“It was wonderful. Really, really good,” Liz gushed, far more comfortable talking about the food than her feelings. “I think maybe the sweet potatoes could’ve used a little less cinnamon, and the pork loin a tad more garlic. But very good, nonetheless.”
The waitress straightened. “Are you the food critic from the Budget?”
“Oh, no.” Liz waved her hand. “Nothing like that. I’m just . . . me.” She smiled apologetically.
“She’s a great cook,” Daniel interjected.
“Well, I’ll be sure to pass along your comments to the chef. So . . . any room for dessert?” The waitress looked between the two of them. “We have awesome pies.”
“They do have great pies,” Daniel confirmed.
“Mmm . . .” Liz winced. “I hate to pass up a good pie, but I’m feeling super full right this minute.”
“Do you think you might like some in an hour or so?” Daniel leaned toward her. “We could split a piece.”
It took a moment before she realized what he was really asking. And only half a moment before she knew how she wanted to answer.
“Apple?” she asked, tilting her head at him.
“Apple it is.” An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. “One piece to go, please,” he told the waitress.
And Liz had to admit she was glad. The dinner she’d been so nervous about had gone by far too quickly, and so very comfortably. She realized she wasn’t ready for the evening to be over.
“SERIOUSLY? You’re saying there’s absolutely no way I can borrow money from your bank? And that’s it? That’s final?” Jessica could feel her throat constricting in fear and hear her voice rising in indignation as she leveled her eyes at the young loan officer who would hardly return her gaze while he delivered the bad news.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Holtz.” His shoulders rose apologetically. “But what I can do is get you into our newest program, where you’ll be able to get free checking and double bonus points on certain debit card purchases.” He looked almost embarrassed for her and her pitiful financial state as he delivered his best scenario.
“Look, I told you my situation. I don’t need free checking or bonus points. I need thousands of dollars, and I need them like yesterday,” she pleaded. “I can’t default on the property taxes at my shop. The store is my only livelihood.” How many times had she mentioned that to him already? “If I lose the shop, how am I going to pay the existing loan you have on the place? Have you thought of that?”
But of course she didn’t know why she was even asking. No doubt he had thought of that. And of course he didn’t care. It wasn’t his problem—it was hers.
Every limb on her body had been shaking for the past couple of hours—ever since the afternoon mail had arrived at the shop and she’d received a final notice from the county treasurer. The notice had not only listed the sum of the shop’s property taxes but also the penalty fees that had accrued from not paying the taxes on time. None of which would’ve been quite so shocking if she had been aware of an initial invoice before receiving a final notice. She could only guess the first invoice had somehow fallen through the cracks—gotten lost in the shuffle between her move to the Cottage and her working night and day to keep the shop running.
She also might not have been so surprised by the notice if she had ever owned property before and had been attuned to the idea of property taxes.
Tucking the bill into her pocket, she’d sneaked upstairs to her apartment, out of Lydia’s earshot, to call the county, certain she could get hold of a sympathetic ear, maybe even set up some kind of installment payment plan if she only explained her circumstances and apologized for her ignorance. But the woman on the other end of the line had apparently heard it all before. She seemed totally desensitized—even bored—by Jessica’s situation. Jessica could practically feel her shrug over the phone.
That’s when she’d scurried out of the Cottage and hightailed it to the bank. Yet now the loan officer seemed to be doing the same.
“Hey, if it were up to me,” he was saying, “I’d help you out.”
Again his shoulders rose and fell in such a dramatically sympathetic way that Jessica wondered if he’d practiced the gesture in a mirror for situations like hers. She was glad that at least he hadn’t bothered to reiterate all the reasons why he couldn’t help her. He’d covered that list earlier and she really didn’t need to hear—or want to hear—the dire litany again. All about how she already owed on student loans, she had barely any savings, her one credit card was nearly maxed out, and her aunt had already refinanced recently to help pay for hefty—and expensive—renovations she’d had to make on the shop.
“But it’s not up to me,” he added as he sat up in his chair with a degree of finality. “So . . .” he drawled out the word and toyed with the pen on his desk as if waiting for her to give up and leave.
“Well then, if it’s not up to you, who is it up to?” she asked. “Maybe I need to speak to that person.” She was surprised by her own audacity, but she was already pushed into a corner. What else could she do but push back?
“That’s no problem. No problem at all, Ms. Holtz. I’ll be happy to get our manager for you.”
Jessica noticed that he didn’t simply look happy—he looked ecstatic to get away from her, practically leaping from his chair and rushing out of the office.
Meanwhile, she sat tapping the desktop, staring out the window, wondering how on earth she was going to come up with the extra money she needed in the next thirty days if the bank didn’t come through.
The answer was still eluding her when she heard a shuffle of footsteps at the office door. Sitting up straight, preparing for round two of pleading, she turned from the window. She couldn’t have been more disheartened and discouraged when she laid eyes on the bank’s manager—Denise Crutchfield. Of all her former classmates . . . and it just had to be Denise, didn’t it?
“Hello, Jessica.” Denise’s voice was silky smooth, not to mention controlled and professional as she sat down at the desk in front of her. “I would say it’s good to see you. But after being briefed on your situation . . .” She clucked. “How can I say that under such unfortunate circumstances for you?”
Of course, Jessica knew Denise was only being partially honest. Yes, her circumstances were indeed unfortunate. That part was totally true. But as far as Denise ever being glad to see her? That hadn’t happened in eons—not since the two of them had become rivals in junior high, which turned into a soured relationship that followed them all through high school.
Jessica had never been sure what had turned Denise against her all those years ago. It seemed silly to Jessica because she had never thought of Denise as a competitor in the first place. They’d never had the same friends. Had never run around in the same group. But maybe for Denise that had been the point.
Needless to say, she would’ve gladly turned over her homecoming princess and prom queen tiaras to Denise years earlier if only she’d known she’d be sitting in front of the woman now. But since she couldn’t travel back in time to do that, she gave her adversary the warmest smile she could muster and quickly swallowed her pride.
“Denise. Don’t you look nice,” she said as sincerely as she could. “I love that suit you’re wearing.”
“BOSS,” Denise answered curtly.
“Boss?” Jessica frowned, not quite understanding. Was Denise demanding she refer to her as “boss”?
“The brand of my suit. It’s BOSS. By Hugo Boss?” Denise added with a condescending smile. “From Nordstrom in Columbus.”
“Oh . . . I . . .” Jessica blinked. She was so caught up in her own drama of being too cash poor to pay her taxes that the designer reference had gone over her head. “Well, sure, of course it is. And it’s, uh, really good-looking,” she commented again. “On you.” She swallowed another lump of self-dignity.
Then, rubbing her clammy hands on her jeans, she took a deep breath before launching into her final appeal. “Look, Denise,
we both know why I’m here. And, well, bottom line is I would really appreciate it—super appreciate it—if there’s anything you could do to help me. And I’m thinking you could, you know—being you’re the boss and wearing your BOSS suit and all.” She chuckled nervously, already wishing she hadn’t added that last comment.
“I certainly wish I could help.” Denise shook her head as if truly dismayed. But even as she said the words, her eyes glimmered with malicious satisfaction. “However, what we’re talking about here are numbers. Hard, solid numbers. And in your case, the numbers just don’t add up. Not for creating a new loan for you, and not for adding on to your existing one.”
“But Aunt Rose—I mean, she—we—have been banking here for years, so there’s just got to be a way. That’s got to count for something. Some reward for our loyalty and our—”
Denise held up a hand to stop her, and Jessica was almost glad. Even she hated how pathetic she sounded.
“You know, Jessica . . .” Denise sighed. “If this were an episode of Little House on the Prairie, all of that might matter and things might turn out just the way you want them to. But sadly, we don’t always get what we want. That’s something I personally had to learn a long, long time ago.” She glared at Jessica as if Jessica truly were the sole cause of all the disappointments in her earlier life at Garaway High School.
“Furthermore—” her foe leaned forward, crossing one manicured hand over the other—“you need to understand that your beloved Cottage isn’t exactly a cash cow. From year to year, the net is not all that lucrative or stable. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t just sell the place.” She shook her head, appearing baffled by Jessica’s lack of business savvy. “That’s what you should do, you know. Sell it and let someone turn it into a pizza parlor.”
Jessica nearly gasped, not believing Denise could say such a thing—and so harshly, too. The cruel words hurt her as badly as if Denise had been talking about a relative of hers—like a kid sister or brother who was never going to amount to anything and needed to be given up on.
“You might find this hard to understand, but that place—the Cottage—is a part of me, Denise.” Her indignation flared. “It’s a huge part of me, and it’s a part of this town, too. And I really can’t believe you’re using this circumstance to get back at me for whatever you’ve been holding against me since seventh grade. It’s not fair or logical and it’s—it’s juvenile,” she sputtered.
Denise’s mouth gaped open, but only momentarily. She quickly recovered, clamping it closed. “Me? Juvenile?” She spoke through clenched teeth. “I’d say you’re the one who’s being immature for even suggesting such a thing, Jessica. After all, it’s not my fault that you didn’t pay a bill on time. I have nothing to do with the situation you’re in.”
“And you’re certainly not doing anything to help me out of it, are you?” Jessica hated how her face heated, surely displaying every ounce of her frustration.
Denise clasped her hands upon the desktop and pursed her lips into another tight faux smile. “Is there anything else I can help you with today, Ms. Holtz? Any of our services you might be interested in—aside from a loan?”
“No, thank you.” Jessica bolted up from the chair. “I’m sure I can get what I need at Homestead Bank up the street.”
“Dream on.” Denise chuckled as she sank back into her leather seat. “The most you’ll get out of that experience is exercise walking there. But it is a nice, brisk day. So enjoy your jaunt, Jessica.”
An hour later, after Denise’s prediction came true and the loan officer at Homestead Bank rejected her as well, Jessica practically crawled out that bank’s door, her hope completely shattered, her ego more than a little bruised.
Stunned, not believing what was happening, all she knew to do was head back to the Cottage. Back to her home. Her work. Her everything—that might not be hers for too much longer.
Her mind whirling and her heart feeling like a twenty-pound weight in her chest, she worked to put one foot in front of the other to get there. Once she did finally arrive, however, she had no clue what she was going to do.
Lydia smiled as she tugged at her sewing needle, making a final knot on the toddler-size sweater she’d been working on. It hadn’t taken her long to complete the secret project, and she had enjoyed every minute of it. After snipping at a few loose threads, she hung the sweater on a small wooden hanger, feeling glad that the idea had come to her and also satisfied with the work she’d done.
On the front side of the off-white sweater she’d loosely knitted, she’d used a strand of pink yarn to embroider the word Open across the chest and had crocheted a pink rose, which she attached at the left shoulder area. On the back side of the sweater, she’d used purple yarn to stitch the word Closed across the chest and had crocheted a violet rose to match.
She was so pleased with the way her sweater sign had turned out that she could hardly wait for Jessica to return from her errands so she could show her what she’d done.
Better yet . . .
A grin crossed her lips.
Why wait for Jessica to return? Wouldn’t it be better for her to see it and be surprised? After all, her friend hadn’t looked happy when she’d left hours earlier saying she was going out to run errands. Maybe Lydia’s contribution to the Cottage would be just the thing to bring a smile to Jessica’s face.
Getting up from the worktable, Lydia straightened the sweater on the hanger as she made her way to the front of the store. She’d never been bold enough to make changes in the shop, but why wouldn’t Jessica be delighted with the sweater sign she’d made? It was far cuter and better suited to the Cottage than the old wooden open-and-closed sign that presently hung in the window, wasn’t it?
Easily removing the wooden sign from its hook, she laid it on the window ledge before eagerly replacing it with her new sweater signage. Tugging on her creation, correcting its slant to the left, she’d gotten it hanging evenly and just right when the bell chimed over the door. Ready to greet a customer, she noticed it wasn’t a customer at all. Rather it was Jessica—who didn’t look pleased. She didn’t sound that way either.
“What are you doing, Lydia?” she snapped.
“I, uh, I made a new sign—well, a sweater sign—for the window. Do you want to see? I got to thinking it might be a better fit for the shop.” Reaching for the sweater, she took down the hanger and dangled it from her hand, giving Jessica a better look, so sure her eyes would light up. So certain she would ahh over it and say how adorable it was and how great it would look in the window.
But Jessica’s reaction wasn’t anything like the one Lydia had been imagining every minute she’d spent working on the knitted sign.
“So, my aunt Rose’s sign—the one that’s been there forever—you just took it down?” Jessica narrowed her eyes. “You decided it’s not good enough anymore; is that it?”
“Not good enough? Oh, nee, Jessica.” A sick sensation crept into Lydia’s stomach. “I’m sorry. I, uh, I should’ve talked to you about the sweater sign first. I didn’t know the other sign meant so much to you.” She reached for the wooden rectangle on the ledge. “I’ll put it back up right away, right where it belongs.”
“Forget it, Lydia. Forget the sign. Put the sweater up if you want to,” Jessica said, spouting out the opposite of what she’d just said. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. None of it at all.”
Lydia hugged both the wooden sign and the sweater sign to her chest, not sure what move to make next. She’d never seen her friend in such a state before. Had never heard her speak quite so harshly to anyone. There had to be something she was mighty upset about. “Jessica, is something wrong?” she dared to ask in the most delicate way she could.
“Ha.” Her friend smirked. “When isn’t something wrong?” she answered, shaking her head at Lydia as if she were an inexperienced child.
Hours earlier, when Jessica had run out of the shop, Lydia had detected that she seemed flustered and in a hurry
to get somewhere. But now that she’d returned, Jessica seemed even more agitated. Her eyes had a hollow, bewildered look to them, and her lips were taut, as if she was a long way from ever smiling again. Standing next to her, Lydia could feel something negative and angry coming from her—nothing like the Jessica she was used to. “Is there anything you might want to talk about?” she probed gently.
Jessica opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but then after staring at Lydia for a moment, she shook her head. “No, Lydia. I don’t. I don’t want to talk about anything. My head hurts and I—”
So that’s what was wrong? Jessica wasn’t feeling well?
“If you want to go upstairs and lie down, I can take care of things in the shop and close up,” Lydia offered.
“Lying down sure isn’t going to help,” Jessica snipped, confusing Lydia even more.
“Well, maybe some of your aunt’s tea would be gut?” It was the only thing left she could think of. “I can get some for you,” she said as the bell rang out over the door again.
“You need to take care of the customers, Lydia. I’ll take care of myself and everything else, okay?” Jessica said before stomping to the opposite side of the shop.
Taken aback by Jessica’s unusual and unexpected harshness, Lydia forced herself to swallow her hurt. Doing just as she was told, as she made her way over to the customers, she tried to focus on her friend instead of herself. Lifting up a prayer for Jessica, she hoped whatever her friend was dealing with would pass quickly—or that she would open up about it soon. Because whatever was going on with Jessica was making her look awful miserable. Seeing her friend that way, Lydia realized how much it pained her heart. How miserable it made her feel too.
Trying to get a moment’s peace from her long day, Jessica had only meant to lie down in bed for a minute. Just time enough to gather her strength before doing all her nightly chores. To maybe find an answer to her money problem somewhere in her quiet nest, as a harvest moon shone through her bedroom window and cast a soft glow that seemed otherworldly—without problems or cares, and oh so comforting.
The Sisters of Sugarcreek Page 21
