9. Sam
CHAPTER 9
SAM
“ H ow do you know how to do all this stuff?”
I looked up from where I was sanding a floorboard, getting it to fit right so it would stop squeaking. Lana was standing over me with an armful of laundry, her pretty brows drawn into half a frown. I smiled up at her.
“What, home repairs?”
“No, running a business.” She tossed her laundry in the basket and leaned in the doorway. “You have so many ideas I can hardly keep up. Like you’ve done this a million times, like it’s all second nature.”
I hid a frown. I’d been afraid of this happening, my ease in the business sphere arousing suspicion. But it was second nature. It was my whole life. Rebuilding, rebranding, I did it every day. When I saw some little change that could save Lana money, or pull in new customers, what could I do?
“I was just worried…” Lana shifted foot to foot. “I’ve heard you up late at night, and I thought maybe… You’re not losing sleep over my problems, are you? Staying up late to research this stuff?”
I laughed. So that was it. She was worried, was all. And here, I’d been thinking my cover was blown. “I’m a night owl,” I said. “I’m always up late. And as far as my business sense, remember my dad? Remember I mentioned how pushy he gets? He drilled it all into me, how he ran his store. So, yeah, I know stuff, but I’m not losing sleep over it.”
Lana seemed to relax at that, but guilt pricked my heart. I’d been telling myself I wasn’t lying , exactly, just picking and choosing which truths to reveal. But I didn’t know much about Dad’s old store. I’d never seen it or been there, or worked there weekends. By the time I was old enough, that store’d been a whole lifestyle brand — resorts, TV stations, even fashion lines — all built on the back of Dad’s hardware empire. What I’d told Lana was related to the truth in about the same way as a cat to a lion.
“I’d hate to put you out,” she said. “You’re here to relax and I’ve got you—” She broke off abruptly at a knock at the door. “Sorry. One second.”
I tried not to eavesdrop, at least at first. I was up to my neck in Lana’s business. I didn’t need to intrude on her personal life. So I swept up my sawdust and set the board back in place, put my tools in their box, and was Lana’s voice rising?
I stood and saw Gareth out on the steps, the local builder who’d been helping downstairs. I could see from his posture he came bearing bad news, head down, shoulders slumped. Not meeting Lana’s eyes.
“How bad is it?” she said.
“That’s the thing, I don’t know yet. I’ll need to get Francis back, and an electrician.”
“And it can’t wait? At least till fall?” Lana’s voice shook, threatening to break. Gareth studied his feet, hands deep in his pockets.
“It wouldn’t be safe,” he said. “You’ve got exposed wires and a room full of paper. One spark?—”
“Oh, God…”
“I’ll get someone in as fast as I can. Monday at the latest, but I’ll try for this week.”
Lana made a choked sound. Swung her head side to side. “How are you only finding this now? Didn’t you say before it was just the one wall?”
“I thought it was.” Gareth scratched at his chin. “But I saw today you had a loose socket cover, and when I went to fix it, the drywall just crumbled. And that’s when I saw you had more leaks, and that led to the wiring. I’m so sorry.”
“And how much will all this cost?”
I straightened up, cleared my throat to make sure Gareth saw me. Our eyes met and he reddened and looked away.
“I can’t tell you,” he said. “I’d need to get in there to see how far the rot goes. And your electrical problems, I can’t speak to that. But Francis’ll do you a deal on the plumbing. You’ll get the family rate, so?—”
“So, hundreds? Thousands?” Lana’s voice had gone brittle, thin with despair.
“Probably thousands, but?—”
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Lana was trembling. I wanted to go to her and pull her close. Put my arms around her and tell her, don’t worry. Tell her I’d pay for it, and it would be fine.
“Listen, I’ll do your repainting for free. I do signs as well, so I’ll throw that in too. I noticed your sign out front, it’s kind of peeling.”
“And how long… How long will all of this take?”
Gareth swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple jumped. “Again, I’m not sure, but I’d say a few weeks? Two weeks at the quickest, or maybe three?”
The sound Lana made wasn’t quite a sob. It was more of a sigh, ragged and deep, uprooted from somewhere deep in her guts. She pressed her hands to her face, inhaled, exhaled. Then she dropped her hands and shook her head briskly.
“All right,” she said. “Call whoever you need to. I’ve got to, uh…” She glanced past Gareth, then back at me, but her gaze passed straight through me, glassy with panic. “I have to go. I have to go shopping.” She snatched her purse off its hook by the door, slipped her feet into two different shoes. Then she was bounding pell-mell down the stairs. Gareth started after her, but I barreled past him.
“I’ll go,” I said.
“Is she okay?”
I didn’t know the answer to that, but my best guess was no. She wasn’t, at all. I raced to catch up to her, but Lana was sprinting, her purse swinging wildly as she dashed down the street. Mrs. Schneiderman stuck her head out as she tore round the corner.
“Where’s she off to in such a hurry?”
“The beach,” I called, waving. No time to chat. I chased Lana off the main street, across wide tree-lined lanes, and from there down the wooded trail to the beach.
“Lana! Hey, wait!”
She ran under the trees, not slowing or stopping, the dappled light chasing through her streaming hair. She half-tripped on a fat root and lost a shoe, and snatched it up and ran on even faster.
“Lana, stop!”
She burst out of the woods rushing full-tilt, nearly colliding with an overturned beach chair. I thought she’d stop then, but she kicked it aside.
“Lana, hey!”
She was flying, feet pounding, kicking up sand. Heading straight for the water. She’d have to stop there, I thought, but she didn’t. She kicked off her other shoe and stormed in knee-deep, and stood in the gentle waves, hands in her hair.
“Oh, oh,” she said, when I came up behind her. It took everything I had not to slip my arms around her. I wanted, I needed to do something. To save her. To be the one to protect her from the incoming tide. But we’d only just met, and I’d lied from the start. I took a deep breath.
“It’s okay,” I said, the stupidest thing to say. It wasn’t okay. Any fool could see that. Lana didn’t reply, and stood breathing hard. I edged a bit closer and tried again. “I mean, it’s not okay now, but it will be. It will.”
Lana made a broken sound and still didn’t speak.
“Tell me what you need. How can I help?”
“A miracle,” she whispered. “A damn miracle.”
I moved a step closer, into the waves. Lana stiffened and hugged herself, and I stepped back.
“You don’t get it,” she said. “This is… the end.” She gulped and sniffled. Looked up at the sky. “We have eight hundred people here October to May. Over the summer, that swells to twelve thousand. I do all my business now. Like, right now ’s the rush. I can’t miss half the season and stay afloat.”
I stood in the wet sand, debating what to say. I could tell her the truth, tell her I’d pay. But would she let me? I wasn’t so sure. It didn’t even sit right with her to lean on her neighbors, people she’d known probably all her life. Would she say yes to a check from a stranger? Worse than a stranger — a lodger who’d lied?
“I’m breaking Mom’s heart.” Lana’s voice shook. A lump rose in my own throat, and I swallowed it down.
“Listen, your business isn’t just the shop.”
“What?” Lana whirled, and now she looked angry. “What are you talking about, not just the shop? That shop was her life’s work. Her heart and her soul. She loved that place. What are you saying?”
I held up my hands to show I meant no harm. “That’s not what I’m saying. It’s a beautiful place. I love all the roses. I could see spending hours in there browsing and reading. But?—”
“But? There is no but!”
“But it’s like you said back at Hidden Beach,” I said, talking fast. “You said it was a haven. A community hub. It brought people together. Well, you can still do that. You can do it and raise money while you get your repairs.”
Lana sniffed, then her eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
“You can do a fundraiser.”
“A fundraiser? Like, beg?”
“No, not like that.” I pushed on. This felt right, if only she’d hear me. “What I’m saying is, you do something that brings people together. This is a fit town. Joggers for miles. So you do a fun run. You get sponsorships. People can support you doing what they already do, doing what they love to do for a business they love.”
Lana was staring. I kept going, on a roll now.
“You’d do a short run, a five-K, and end up on the beach. Have a picnic there waiting for the runners, the town. You’ll show everyone a good time, then announce your grand relaunch.”
“You think people would come to that?”
I moved closer again. This time, she didn’t flinch. “I know they would. The locals will come out because it’s their bookshop. And because it’s you, and they love you. I’ll wager some summer folk will come out as well, to feel like they belong here. Like they’re part of the town.”
“And because they’re rich. They need to seem generous.”
It was my turn to flinch, at least inwardly. Dad was a big fan of charity — the loud kind, the public kind, that got him good press. But Lana was right. We could play into that.
“We can do this,” I said. “I’ll help organize.”
Lana sniffed, dabbed her eyes. She stood up straighter. “It’s okay. You don’t have to. I’ve taken enough of your time.”
“You’re not taking. I’m offering. And I love a good run.”
“I guess you do, chasing me all this way.” Lana managed a dry, shaky laugh. “But I don’t know about all this ‘grand relaunch’ stuff. If I call it that, won’t people expect… fireworks?”
“Not in a bookshop.” I tipped her a wink, and her laughter was real this time.
“Not literal fireworks. You know what I mean. Something besides just the same old bookstore.”
I reached out without thinking and clasped both her hands. “No. You don’t need to change what was working. The relaunch is more about… getting the word out. Not for the locals. They know who you are. But the tourists go home and forget what all’s here, so this is for them. It’s a reminder.”
“We did used to do that,” Lana said. “We’d rent a bazaar stall. Pass out flyers. We had face-painting one year, y’know, for the kids. Not last year, though, because of…” She sighed. “I stopped doing our newsletter. I should’ve kept up with that.”
“Don’t beat yourself up.” I squeezed her hands, then let go. “You needed a break, but you’re back now. You’ve got this.”
“I’ve got this,” she echoed, soft and unsure.
“Say it like you mean it.”
“I’ve got this. I’ve got this.” She spun on her heel and shouted to the ocean. “You hear me? I’ve got this!”
The ocean snatched her left shoe and bore it out on a wave. We both laughed and chased it, and I grabbed it back.
“Got this, too,” I said, and she smiled like a sunrise.