone. However, she did give me the phone number of his doctor, Dr. Donovan.
I called the man's office and lucked out. He was willing to speak to me, because Poppy had warned him that I might call—and had given his permission on the HIPPA form to share any news with me.
“Your grandfather has an infection in his foot,” Dr. Donovan said, “and that needs to get cleared up. We caught it early, but it's still worrisome.”
I went back to sorting through the multiple piles of junk. Some were obviously salvageable and others went directly to a trash pile. At the top of the discards stack was an orphan drawer that had once belonged to a chest of drawers. Skye picked it up and looked it over thoughtfully. In the silence, MJ was pulled away from her work to join us.
“Don't toss this out. Are there more?”
“I think so. Odds and ends. They all belong to different chests of drawers.”
“Could we keep them? In fact, could you give the 'toss' pile a 48-hour reprieve?”
MJ and I looked at each other with curiosity, but then I shrugged. If Skye thought she could do something interesting with all that junk, she was welcome to try.
I'd forgotten all about Detective Lou Murray until he stomped onto the sales floor. The scowl on his face announced he was not happy. Neither was I. After Irving Feldman's sudden appearance last night, I'd printed CLOSED in a bold marker on a piece of copy paper, taped it to the front door, and jammed a chair under the lock. Sadly, I hadn't done the same with the back door. Nor had I remembered to lock it after Skye and I came back from McDonald's.
The big cop got right up in my face, giving me a good look at his shiner. Overnight that one eye had swollen nearly shut. The purple bruising had expanded to almost comical proportions. “We need to talk, Ms. Delgatto. You weren't entirely honest with me. I don’t like it when people try to hide things. Things I need to know.”
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