13. Sam
CHAPTER 13
SAM
L ana was shredding a stray fun-run flyer, tearing it into strips that piled up on the table. She didn’t seem to notice what she was doing, staring distractedly out at the rain. I sat down across from her and cracked a smile.
“Breakfast?”
“Huh?” Lana glanced down at her drift of torn paper. She swept it into her hand and crumpled it up. “What will we do if it rains for the fun run?”
“We can run in the rain. People run in all weather.”
“But then there’s the party. The picnic on the beach. We don’t have a venue for if it rains. I can’t even think of one that’d fit all those people. Assuming anyone actually comes.” She stood. Tossed her paper wad into the trash. “What if it’s just the two of us and, like, Mrs. Schneiderman? And Wiener, I guess, but he can’t collect sponsors.” Now she was pacing, striding up and down. Scowling out the window at the gray, looming sky.
“We handed out more sponsor sheets than us and Mrs. Schneiderman.”
“But people will take anything and throw it away.” She frowned at the coffee maker like it had offended her. “The plumber cost a fortune, and now the electrician. Wait, did you ask me— Did you want breakfast?”
“Why don’t you sit, and I’ll make it?” I got up and offered my chair. Lana sat down and reached for another flyer. She started to rip it, then pushed it away. She didn’t look like she’d slept much, pale, hollow-eyed. Her hair was off-kilter, up in a scrunchie. I thought it looked cute that way, but didn’t dare say so. The mood she was in, she might just explode.
“Sorry,” she said, and breathed a deep sigh. “I was up all night listening to the rain on the roof. Would you believe I once found that soothing? Now all I can think of is water damage.”
I got out milk and eggs, cinnamon, vanilla. The makings of French toast. Hot comfort food.
“You’re nervous,” I said. “More than before.” I cracked the eggs, poured the milk, hoping to soothe her. Hoping she’d take comfort in the mundane. Lana stared through me, hardly seeming to see me.
“Is it the interview? For your grant?”
Lana’s eyes sharpened. She bit her lip. “Would you believe I’ve never done one?”
“An interview?”
“I only ever worked here.” She motioned downstairs. “I didn’t interview for that, because why would I? What’s Mom going to do, hate me? Not hire me?”
I tossed some bread in the pan and pressed it down to make it sizzle. “You never did college interviews? Or for a bank loan?”
Lana shook her head. “Not college, no. They just let me in. And I never went for a bank loan. Mom did all that.”
I sprinkled more cinnamon and a dash of brown sugar. “I could help you practice. I’ve done these a lot.” Usually on the other side of the table, me asking the questions. But Lana didn’t need to know that.
“Don’t you have to work today?”
“No. I’m all yours.”
“Then, yeah. Let’s practice. I’m going nuts. I was watching these videos, you know, online, how to do interviews. But they were all different. One said go in and say something nice. Compliment the interviewer, like ‘hey, nice office.’ The next one was all ‘no! Don’t suck up!’”
“They’re both wrong,” I said. “You need to read the room. Whatever the vibe is, you play to that.” I dished up her first slice and doused it with syrup. Lana seemed to relax as I set out her plate. “Don’t worry. It sounds hard, but it won’t be for you. You get along with everyone. That’s half the battle.”
We ate our French toast and watched the rain patter down, and when we were done, I cleared the table. I moved my chair across from Lana’s and motioned her to stand.
“Go out and come in again, and we’ll practice. I’ll hit you with questions they’ll probably ask.”
Lana went out, but she didn’t come in again. I heard her in her bedroom, rustling around. Three minutes ticked by, then five, then seven. I was about to go after her when her door creaked open. Her heels clicked on the hardwood, and then she appeared. She’d changed into a skirt suit, a little outdated, but its bottle green color brought out her eyes. Her hair was combed smooth and up in a bun, and she seemed taller in her high heels.
“I thought I’d, uh, better change,” she said. “To make it feel real.”
“So introduce yourself as if it was real.”
“Hello,” she said. “I mean, good to meet you. Uh, thanks for inviting me. For the interview.” She leaned across the table. Reached for my hand.
“Don’t go for a handshake over a table. Not unless the interviewer reaches out first.”
Lana’s cheeks reddened. “I screwed up already!”
“No, no you didn’t. It’s just a bit awkward. And if you do screw up, smile and keep going. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s how you handle them that counts.” I cleared my throat and got into character. “Now, ah, Miss Staley?—”
“Stamey!”
I glowered at her over imaginary glasses. “So, tell me. What makes your business stand out?”
“Well, we— uh, I… We’ve been in business thirty-five years, and our reputation is… We’re known for excellence in customer care. For community-building. For?—”
“I read all that in your business plan. What else can you tell me?”
Lana opened her mouth, closed it, and her hand fluttered up. She reached for her hair, trying to fidget, but it was tied up. She let her hand drop.
“I want to… expand, maybe?”
“Well, do you or don’t you?”
“I mean, I do. Before Mom died, she— We were talking about going online with our book club. Maybe getting into, have you heard of BookTok? We thought we’d do that, and maybe a podcast, where we invite authors and readers and talk about books. We thought?—”
“And how would you market your BookTok? Your podcast?”
Lana flapped. “I don’t know! We’d only just started. I don’t even know if I want to do that. You just, how you’re staring, you’ve got me all flustered.”
I dropped my Dad impression, seeing I’d upset her. “Sorry. I was going for the worst-case scenario. But the people behind this grant won’t go full jackass.”
Lana covered her face. “How do you know that?”
Because I know them. Went to college with their founder.
“Because I read up on them. They’re?—”
“Why didn’t I do that?” Lana gripped at her hair. A loose lock fell out and stuck off at an angle. I stood and went to her and lowered her hands to her sides.
“Because, hey. Hey, look at me. Open your eyes.”
Lana opened her eyes, and I saw they were glistening. I offered her my gentlest, most soothing smile.
“Because this is your first time. You’ve never done this before. This isn’t an instinctive thing like how to be nice. You learn from experience, and that’s what we’re doing. Getting you some experience so you’re prepared.”
Lana brushed her thumbs under her eyes. She blinked twice fast and managed a smile. “Guess I blew that, then. Freaked out straight away.”
“So I’ll tell you what you got right , then we’ll try again.” I counted off on my fingers. “First, I got your name wrong. You corrected me. It’s important to do that, to stand up for yourself. Second, you reminded me what’s already working. It is in your business plan, but a recap doesn’t hurt. If you see them getting bored with it, you can move on, but a quick touch on your history is a good place to start. Third, when I pushed you, you thought on your feet.”
“But that was all nonsense about us expanding. At least for now, all I want is to shore up what I’ve got. Update for the 2020s, then go from there.”
“Then you’ll want to expand on that, name specific updates. Things you can do to cement your position.” An impulse swept over me, a strong urge to hug her. She looked so hurt and fragile with her hair straggling loose. I wanted to take that hurt and sweep it away. But I wouldn’t be there when her interview came. I couldn’t protect her if it went south. She needed to take on this challenge herself, and my job was to make sure she was ready.
“Let’s try again,” I said. “I’ll dial down the jerk factor.”
Lana laughed shakily and we went again. We started off better, but Lana was stiff, reciting her plans for the shop like a robot. I started pulling faces to loosen her up.
“—and once sales pick up again… What are you doing?”
I hooked my thumbs in the corners of my mouth, pulled them apart, and waggled my tongue at her. Lana tried not to laugh, but I pushed my nose up pig-style. She dissolved into giggles.
“Okay, why? Just why?”
I unhooked my fingers and retracted my tongue. “Because I’m not hearing you in there. You need to show me your passion. Show me what this grant means to you, and to your shop.”
Lana groaned, still half-chuckling, and turned around. “Okay, one more time. But no stupid faces.” She went out and came in again, and I straightened up.
“Miss Stamey, just tell me, why do you want this? What made you decide to apply for this grant?”
She took a deep breath and stood a little taller. When she did, her suit went from tired to dignified. Her loose hair seemed deliberate, more statement than blunder. She radiated confidence like light from within.
“Some places are special,” she said. “My shop’s one of those. People have been coming in for thirty-five years now, not just for books, but for so much more. It’s a place to meet people. To drop your kids while you shop. A lot of moms do that for story hour. It’s a safe place, a haven. A great place to be. And I want to build on that. Make it even better.” Her face lit up, as though struck with inspiration. “I have so many ideas: a podcast. A book club. A café in the back. We have a space there. We could put in a counter. But in the end, it’s the community that’ll guide what I do. Haverford is my home. The people are my people. The shop is their shop. So what I want is to grow as the town grows. With this grant, I could renovate beyond just repairs. I could build my shop up to the size of my dreams.” She stopped abruptly. “Oh, was that cheesy? Was that too much?”
I coughed. I’d been so caught up her sudden switch was jarring, from blazing passion to wide-eyed doubt.
“Not cheesy,” I said. “That was inspired. If I was on that committee, you’d get that grant.”
“It was all true,” said Lana. Her voice cracked and shook. “You said to show how I felt, and that’s it. How I feel.”
“Come here,” I said, and got to my feet. I pulled her into a tight hug, her cheek pressed to mine. She trembled against me. I stroked her back. It hit me, I really would give her the grant. If it were up to me, it’d be her all the way, not because she was beautiful or gentle or sweet. Not because she was considerate, or because she was funny. Because she deserved it for her passion, her drive. She was strong and determined. She had good ideas. She’d make this place work, if she just got the chance.
“You’ve got this,” I said, and then “I’ve got you.”
I had her, and I didn’t want to let go.