27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Maddison
“ T he clients are not going to ring up themselves, Maddison,” Irene hisses. Even through the crackling of the phone speaker, I can hear the low thrum of anger in her voice. I have really tested her patience this time by calling out three days in a row with no doctor’s excuse. Actually, I’m pretty sure the only reason she’s let me get away with it this long is because I broke down in tears that first morning.
I’m apparently not going to get away with calling in for a fourth day.
Finally pulling myself out of bed, I listen to Irene berate me for a few minutes before telling her I’ll be there—late—but I’ll be there. She begins to berate me some more, but I hang up on her.
I grimace when I spot my reflection in the mirror: dark circles under red, swollen eyes, tangled hair, and rumpled clothes. After a quick shower and a lot of make-up, I look almost presentable. With a tiny smirk, I break one of Irene’s cardinal rules by donning a pair of flats instead of the high-heels she insists we torture ourselves with.
Locking Hazel’s front door behind me, I grab a flier for a vacant apartment in the lobby and speed walk to my car. But of course, I hit every traffic light on my way to work and get stuck behind a car going well under the speed limit.
As I make my way inside the sickly sweet-scented store, Irene murmurs something derogatory about my work ethic. I pretend not to hear her, instead winking at Hazel as she eyeballs my shoes with a delightful smirk. She squeezes my shoulder as I slide past her and take my place at the next register. I catch her glancing over occasionally as we work, giving me concerned expressions. But to her credit, she doesn’t ask if I’m okay. She knows I’m not.
I’m heartbroken.
I miss him so much that it physically hurts.
And I’m tired of crying. Each day I wake up thinking that maybe today is the day the tears will stop coming. And each day, I’m wrong.
“Don’t you think this garden statue sort of looks like a cock? What’s it supposed to be?” The crass, yet familiar, voice jerks me out of my heavy thoughts and my head snaps up. I’ve only met the elderly woman once, but she’s not an easy person to forget.
“Mary, what are you doing here…?”
She glances around before giving me a pointed look. “Well, I’m not shopping for cock statues.” She waves it in front of me, and my cheeks flush. Jesus, it does look a little vulgar. “Seriously, what is it?”
I tilt my head. “I think it’s a frog.”
She shrugs. “I’ll take it. It’ll give the homeowner’s association a shock.”
With a derisive snort, I ring it up and carefully wrap the fragile statue in bubble wrap.
Mary clears her throat. “Your parents…they were Grace and John Raddix, weren’t they?”
My fingers slip and I fumble to catch the garden statue before it falls to the floor and shatters. My pulse kicks up a notch. “Uh…yes, they were. How did you know?”
“I knew them, dear. They did several custom ordered furniture pieces for me.” Looking around the store again, she grimaces. “Since they’ve been gone, this is the closest furniture store we have to Cedarwood Valley, unfortunately.”
I suck in a deep breath. “I’m sorry if we met before and I didn’t remember you.”
She waves a dismissive hand, her eyes roaming over my face like she’s remembering something. “We didn’t. I prefer to do my shopping in the mornings, so you would have been in school. I had lunch with them once, too.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Mary is a bit of a social butterfly, after all. “Here’s your receipt,” I mumble, handing it over along with the bag I put her purchase in. I wonder if she knows about Jax and me, and if she pities me now. I hate the thought.
She takes the bag but makes no move to leave. “They were going to leave their business to you,” she says softly.
“What?” My heart does a funny little flip before settling back into its regular rhythm.
“They said you had a natural talent for it, and when they talked about you, it was clear they were really proud.” She clears her throat, a suspiciously light sheen in her eyes.
I stare at her, my head spinning. They were going to leave the business to me…before everything went to hell. Before they wrecked their car and left me all alone, with only my cold aunt for guidance. I wouldn’t have been ready to run a business that young, but the information still makes my stomach burn. My aunt sold off every piece of their livelihood, never uttering a word to me. I had been so young, not enough life experience to realize I could object. And too damn grief stricken to try.
“I never really got over their deaths. Not completely anyway.” The whispered confession tumbles out of my mouth, and I don’t know why. Maybe because her own eyes are full of unshed tears or maybe because of the urge I have to grasp onto any connection to my parents. Or maybe because she seems like the least judgmental person I’ve ever met.
She smiles gently. “They would want you to move on, to get whatever closure you need. The only thing they ever wanted for you was a happy, fulfilling life—whatever that looks like.”
I lick my dry, trembling lips. “How do I do that?”
She releases a long, breathy sigh. “Only you can answer that question, but sometimes we have to revisit the past so we can move onto a better future. Just something to think about, dear.”
I stare at her vacated spot long after she leaves, turning her words over in my mind.
I know what I have to do. I’ve been avoiding it for years now.