11. Sam
CHAPTER 11
SAM
W e were out of milk. Low on cereal, too. I checked the breadbox, down to the dog-ends, and plucked the shopping list off the fridge.
Lana had left at daybreak with Alice, off to the mainland to pick up our flyers. She could’ve had them sent over and saved the trip, but she said she’d rather save on the shipping. I suspected what she really wanted was a day out with Alice. An excuse to just drive and enjoy the fresh air. The two of them had spent days packing up the display floor, loading books into boxes and lugging them out. Some, they’d brought upstairs. Some, Alice was storing. Mrs. Schneiderman had volunteered her attic for the rest. Lana had come home aching from all the stairs, and collapsed into bed too weary for dinner.
I had the day off from Rex’s, waiting for some more lumber, so I scanned through the shopping list, then checked the cupboards. I added a few items we’d be short on soon, then I headed for the market — not the fancy one for the summer crowd, but the one Lana shopped at. They’d have the brands she liked. I’d noted them all. It felt important I did this right.
I picked out her orange juice (store brand, no pulp) and her grapes (red, seedless). Her bread (brown for toasting, white for sandwiches). I was hunting for pasta when I heard my name called.
“Brad? Yoo-hoo, Brad!”
I turned around, smiling. “Oh, hello, Dora.”
“The deck’s looking great,” she said. “What you’ve fixed up so far.”
“Just the side to go now, and the steps around back. Then I’ll be done with all the banging.”
Dora flapped her hand at me. “Never mind the banging. I came down the front steps today and no creak. No wobble. I didn’t fear for my life for the first time in months.”
“Glad to help out.” I pulled my cart toward me, out of the aisle. “Am I in your way?”
“No, not at all.” She plucked a pack of spaghetti, then frowned. Grabbed two more. “The way we go through this stuff, might as well stock up.”
I took a pack, too, and one of macaroni. Dora peered in my cart.
“Looks like Lana’s list.”
I looked down at my cart, embarrassed for no reason. “Yeah, some of it. We’ve been sharing a lot of meals, so I figured…”
Dora was nodding, her eyes gone all twinkly. “Cathy saw you two the other night, out on a date.”
I half-choked. “A date?”
“Dancing at Belden’s. Wasn’t that you?”
“Well, yes, but…” I didn’t know what to say. I could guess how that had looked, me dancing with Lana. It had felt that way, too. Cozy. Romantic. Enchanted, even, when she’d looked up and smiled. It would’ve been the most natural thing to lean down and kiss her, but that would be stupid, right? A bad idea. “We were too tired to cook.” I said. “And Belden’s is close.”
“But not too tired for dancing.” Dora’s lips quirked up. “It’s been a long time since she’s had any fun. I’d say you’re good for her, someone steady, her own age.”
“Well, I, uh?—”
“Oh, look at me, marrying you off already!” She patted my arm. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just an old lady. But you have to admit, you’d make a beautiful couple.”
“Thank you,” I said. What else could I say?
“Don’t worry. I’ll let you get on with your shopping. But tell Lana hello for me. We’re thinking of her.” Dora bustled off, pushing her cart. I hurried to get through the rest of my list. The checkout lady winked at me, and I wondered, had she heard? Had the whole town heard I took Lana dancing? Were they “shipping” us now? Was that what was happening?
I shook my head, trudging back to our place. People would think what they wanted to think. No need for things to get awkward with Lana. We’d ignore the gossip, and in time, it would fade. I put our groceries away and took out the garbage, then came back up and surveyed the apartment. I’d spotted a few small repairs needing done, and now, looking closer, I found a few more. A hook for a hanging plant loose on the ceiling. Plaster crumbling away around a light fixture. A table full of trinkets with one shaky leg. I decided to start there, to avert disaster. One bump to that table leg, and the whole thing could topple.
I fetched my tools from my room and set to clearing the table, moving a little music box. A pink china dog. An old-looking postcard in a brass frame. I wondered how many of these things were Lana’s, and how many had once belonged to her mother.
I was sanding the table leg, ready to reglue it, when I felt my phone buzz in my back pocket.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, accepting the call.
“Sam,” he said. It came out harsh. Stiff. Or maybe it just felt strange hearing my real name.
I cleared my throat. “So, what’s going on?”
“I’m calling to ask you that. Anything to report?” Not how are you or I’ve missed you. Just anything to report?
I told him about Lana. About Rex’s deck. How people here knew me now, to wave on the street. When I was done, Dad didn’t respond. I could hear him sucking his teeth.
“Dad?”
“I thought I was clear,” he said with a sigh. “When I said ‘make it in the real world,’ I meant go forth and prosper. Build something. Be someone. Not?—”
“Dad.”
“Not gad about with women and, what? Fix decks? Manual labor. Where is this heading?”
I ground my teeth, biting back my instinctive response.
“Well? Is that your big plan? Some kind of handyman for the island elite?”
I nearly laughed at the notion of Rex as “island elite,” not at the thought of him being someone who mattered, but at the thought of him being someone who cared . Someone who’d ever need that sort of label.
“I’m not a handyman,” I said, when I’d recovered my temper. “And I’m not gadding about . I mentioned Lana because her business is failing. Because I’m here, in a position to help. My plan is to do for her what we’ve done for dozens of brands: restructure. Rebrand. Get her into profit. I’m starting like you did, with a business in debt, and building it into something successful. It’s a chance to do your challenge and to give back.”
“Charity,” said Dad. “Not the angle I expected. But we’ll get some good press from this if you don’t louse it up.”
I ground my teeth again. I wouldn’t snap.
Dad made a weary sound. “Still, what’s with the odd jobs? Building decks, selling furniture…”
“I enjoy it.” I reached for my screwdriver and held it loosely. It felt right in my hand, as it always had. “And speaking of odd jobs, I’ve got a table needs fixing.”
I hung up, stowed my phone, and got back to my table, fixing the leg in place, buffing a few cracks. I was doing something good here. Fixing something broken. How did Dad not see that? He’d set me a pointless waste-of-time challenge, and I’d found a way to make it count. Maybe I needed to be more ambitious. Set Lana’s shop up for growth, if she wanted. Online niche markets. Lifestyle groups. Aspirational content, exclusive book clubs. A celebrity team-up with a charity angle, free books for children. Chic ones for influencers. Signed books. Meet-the-authors. Beachside launch parties.
I smacked myself on the forehead. That wasn’t Lana. All she wanted was her shop, the one her mom built. Not some tony brand. That was Dad’s angle.
I pulled my phone out again and scrolled through my contacts. I could get her money at least, speed that part along. My old roommate’s girlfriend ran a grant fund, cash for small businesses. No strings attached. Combined with the fun run, that would take off some pressure. And I’d have progress to report back to Dad.
I was about to hit the call button when reality crashed in: I was meant to be out here starting from scratch. Making my own way in the real world. Not trading on my name or my wealth. If I called my friend up, she’d do me a favor. But the point was for Brad to succeed, not Sam. And, besides, Lana could do this herself.
I smacked myself again, more forcefully this time. Of course she could do this. She needed to do this. To see that she could. Her confidence had already taken a hit, and I’d been about to swoop in like a jerk, like I didn’t believe in her. Like Dad, with me.
My eyes lit on a picture of Lana with her mom, the two of them smiling, sitting out on the beach. She’d been through so much already, losing her mom, and now I was dragging her into my family drama. What was it I’d said to Dad? My plan is to do for her what we’ve done for dozens of brands: restructure. Rebrand. Get her into profit. Talking about her like she was some acquisition, some failing business we’d gobbled up. I’d felt like I was saving her, but was that true? Or was I just using her? Had I become… Dad?
I closed my eyes, swallowed, and tried to order my thoughts. They’d come loose when Dad called, all stirred up with rage. But the fact was… the fact was, Lana did need this. Her memories of her mother all lived in that shop. I could point her to the grant. Help her apply. Help her do it her way, not Dad’s or mine. That would be a good thing.
Good for us both.
My hand shook as I scrolled down to Lana’s contact. I had thought of kissing her that night at Belden’s. I’d almost done it, but I knew now I couldn’t. I was helping her, yeah, but I was using her too. And I’d lied to her right from the start. Trying to build something on that would be building on sand.
I cracked a sad smile and texted, Hey, I heard about this grant.