Lakeside Family

by Lisa Jordan

  Josie smiled and turned to reach for a glass mug. She set it on the counter in front of him. “Good morning to you, too, Emmett. The usual?”

  “Don’t I always have the usual? Did you forget already? What’s so hard about a black coffee and a banana nut muffin? And don’t slip me any of that bran malarkey. I can tell the difference, you know.” He pulled out two dollar bills and a handful of change. He laid the bills on the counter and counted out sixty-eight cents and then tossed two quarters in the tip jar.

  “Of course not. One of the other customers is reading the paper. As soon as he’s finished, you can do your crossword.”

  He glowered at her. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? What kind of establishment gives out one paper?”

  “Try being patient. Would you like me to go buy you another paper?” She pointed to the yellow paper box outside her shop.

  “Harrumph. Now, that would be a waste of money, wouldn’t it?” He hobbled over to one of the armchairs near the fireplace and eased his body onto the cushion. Dropping his hat on the side table, he laid his cane on the floor and glared at Nick.

  Agnes opened the small fridge under the espresso machine for the milk. “Why do you put up with that codger’s attitude?”

  “He’s lonely and all bark but no bite. If griping at me makes him happy, I can turn the other cheek. Today’s a rough day for him.” Josie warmed a banana nut muffin and slipped a blueberry one into a small paper bag. She carried both to Emmett, who sat tapping his pen against the arm of the chair.

  “Here’s your muffin. And a little something for later.” She handed him the white bag.

  He eyed the bag. “What is it?”

  “A blueberry muffin.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Elsie’s favorite.”

  She crouched beside him and patted his hand. “Rough day, huh?”

  “Forty-eight years.” He traced the plain gold band embedded in his finger while gazing into the fire. “She was my everything. I miss her.”

  She squeezed his hand, feeling his pain. “I know.”

  He pressed his lips against her knuckles. “Thanks for the extra muffin.”

  “Anything for you, Emmett.” Josie patted his cheek.

  The phone rang, but Agnes snagged it. She covered the phone with her hand. “Josie, Billy Lynn’s on the phone asking about his doughnut order?”

  Josie left Emmett and hurried to the counter. “Doughnut order?”

  The words were no sooner out of her mouth when she spotted the pink sticky note reminding her about the six dozen doughnuts requested by the fire department. That was the baking thing she was forgetting. She sighed and resisted the urge to bang her head against the pastry case. If she hadn’t overslept, the doughnuts would be ready and waiting by now.

  She reached for the phone. “Hey, Billy. This is Josie. I’m running behind today. When’s the latest I can get them to you?”

  “Would noon be pushing it?”

  Eyeing the clock, she did a mental calculation. “No, I can handle that. Again, I’m sorry.”

  “Bring me a cup of that Almond Toffee Crunch coffee and I’ll forgive you, Dollface.”

  “I’ll bring you a whole pot.”

  “Josie!” The alarm in Agnes’s voice sent ice through Josie’s veins.

  Hannah!

  “Billy, I gotta go.” She sprinted through the swinging kitchen door. The kitchen was empty. “Agnes? Hannah? Where are you?”

  “The storeroom. Hurry your fanny in here.”

  Josie hurried past her office to the storeroom near the back door. Her nose wrinkled against a musty, sulfur smell. Gross.

  She rounded the corner to find Agnes and Hannah staring at the ceiling. She followed their gazes. Her stomach plummeted to her toes. She groaned and slumped against the doorjamb. “Oh, no! Oh, please no. Not now. Not this.” Josie squeezed her eyes shut, counted to ten in Italian—uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque, sei, sette, otto, nove, dieci—and then opened her eyes, praying what she saw had been a mistake. Or a trick of the eyes.

  No such luck.

  A section of the ceiling in the storeroom hung down like an escape hatch. Soaked drywall, exposed beams and floor joists and dripping insulation drooped from the damaged area. Water droplets beaded along old iron plumbing pipes. Blackened puckers stretched along the seams in the upstairs apartment’s wooden floor.

  The drain in the floor gurgled as dripping water spiraled into the circular grate. Most of her baking supplies had been stored in airtight plastic containers, so at least they were spared. But looking at the gaping ceiling again, she could almost see the money flowing out of her bank account. Okay, God, a cork would be nice. So much for paying this month’s mortgage on time.

  *

  Nick grabbed his cell phone and checked the time. He hadn’t seen Josie in a while. Had she forgotten they planned to talk at 8:30, which was ten minutes ago? Maybe she was ticked because he had shown up so early, but hey, a guy can count the ceiling tiles in his hotel room only so long. Nothing good on the tube this early in the morning, anyway, so he headed in to get a cup of coffee. Besides, he had an idea to discuss with her about Hannah.

  Seeing Hannah with her nearly caused his legs to give out. The child looked more like she was six or seven than close to ten. Josie didn’t seem thrilled to see him, but what was he expecting? A hero’s welcome? A loving hug? Not going to happen. Especially since she thought he had bailed all those years ago.

  “Finished with that plate, Sugar Pie?”

  Nick looked up from scanning the Knicks score to find the same redhead who nearly slipped on the icy walk standing next to him. He smiled. “Yes, thanks.”

  She grabbed the plate and sashayed back to the kitchen. No other way to describe her walk.

  Some old guy kept giving him the evil eye. He had been minding his own business, reading the paper. Giving a mental shrug, he returned to the sports section to finish reading the highlights of last night’s game. Or at least pretend to.

  About half an hour ago, Hannah came out of the kitchen and settled at a corner table with her nose in a book. She didn’t take her eyes off the page, but Nick couldn’t keep his eyes off his daughter. The way she bit her lip reminded him of Josie. If Hannah had hair, would she twirl a curl around her finger the way her mother did?

  Maybe he could go over and talk to her.

  That would send Josie through the roof. Besides, he didn’t want to risk upsetting the child. He had to do something, though. Sitting here was driving him nuts. He folded the newspaper, set it on the counter and moved off the stool to head for the kitchen. If she didn’t come to him, he’d go to her.

  The old man who had been giving him the evil eye appeared at his side. “Mind if someone else takes a gander at the paper?”

  “Have at it.” Nick pushed it toward him.

  The man shuffled through the pages until he found what he had been looking for. “Hey, you did the crossword! In pen. I don’t believe it.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “I do the crossword. Every morning at 7:15, I get a coffee, a banana nut muffin and then do the crossword until it’s time to visit my son.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll head outside and buy you a new paper.” Nick grabbed his coat.

  “Don’t bother. No time now. The morning’s been disrupted enough.” The man shoved the paper back onto the counter.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Josie come from the kitchen. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I am sorry. I promise not to touch the crossword again. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  He strode to the counter to catch her before she pulled another disappearing act. She wasn’t hiding because of him, was she?

  She spun away from the register and pushed open the swinging door, but Nick caught her elbow. She whirled around to face him.

  “Nick.”

  “We were supposed to talk. Remember?”

  She shot a glance at the clock and then sighed. “Oh, that’s ri
ght. I’m so sorry. It’s been a crazy morning. Listen, I’m not trying to blow you off or anything, but I have a major water leak to deal with, a doughnut order to rush and then I have to take Hannah to the doctor at two. Can we talk later?”

  “Where’s her doctor?”

  “A couple of blocks from here. Dr. Kym.”

  “I have an appointment at 11:30, but I could meet you at the doctor afterward.”

  “That’s not necessary.” She cast a glance toward Hannah and then edged toward the still-open kitchen door.

  Nick gave her a pointed look. “She’s my daughter, too. Remember? I need to know what’s going on with her.”

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the kitchen. “I haven’t had time to tell Hannah about you. You can’t just show up as some random guy. And I’m not going to introduce you in the doctor’s office. You’re bound to be a shock to her.”

  As much as he hated to admit it, Josie made sense. He remembered last night’s stunned feeling when he learned he had a daughter. How would the kid feel once she learned dear old dad finally showed up? “All right, then. How about if the three of us go to dinner?”

  “Can’t.” Josie picked up a rag and wiped crumbs off the counter.

  Nick crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “You want me to get tested, but you don’t want me to be a part of her life?”

  With her back to him, she rinsed the dishcloth in the sink. “No, it’s not that at all. My family is coming to dinner tonight. Hannah can’t be around a lot of people right now with her immune system being so weak. I risked her health by bringing her into the shop this morning, but I had no choice.”

  “What happened?”

  She turned around. “I overslept. My grandfather had an appointment today and won’t be home until dinner. My stepsister is coming to pick up Hannah. Because of the water leak, I don’t want her in the kitchen.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “It’s been one disaster after another.”

  “Sounds like you need a vacation.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen.” Her eyes filled with a sadness that tugged at his heart.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, but touching her was the last thing she wanted. Plus, he didn’t believe in giving false hope or meaningless platitudes because he didn’t know if everything was going to work out. From his past experience he knew how life had a way of dishing out trash no one deserved.

  Chapter Four

  If Josie had a quarter for every “if only” that popped into her brain, she’d be able to pay off the rest of Hannah’s medical bills and head south to their dream beach house on the Gulf Coast of Florida.

  She stared through the gaping hole in the bathroom floor in the upstairs apartment down to her shop. Like the one in her pocket.

  Was this how Alice felt when she peered down the rabbit hole?

  Okay, maybe not quite, but Josie had the sensation of falling into a very deep well—one not lined with Ben Franklins.

  Footprints had been tracked through the plaster dust and muddied the water-stained brown tile in the storeroom. The same dust coated the metal storage racks and plastic totes. Swollen ceiling tiles lay tossed on the floor.

  All because of a tiny…what did Harv call that little doohickey thing? She tried, she really did, to listen as her contractor explained the plumbing problem in lingo she could understand. He was the expert, after all. But her thoughts kept returning to the cost to fix the mess. Not to mention the stench pickled her brain.

  If only she hadn’t forgotten to call Harv to fix that leaky toilet when her previous tenant had mentioned it. But once Hannah’s leukemia returned, everything else dropped on her priority list. If only… No, she wasn’t going there. She didn’t have time for pity parties. Especially when Hannah had it so much worse.

  “Josie, did you hear what I said?”

  Josie swung her gaze to Harv, who stood next to Ian James, her insurance man. Both men wore grim expressions that did little to soothe the ache in her stomach. “I’m sorry, Harv. I disappeared down a rabbit hole.”

  “Climb back out, Alice. We have some figures to discuss.” The creases around his eyes deepened as he winked at her. He tugged his John Deere baseball hat out of his back pocket and plopped it on top of his balding head.

  Josie jerked her head toward the door. “Let’s go downstairs. I’ll get you guys some coffee.”

  Ian held the door for them. “Say, Josie. Is Agnes working?”

  As Josie passed by him, she took in his black suit, white creaseless shirt, shiny shoes and trimmed hair. “Yes, Ian, but roll up your tongue. She doesn’t need another man in her life right now.”

  “When did you become her mother?” he muttered, following her down the stairs.

  “After I cleaned up the train wreck of her marriage. You saw what that jerk did to her.” Josie opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. A late-winter breeze whisked across her cheeks.

  “Josie, chill. I’m not going to cheat on her. I just want to take her to dinner.”

  Entering the coffee shop, Josie sniffed the scent of freshly baked blueberry cobbler. Her stomach growled. “Everyone’s charming on the first date, aren’t they?”

  “When did you become so cynical?” He smoothed a hand over his hair.

  Josie opened her mouth and then shut it. No need to yank those skeletons from her closet. Shelby Lake was her fresh start.

  She gentled her voice and placed a hand on his arm. “Listen, Ian, you’re a great guy, but take it slow, okay? Agnes looks like she has it all together, but her heart is pieced together with Scotch Tape.”

  Ian pocketed his Clark Kent glasses and stared over her shoulder a minute. Then he pulled his gaze back to meet hers. He touched the tip of her nose. “Are you sure you’re still talking about Agnes?”

  “Positive. Find a table. I need to pull cobbler out of the oven.” Before he had a chance to protest, Josie whirled away from him.

  Crazy talk.

  Her heart was just fine, thank you very much.

  Besides, she and Agnes looked out for each other. That’s what friends did.

  She pushed through the kitchen door and knocked heads with Agnes. So much for looking out for her.

  “Sugar Pie, where’s the fire?” Agnes rubbed the right side of her forehead.

  Josie sniffed back sudden tears as she scrunched her throbbing eye closed. “Sorry, Aggie. I didn’t see you.”

  Agnes primped her curls. “And here, I thought I made my hair extra high this morning. Figured you could’ve seen it through the window.”

  “Yeah, if I was looking for Texas-size hair.”

  “How’d it go upstairs?”

  “Ugh.” Josie gloved her hands with pink pig oven mitts and pulled open the oven door. Heat pressed against her face and neck. She pulled out a bubbling blueberry cobbler and set it on top of the stove.

  “That good, huh?”

  Josie slapped the mitts next to the dessert, crossed her arms and leaned one hip against the counter. “Am I a terrible person who deserves all of this grief? Doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Life doesn’t play fair, Sugar Pie. This ain’t about you, so don’t go taking this on yourself. You’re doing the best you can with what you’ve got.”

  “If I had the toilet fixed when Beatrice mentioned it, we wouldn’t be in this mess. A lousy two-dollar part would’ve saved me thousands. What sort of responsible business owner am I?”

  Agnes grabbed Josie’s arms and squeezed gently. “The kind who is trying to do everything and be everything to everyone. Cut yourself some slack.”

  “If only—”

  “No ‘if onlys’ about it. You could waste forever on shoulda woulda coulda. Yesterday is all gone, thank you. Instead, focus on what you’re going to do now to fix it. That’s what matters. None of us expected this to happen.”

  Ian poked in his head in the kitchen. “Josie, Harv had a call and left. He said he’ll s
top back in later, but he left an estimate. And I need to head back to the office.”

  “I’m coming now.” With Agnes on her heels, Josie followed him to the dining room table where Ian had his computer tablet and a yellow legal pad spread out.

  Ian handed her an invoice. “This is Harv’s estimate. He’ll go over it with you later.”

  Josie’s eyes widened at the number of zeroes to the left of the decimal point. She glanced at Agnes and Ian. “Twenty thousand? Seriously?”

  Ian guided her to the chair and forced her to sit. He took one beside her. “Don’t worry, Josie. The insurance should cover it.”

  “Should?” Her voice squeaked. “It has to.”

  “Normally, yes, but in cases of neglect, things get a little dicey.”

  She gripped the edge of the paper. “Do you know how many cancer treatments twenty thousand will buy?” Not to mention, it could go a long way toward her growing pile of co-pays and medical bills. She couldn’t afford to waste it on a stupid toilet problem.

  Agnes set a steaming cup of tea in front of Josie. “Drink, Sugar Pie.”

  She cupped her hands around the mug, breathed in herbal mint and blinked back tears. “I can’t afford this, Aggie. I could sell the shop, but then I’ll lose Hannah’s insurance.”

  Agnes pulled out a chair and sat opposite of Ian, sandwiching his hands between her own. “Ian James, you know as well as I do that Josie has been spending every possible minute with her daughter, taking her to the doctor and chemo treatments and keeping this place running.”

  “Of course, Agnes.” The tips of his ears turned crimson.

  “Don’t seem to me that it’s neglect if she simply hasn’t had time to attend to it. Why, that’s just silly. Shame on you for making this poor girl cry. As if she doesn’t have enough to worry about already. Now you be a good insurance man and file the paperwork so Josie doesn’t have to worry her pretty little head about this anymore.” She patted his cheek as if he were a six-year-old child being scolded for eating cookies before dinner.