Chapter 2 #2
“Nina.” I grabbed her by the shoulders and held her steady. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.”
“How?”
I let go. “We have the money set aside for the furnace. We can live on that for a little while.”
“The furnace sounds like something out of a horror movie every time it turns on.”
“We’ll make it work. Even if we have to chop wood all winter and use the wood stove.”
She ran her hands up and down her face. “How are you so calm? We’re probably going to freeze.”
I rolled my eyes. “We won’t freeze.”
“I know, but this sucks.”
“What about the apartment?” I asked. Our house included a separate apartment above the detached garage we often listed as an Airbnb.
When it was full, it brought in some extra income.
“I’ve been thinking we might want to go back to renting it to long-term tenants instead of trying to capture the visitor market. ”
“I thought we made more money on the short-term rentals.”
“We do, but it’s also more work. And we haven’t had a booking for what, a month? And nothing over the holidays?” My brow furrowed, and my lips turned down in a confused frown. “Wait a minute. We always have bookings over the holidays. The listing is active, right?”
“I think so?” She didn’t sound very confident.
I got out my phone and navigated to the Airbnb dashboard.
Inactive.
“Well, that explains it.”
“What happened? Is it not listed?”
“Nope. One of us must have deactivated the listing.”
Biting her lip, she winced. “That could have been me. I probably messed it up the last time I made a change. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, accidents happen. I’ll turn it back on. Hopefully, we’ll get someone in there, at least for a weekend.”
“Fingers crossed.” She grabbed her purse off the counter. “I have to get back to work. Are you still good to pick up Annabel?”
“Yep, I’ve got her.”
“Thanks. And thanks for being the rational one. If I didn’t have you, I’d be sobbing on the floor.”
“Hey, you did a great job. Totally handled it.”
“More like Mr. Gardner took pity on me and handled it.”
“Still. We’re in this together. We’ve got this.”
She smiled and stepped in for a hug. I squeezed her tight. We were always in it together. Had been since we were kids.
“Okay, I gotta go,” she said. “If you’re on strike, the last thing we need is for me to get fired.”
“Let’s not pile more problems on this heap. Even my positivity has limits.”
A few minutes after she left, the water restoration guys came upstairs.
Explaining what they’d done to mitigate the damage, they told me the fans and dehumidifiers would need to run for at least a week to fully dry things out and make sure we didn’t wind up with mold.
The good news was, it could have been worse.
And they promised to work with our homeowner’s insurance to cover at least some of the cost.
The bad news was, I still needed a plumber before I could even flush a toilet. And I was all too aware of the fact that we’d opted for a very high deductible on said homeowner’s insurance to save money on the premiums.
“It’s fine,” I said aloud. “This is fine. There’s always a way.”
With about half an hour before I needed to leave to pick up Annabel from school, I called Jason the plumber. He could come by that afternoon, and that bit of good news lifted my spirits a little.
Fortunately, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror before I left the house again, and my reflection reminded me to swipe beneath my eyes with a makeup wipe.
I still looked tired, but that was basically who I was as a person.
And it wasn’t like I cared about impressing the people in the school pickup line at Tilikum Elementary.
When I got to the school, Annabel came running to my car, her pink-and-purple backpack bouncing up and down on her back, and she was carrying her coat instead of wearing it. Typical Annabel. She was basically allergic to coats and impervious to cold.
See, Natalie? If the furnace goes out, we’ll be fine. The kid won’t even notice.
“Hey, Anna-banana,” I said as she climbed into the back. “How was your day?”
“Good.” She untangled her arms from her backpack straps and set it on the floor at her feet. “I made something.”
“Oh yeah? What did you make?”
With a triumphant smile, she produced a red and green paper chain from her backpack and held it up. “It’s a Christmas countdown. We take a loop off the chain every day until Christmas.”
“How fun is that? I love it.”
“I ripped it a little bit, but my teacher helped me fix it.”
“It looks like it’s in great shape.” I pulled out of the pickup line and turned onto the street. “Where should we hang it?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Good idea.”
“Auntie Natalie, when are we getting a tree?”
“That’s a great question.” The cost dinged in my mind like an old-school cash register. “Maybe this weekend. We’ll ask your mom when she gets home.”
She fingered the paper chain in her lap. “Okay. Can I help decorate?”
“Of course.”
“But you get the top. I’m too small.”
“Deal. I’ll hang the ones you can’t reach.”
“Mommy, too.”
I nodded. “Yep. Mommy too.”
“Auntie Natalie?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you be home for Christmas?”
“Well… that depends on work.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Oh.”
I glanced at her and my heart nearly broke. Her lower lip protruded, and she fidgeted with her paper chain. She’d never asked about me being home for Christmas before. Until the last year or so, she’d probably been too young to really notice.
“Are you sad about that?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Why?”
She took a deep breath. “Because Mommy makes pancakes, and we have sprinkles on them.”
“That sounds yummy. And I’m sure Mommy will still make you special Christmas pancakes, even if I have to work.”
“But Mommy said you might be home this year. And we have to open presents, and eat breakfast, and watch a movie.”
I knew this wasn’t about the pancakes, or the presents, or any of the little things she associated with Christmas. It was about being together on a holiday. She was old enough for those traditions to mean something to her, and knowing she was sad that I might not be there made my chest ache.
I had a feeling the strike would still be on, so it wouldn’t matter anyway, but I had enough seniority to probably get the holiday off.
“Tell you what, kiddo. I’ll be home for Christmas this year. No matter what.”
Lifting her face, she gasped and gave me a big smile. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Promise?”
Twisting in my seat, I reached back with my pinky sticking out. “I don’t just promise. I pinky promise.”
Her mouth opened in awe. We Thatchers took our pinky promises seriously. She offered me her pinky, and I wound mine around it.
“Annabel, I pinky promise that I will be home for Christmas.”
“And we can have pancakes?”
I laughed, still holding her pinky. “You’re being very specific. But yes, I’ll be home for Christmas, and we can have pancakes.”
She nodded, and we shook pinkies on it.
That was a promise I absolutely could not break.