Chapter 50
50
C arlisle looked at her phone, her jaw clenching as the screen lit up with Simon’s message.
— Can you keep Kitten until Wednesday evening?
— Of course
She replied immediately, even though her muscles were tense and she was still mad. Maybe she shouldn't have told Darcy that she could sell her work, but it was true. Darcy was far more talented than Simon let on.
Still, Carlisle had hope. Taking a deep breath and reminding herself she didn’t want to burn bridges with this man she loved, she messaged back.
— Did you find Darcy?
— Yes
Immediately, she breathed out a long sigh and added, — Is she okay?
— Yes, she will be.
Even though she was mad at his short answers and for not telling her they’d found his sister, Carlisle added — I'm so glad that you found her. I hope you all feel better now.
Though she stared at her phone, no reply came. No notice that he was typing or anything. Her hands clenched around the device and, if she were stronger, she would have crushed it in her grip.
Why wasn't she allowed to speak to his sister? Why wasn't she allowed to say hey, your artwork is so good. You could sell it!
Darcy was an adult. Lots of adults lived with even severe bipolar disorder and had productive lives. Darcy might need something to make sure she took her meds constantly. Carlisle understood when people were up, when they felt better, it was so easy, so tempting, to think that they didn't need their medication. It felt good to chase the highs. And given Simon’s description, Darcy might need to feel that she was finally herself again.
But Darcy had a marketable skill. She had artwork that at least Carlisle and Emma Kate and even Charlie believed the world would want to enjoy. Yet Simon and his mother seemed committed to hiding Darcy away. They seemed to believe she could only be safe if she was under lock and key. Hell, why couldn’t his mother sell Darcy’s artwork?
Carlisle worked to relax. Unclenching her jaw was difficult when she was still furious at him. She’d been trying to help. She hadn’t told Darcy anything stupid. She was a nurse, for God’s sake.
Something bumped against her leg. Kitten. Leaning down, she stroked the soft little head but even as she did it, her mouth turned down at the corners again. Her eyes squeezed and tears ran down her face.
This might be the last time she got to see Kitten. On Wednesday night, Simon would pick her up and take her home.
“Two more days,” she told the tiny cat. If Simon was paying attention, he would see that Kitten had grown a bit while he was gone.
Carlisle needed to go out to the garage and pack more boxes. Her car didn’t hold as many of the packages as her father’s truck did. When she was working alone, she had to do smaller batches and run to the post office twice as often. She reminded herself it was a good problem to have. Plus, it would keep her mind off Simon.
She wanted to take Kitten out with her. The little puff ball would love playing in the big empty boxes. But if she pulled the doors shut it would get stuffy and she didn't want Kitten to be able to run loose. She didn't want to lose Simon's cat after all of this.
She played with the ribbon for a few minutes, waited until kitten was exhausted, and then headed out to pack more orders. When her phone rang, she was grateful to see it was Jane.
“Hey, are you feeling any better?” Jane asked. She'd been updated on everything. Well, almost everything.
“They found Darcy and he's coming home Wednesday night.”
There was a pause. “Is he still mad at you?”
Carlisle knew Jane would be glad that Darcy was found, but her primary concern was always Carlisle. It felt good to have someone on her side right now. “He's collecting Kitten when he gets in. Other than that, I don't think he's speaking to me.”
“That's on him,” Jane said, her voice tight with anger. “I'm so sorry. I get that things with his sister are not good, but he's got no right to blame you!”
Carlisle shrugged even though Jane couldn’t see, but she couldn’t speak as she felt the tears falling again. Wiping them away with the back of her hand, she reminded herself there was only so much she could do. It was up to Simon.
Jane graciously changed the subject. “How many of the kits are still in your garage?”
“I think we’ve sold maybe a third of them?” Carlisle turned and checked. Charlie had been breaking down boxes as they went, driving the cardboard to the edge of town, to the recycling center. “Yes, about a third. Do you need to unload some of yours over here?”
“No, I was trying to calculate when we would need to reorder.”
Carlisle didn't know if they would. That deflated her, too.
Simon hated her. She wasn’t going to get to see Kitten again after a few days. She told Jane, “I think we'll have to find another way to advertise. The interviews are good, but we need to go bigger, I think.”
“Agreed. So I got a call from this car supply company . . .” Jane started. They were nurses, not business majors. “They want a thousand units for their booth at a conference. We just have to work out our wholesale price.”
“What?” Carlisle blinked. “That’s fantastic.”
“It’s great once. The question is: can we make it happen again?” Jane tempered, then she changed direction again. “I think I'm going to rent out the little apartment over the garage.”
Carlisle remembered when Jane and Joe had built it several years ago. It was originally for one of Joe's friends who needed a place to stay. Jane had followed Joe’s lead and agreed that it was an investment until Joe decided he didn’t want to rent it out.
“Let me know if you know anyone who needs a place.” Jane sounded wistful.
“We’ve reached the point where you need to rent out the apartment, huh?” Carlisle asked.
“No, actually we haven’t. And not if we can sell more of these big batches! It just seems like a good idea to hedge our bets.”
They talked for a few more minutes, brainstorming wholesale pricing and a handful of probably bad ideas about how to grow their sales. They agreed they weren't ready for television commercials or any such thing.
Carlisle tossed out her dumbest idea yet. “Maybe we should go on that TV show and get the rich people to invest.”
“I don't think we're ready for that either.” At least it had made Jane laugh. Carlisle joined in as she imagined the two of them in matching T-shirts, trying to excitedly pitch their little kit to the bigwigs.
“Our usual lunch Thursday?” Jane asked.
Carlisle immediately agreed. She would hand Kitten back to Simon on Wednesday night and if he was just as cold in person, she would need Jane’s consolation the next day.
After hanging up, she worked for a few hours, packing as many boxes as she could. Then she stacked them all into her car—into the back seat, the footwells, the trunk, even the passenger seat. All that was left was driving them down to the post office.
Afterwards, she headed home, made herself a dinner that she saved half of in the freezer, because there was no Simon to eat the other part of it. Then she played with his cat and wondered if he was going to be mad at her forever.