by Jean Oram
"I see." He shot her a grin, his crooked front tooth jumping out at her. "Oh, I forgot to ask. You wanna buy an M?"
"An M?" What the hell was this? Wheel of Fortune?
"Yeah. Oh." He froze, staring at her as though he'd just told the guest of honor about her surprise party.
"What are they for?"
"Well," Trey shifted uncomfortably, his cheeks pink. "Not sure I was supposed to tell you, but I guess maybe you know? M? For Mandy?"
She shot him an uncomprehending look.
"For your restaurant. You need money, right?"
She nodded slowly, feeling self-conscious and failure-ific.
"So like, everyone's raising money for you. You buy an M." He held up a bright pink paper M from a stack behind the register. "We're seeing how many Ms we can add to 'Mandy's.' "
"What?" She gave an amused laugh.
He gave her a look that was an awful lot like the one she'd shot him a moment ago. "Didn't you see it in the window?"
She turned to the big windows facing the street. "Oh. My. God." They were everywhere. Bright Ms of a zillion different colors raced in a line across the window, making it say MMMMMMMMMMandy's. She stepped closer to the window. All the shops on Main—except hers—had these bright and colorful lines of Ms. She blinked back tears.
"A dollar an M. It's so those who don't want to spend twenty-five bucks can still show their support. Once we get twenty-five Ms, we buy one of those micro loan things. And when you pay it back we're gonna put the money toward a new roof for the arena. We started this morning. But others started yesterday. We're trying to get your website's thermometer to move faster. You're running out of time, you know."
She nodded absently and turned to the window again. All these Ms in less than 48 hours? Holy shit. Holy. Shit. Blueberry Springs.
She needed to sit down. She needed to freak out. She needed to cry. She needed to laugh. She needed to hug everyone she saw.
She flung herself onto Trey and gave him a tight squeeze.
"I bought ten," he said in a squeezed out voice. "I can buy more if you want. It's my comic book money, but I have lots of comics already."
"I love you, Trey!"
"I thought you loved Frankie?" he said
"Him, too, Trey. Him, too."
Chapter 19
Gripping the cold metal hand rails, a can of spray paint tucked down the back of her turtleneck, Mandy crept up the ladder and into the night. Part way up, she had to pause to catch her breath and allow the dizziness to wane. Thank goodness it was dark enough that she couldn't see the full depth of her stupidity, nor the full height of the water tower.
She began climbing again, letting out a crazed laugh. How on earth was she going to open a restaurant from jail? Because surely that's where she'd be when she got smacked with a fine she wouldn't be able to pay. Her steps faltered for a second. She should climb back down, save Frankie's building and then worry about making a gesture he'd understand—a gesture that would speak to the daredevil inside him.
But her feet began climbing again. She couldn't wait. She needed to make the gesture now. Before Blowtorch got into Frankie any deeper than she already was. She reached the top of the ladder, her arms shaking with adrenalin. On the narrow walkway that went around half of the tower's tank, she backed herself against its wall, palms against the freezing metal for support. The slim railing that would fail to pass today's safety laws had failed to keep Frankie from falling; how would it save her if she needed it to? Careful not to look down, she sidestepped into the brisk wind that whipped around the curve of the tower as fear scraped at her. The wind pushed the clouds away from its cover over the moon and it shone down on her, lighting her way as she eased toward the faded black M-A-N Frankie had sprayed on the light blue tower.
She was going to finish what he'd started all those years ago and then some. As she glanced at the writing over her shoulder, she realized she was going to have to toss her perfectionist streak over the railing. Not having the reach Frankie had, half her name would be around a foot shorter than the other half. Shrugging it off, she shook the spray can, the marble inside jangling through the silent mountain air. She shook it fast and hard and well below the minute long recommendation, wishing there was a quieter way to get the business done. She pivoted on her foot and aimed the spray nozzle at the space after N and committed her first felony.
Slowly, she sprayed the letters D and Y, then sidestepped to her right to add a heart, which she had to admit looked pretty good, despite the shakiness at the top from a combination of nerves and having to stretch. She shook out her index finger, which had begun to cramp from pushing down the sprayer, and set to work again. F-R-A-N. She completed the downward stroke of the K, then reached up to begin the slanted arm down to its middle when a bright light splashed across her work, making her draw an involuntary horizontal line as she jerked in surprise.
She spun around and her left foot lost its traction on the girding and shot out into nothing, her ribs slamming against the metal railing. She'd never understood how Frankie had missed the railing and plummeted all those years ago, but now she got it. Scrambling like a frightened cat on ice, she spun onto her front and clawed her way back to the safety of the tank's looming wall.
"Mandy!?" called a voice. "Jesus. Take it easy."
Mandy, knees drawn against her chest, glanced up at her unfinished declaration. There was no way she was leaving it this way. She pushed against the tower, sending herself to her feet. Quickly, she corrected the messed up K and added a quick down stroke for an I, ignoring Scott, who was not only her first kiss but also the local police, bellowing for her to stop.
Four more final brush strokes to create an E and she shakily lowered the can. Scott had grown silent, despite his police searchlight still being aimed on her. Checking her surroundings, she realized she was at the end of the walkway, leaning far over the railing, her footing precarious, as she completed the final letters. She skittered backward, gasping. Holy hell. She could have gone over.
"Mandy, come down from there," said Scott in a low voice that made him sound weary beyond his years. "And next time, when I ask you to stop, please do so."
She shielded her eyes, trying to make her way across the walkway, but found her footsteps less than confident. She backed against the tower and slid her way over a few more steps toward the ladder. "Turn off your light!"
"No can do, Mandy. You're likely to take off when your feet hit the ground. Plus, I don't want you falling. This is bloody stupid, Mandy. Stupid."
"I can't see anything. You're blinding me."
The light edged down a few feet so it stopped making large shadows and she could see better. Her hands, splayed across the tower, were sticky. She lifted one. Was she bleeding?
She groaned and leaned her head back against the tower. Wet paint. Her hair, dangling down her back, would be ruined. She sighed. Frankie better appreciate this.
Turning, she carefully made her way down the ladder, stepping onto the roof of her truck when the ladder ended.
This was it. The end.
As her feet hit the ground with a light thump, the spotlight, having followed her the whole way, remained focused on her truck as Scott clamped a hand on her arm. Light anger made his voice tremble. "That was really stupid."
Mandy tried to shrug out of his tight grip.
"I've been waiting since you bought that damn can of paint. I knew you were going to do this, and I can't believe I almost missed you." He shrugged at her questioning look as to why he hadn't been there sooner and he admitted, "Mom's meatloaf night."
She refrained from saying "I know" and, instead, apologized. "Can you overlook my misdemeanor in the name of love?"
He let out a bark of laughter. "Nice penmanship, and nice declaration, but no." He guided her to his police truck, holding out a hand for her spray can.
Handing over the can, Mandy reminded herself that at least she'd managed to finish what Frankie had started.
* * *
Mandy let out a long breath and studied her most serious business suit in the green room mirror. Funny how becoming a criminal suddenly made her business goals that much more intriguing to the press. But on the bright side, she'd be doing the television interview in her own attire rather than a prison jumpsuit, seeing as Judge Radcliff had only sentenced her to a whack of community service. She smoothed her knockoff Chanel jacket and skirt, as ready as she'd ever be, as long as she didn't barf or pass out.
An assistant with more piercings than a tribal warrior mumbled tips and rules at Mandy before setting her in front of the studio cameras and aiming the hot, bright lights at her. Russell, Amber's boyfriend the newscaster, grinned at her and perked an eyebrow. "Ready to go?"
She nodded, not trusting her voice. She took a big swallow of water from the glass beside her and coughed heartily as it went down the wrong way. Drowning in studio, live at five!
A man near the cameras made hand signals and just like that, they were on the air with Russell speaking fluidly and her trying to swallow her coughing fit. "We have Mandy Mattson here in the studio with us today, recently arrested for proclaiming her unrequited love for her childhood crush by trespassing and committing vandalism."
The camera moved to Mandy and she felt every single one of her two-hundred-and-six bones bear the tension of her seizing muscles. When he put it that way...
"Why not simply send a card?" he asked with a smooth smile.
She stared at the cameras as they focused in. Was she really ready to reveal everything publicly? How could she even consider putting herself back in front of the cameras after the way the editors for Frankie's show had portrayed her?
"I did," she replied finally. "It was just a little larger than average and on town property."
Russell tossed his head back and let out a massive laugh, spewing droplets of spittle into the brightly lit air.
"Touché," he said. "Some people say you're in the midst of a breakdown. That you're acting out of character after losing your savings as well as your love interest's inheritance—a building that has been in his family for over eighty years—due to a bad business decision." He turned to the camera. "With the Wrap it Up chain announcing bankruptcy, six franchisees have banded together in an effort to save several of the restaurant's outlets and go independent. Mandy, who was about to launch her own Wrap it Up in the small town of Blueberry Springs, is one of the owners fighting to survive this devastation. But if she can't win back her outlet in a matter of days—" he paused dramatically, and Mandy's heart thumped like a hard rock drummer in her chest "—she risks losing it all. It will be a grand opening that will never happen."
Mandy clutched her chair's armrests. This was not how this interview was supposed to go. She was supposed to be an amazing businesswoman who convinced everyone to donate a couple of bucks and voila, she could open her place. This was the news, not a tabloid!
"I could lose a lot," she agreed, swallowing hard as the cameras focused on her again. "My savings, my best friend and his inheritance. My dream of becoming an independent business owner." She was about to launch into her spiel about people wanting to feel good about the food they ate but Russell interrupted.
"Word on the street suggests Seth has been spending a lot of time on his boat and is thinking of hitting the high seas. What do you have to say to that?"
"He's a good sailor. However, as I was saying, I and five others are raising funds through micro business loans. Any of your viewers can help us—and help them become healthier people—by visiting our website and earning interest on as little as a twenty-five dollar loan." She went on to elaborate on the micro loan plan despite Russell looking peeved that she'd taken over the show and wasn't letting him get a word in edgewise. Any second and he'd be making a slicing motion across his neck to the camera crew.
When she was finished, Russell, teeth gritted, asked politely, "Where do you go from here, Mandy?"
She paused, brainstorming a sound bite that would also appease Russell. "Find a way to get the man of my dreams to take my advances seriously, and stay out of jail."
Chapter 20
Mandy stood uncertainly on the metal grating that served as a walkway around half of the water tower, paint can in hand. She gazed at the expanse of cold metal stretching upward as well as to her right and left. This was beyond a big job. It was right next door to this-is-gonna-take-forever, but still better than going to jail.
The faded black letters Frankie had painted all those years ago followed by her brighter ones waited to be covered with an industrial blue color. She sighed and poured paint into the waiting tray, the fumes making her head spin, and dipped her pristine roller. She rolled it back and forth, watching the fuzzy peach color be consumed by aquamarine. She raised her arm to the letters and paused, thinking about how she'd failed. Failed to get Frankie to notice her. Failed to get a big enough influx of cash for her business despite all the Ms around town. She touched the roller to the letters and pushed it up, covering part of the F. In three days, she'd lose Frankie's building unless Seth agreed to giving up her outlet for next to nothing compared to what it could have been worth and what his lawyer was fighting for.
"I thought you'd leave that until last," came a voice, along with the clang of footsteps on the metal walkway.
Mandy whirled and stepped back, just about flinging her roller over the edge of the railing in surprise. She grabbed the railing for support and steadied herself.
"I can't believe they saddled you with the whole tower." Frankie crossed his arms and shook his head, leaning over to poke at the rust spots peeking through the faded paint. "The funding for civic repairs must be down. I only had to do a couple hours of community service and none of it up here."
"They're paying for the paint," she managed to choke out. What was it about being up here with Frankie that made her heart gallop and her mind refuse to chug forward?
"Of course they are. Paint's the easy part." He took the roller from her hand and covered the F. "Rolls on nice, though. Glad they didn't cheap out and make the job harder on you." He leaned down and put more paint onto the roller, his broad shoulders moving with the action. Without a word, he began working his way to the right, covering their ill-timed devotion to each other.
After a few minutes he said, "I sent Justice home."
"Who?"
Frankie remained quiet. He continued his work, small specks of paint flicking onto his tanned face when he loaded the roller with too much paint. She watched for a moment, trying to puzzle out who Justice was.
It hit her. Blowtorch. He sent her home!
Why? Did that mean...? Was he...? Was she...? Argh! Men.
Remembering she had an extra roller in her backpack, she refilled the tray with paint and began covering the lower section, following Frankie quickly, not caring if the paint job was less than perfect. It wasn't like anyone from down below would be able to tell. Plus, she wanted to stay close to Frankie in case he muttered something good.
The chilly mountain wind whipped through her and she kept her free hand tucked in her armpit as she crept along, working in the shadow of Frankie's silence, her mind whirling with questions. What had he and Justice been? Had their relationship failed? Did Frankie still just want weekend commitments? Or did he break up with Blowtorch so he could be with her, Mandy? And him being here to help—what did that mean? And why was he covering their letters first?
"How on earth are you going to do the topside and underside of the tower?" Frankie asked, breaking the silence.
Mandy explained the scaffolding they promised to set up.
"You're not trained to use that kind of equipment," he protested, his nose and cheeks rosy from the cold.
"I am now," she said with a sigh. She knew more about scaffolding and painting than she had ever wanted to know.
"This is ridiculous. You'll never get this done before it gets too cold. I mean, look at you and fall hasn't even hit yet."
She shrugged helplessl
y.
"How are you going to earn any money when you're up here slaving away? This is a full-time job. And what about your place? If you're going to open it independently, you don't have time for this. You have, what? Three days until your deadline?"
She kept her head down, emotion zinging through her at his concern. She clung to the thin strand of hope that everything would somehow work out. Even though instead of opening a restaurant, she was painting a tower. And instead of Frankie holding her in his arms, she was working with him to erase their proclamation. And instead of saving the day, she was three days away from losing the building he'd entrusted in her care.
Silly hope.
Frankie placed his roller in the tray and took hers, adding it to the tray. He held her hands and she shivered as his warmth overtook her and he got that familiar look in his eye that used to scare her. She rolled up onto the tips of her toes, hoping he'd take that look in his eyes and put it to good.
"Friends again, Miss M?" he asked, dropping her hands.
Her heart tumbled into a pit of disappointment, her stomach pile-driving it as it sunk along with it.
Friends? Seriously?
She sighed with resignation. At the end of the day, she was lucky to still have him. "Of course we're friends." She pulled him into an embrace and leaned back to meet his dark eyes. "Why did you send Justice home?"
* * *
Mandy shifted in her plush chair in the lawyer's office and stared across the truck-sized table at Seth. He wouldn't meet her eye. She shook her head, unable to wrap her mind around how someone who seemed decent, like Seth, could pull her into such a disaster and not care. Thinking that she was rich enough to brush off his mistakes and not take him head on.
She breathed in the room's new carpet smell and placed her hands flat on the cool table. She was going to nail his ass to the wall and never, ever let herself be that desperate for anything again in her life.
