Chapter 24
It had been a quiet day at the shop—only three customers all day—but Madeline’s head was loud with colliding thoughts as she locked up.
Life sure loved to kick your legs out again, just when you were finally stumbling up from the last blow, she mused, entering the week’s numbers into her accounting system.
It wasn’t herself she was feeling sorry for, however, or at least, not entirely.
It was, per usual, Grant who was on her mind.
She related to his comments about missing whatever they were before.
She’d meant what she’d said, though. There was no going back, only moving forward.
It was something that sucked about life.
Or was a total comfort. One of the two, anyway—and perhaps was both, depending on your mood or a specific situation.
Despite her disappointment with Grant, however, she found she didn’t harbor any long-lasting bitterness at his astounding misinterpretation of who she was or what she was capable of.
Everyone viewed the world and the people in it through the lens of personal experience, unless very, very diligent in trying not to, and sometimes, even then, it was impossible to be unbiassed, unjaded, unaffected. . . . Grant was no different.
Well, aren’t you little Ms. Philosophical today?
Lyle’s voice came from a corner of her brain—not meanly sarcastic, but definitely ribbing.
Madeline smiled to herself and rolled her eyes.
She had arrived at some sort of peace and understanding about Lyle, finally.
Probably the only good thing to come of her and Grant’s conflict.
Or maybe it was down to her conversation with Gwen.
Then again, perhaps it was just that enough time had finally passed for her to look back at her marriage and loss with something more than just raw pain and guilt.
“Shut up, Lyle,” she tossed back lightly.
He did, and for a moment, she recalled his endearingly goofy grin whenever he’d thought he’d been funny. Then she returned to her other thoughts.
There was no point in being angry with Grant. He had been deeply hurt, and so he expected to be deeply hurt again. He watched for it, anticipated it, saw chances of it lurking where it didn’t actually exist.
And for her part, once her initial outrage and self-consciousness wore off, Madeline realized she still liked Grant.
She admired how he apologized. How he kept showing up, not in a pushy way, but in a willing-to-keep-putting-himself-out-there kind of way that Madeline didn’t know if she’d have the heart for in the same situation.
She was also sure if she told him point-blank that she never wanted to see him again, he would take her at her word and leave her alone.
And yet, she hadn’t told him that, had she?
Caring for a person was a mysterious thing, wasn’t it?
And now everything was going to become even more complicated with Holly back on the scene. Madeline’s gaze flicked to the wall calendar—each month a different vintage greeting card. Less than a week until Holly arrived.
Madeline and Grant had discussed his ex a few times since he’d told her about Holly’s plan to visit, and Madeline was worried for him.
Grant didn’t seem to imagine any reason behind her reappearance in his life other than it just “made sense” since she was coming back to town.
Madeline feared differently. She suspected Holly was having divorce regret and wanted him back.
Or she’d run through her settlement and needed money. Or both.
In the months she and Grant had been friends, Madeline had seen what seemed almost like a physical shroud fall off him.
He smiled frequently. He moved lightly. He’d started building again—the over-the-top, wonderful “cat condo” for Boots being only the first of many new projects.
And while he hadn’t specifically said he was thinking about bringing his business back to life, little comments here and there made her feel he was.
Fresh issues with Holly could wreck all that—and what if he took her back?
Would that be a good thing or a catastrophic event?
Yeah, what if? That will really complicate the feelings you won’t admit you have, won’t it? Ronny asked, loud in Madeline’s head.
Madeline closed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter what my feelings are or aren’t—and I’m not admitting I have any. I only want what’s best for Grant.”
Sure, sure. Millions would believe you.
Madeline swatted the air. She had attempted to warn Grant, but he was having none of it.
“I think you gravely over-estimate my sex appeal,” he’d said with a wink—a wink that made Madeline feel she didn’t over-estimate it at all.
“And you’re getting ahead of yourself. She hasn’t shown up yet, let alone made any proclamations of pining regret.
Knowing Holly, she very well may not show up. ”
Madeline wanted to take it as a good sign that Grant could joke about Holly, considering how much even mentioning her name had tortured him before. She also tried to tell herself it might be the final bit of closure he needed . . . but she couldn’t quite buy her own line.
A hesitant tapping on the shop’s front window pulled Madeline out of her head. Gwen was there, smiling shyly through the glass. Madeline went over and unlocked the door.
“I know you’re closed, but I was walking by . . .”
“No problem. Come in, come in. Are you here to shop?”
Gwen pushed her hand through her already tousled hair. “I just . . . need a break?”
It’s funny the things we make into questions, Madeline thought, then replied, “Me too. I’m glad you showed up.”
A furrow creased Gwen’s brow. “Oh, you need a break, too? And now I’m detaining you?”
“No, I meant I need a break from my head. Your timing’s perfect.”
Gwen took a big breath and seemed to relax. “My head’s probably a bigger mess than yours, so I don’t know what kind of a distraction I’ll be, but hey, misery loves company, right?”
Madeline laughed, and Gwen’s smile—if she had truly been feeling miserable—suggested she’d experienced a lift of spirits too.
“Can I help with something?”
The idea hadn’t even occurred to Madeline, but suddenly Gwen’s appearance seemed like a gift. “Yes, you can, in fact. I have a zillion small online purchases I need to package and get ready to ship. I got a bunch done earlier when it was slow, but there’s still a ton. We could chat and wrap?”
“I need to use your loo first,” Gwen said, already in motion toward the shop’s small bathroom, “but that sounds perfect.”
And it would’ve been if Madeline’s earlier thought about how life loved to kick a person hadn’t taken that moment to prove itself true—in a rotten sequence of three.
“Madeline? You need to get in here. Quick!” Gwen’s command was a shriek, and the bathroom door banged open.
Madeline ran toward the shop’s washroom, then surveyed the scene before her with mingled horror and embarrassment.
“All I did was sit, I swear. I’d just flushed and was about to get up when . . . ” Gwen trailed off and gestured at the toilet.
“I know. It’s my fault. The floor was soft—but I didn’t think this would happen.” Madeline shook her head, still a bit stunned. “I was trying to put off the expense of renovating this room until spring. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just startled.”
And no wonder, Madeline thought with a cringe.
The toilet’s base had broken through the floor on one side, and now the toilet leaned at a crazy angle.
There was an unpleasant scent, too—the odor of sewage wafting into the air because the seal around the base had broken with the shift.
That was the least of the problems, though.
She’d stuff the pipe with towels, so the smell wouldn’t carry to the rest of the house.
No, the big issue was that Madeline couldn’t fix the bathroom on her own. Trying not to hyperventilate over the unexpected cost the reno would hit her with, she focused on what she could do for now—mainly control the damage.
She turned off the water to the toilet and headed to her van, kicking herself for not having a case of paper towel or a real mop bucket or anything. It had just never occurred to her that she might need something heavier duty than a Swiffer.
As Gwen, who’d come with her, shut her door, Madeline turned the key in the van’s ignition. The engine made an awful whirring, clacking sound as it turned over but didn’t start. She rolled her eyes at Gwen, not panicked—yet. “The universe wouldn’t be so cruel.”
Gwen laughed nervously as Madeline tried her key again. The same hard-working sound over and over—but again, the motor didn’t fire up. Now Madeline had a bad feeling. The awful racket sounded expensive. She tried once more—then pounded the steering wheel lightly with her fists.
“We can take mine,” Gwen said helpfully.
They roared off in Gwen’s Toyota sedan—a nice, reliable vehicle, Madeline thought, although she knew she needed the van because she always had stuff to haul.
Stuff to haul! The thought made her pulse race with stress. Her buying trip was scheduled in just two weeks. If the van wasn’t roadworthy, or if she spent her last dime plus burdened her credit card trying to fix it and the bathroom—
Stop it, she commanded herself. That’s not helping. Don’t worry until you know what you actually need to worry about. She realized Gwen was talking and tried to tune in to what she was saying.
“Has it given you problems before now?”
It? Madeline thought. Oh, right. The van.
Of course. Madeline shook her head to clear it.
Gwen was going to think she was losing it.
“Yeah . . . no, I mean, now that you bring it up . . . Maybe it’s been running a little sluggish—but it’s no spring chicken.
Who doesn’t creak and groan a bit when first getting started?
Gwen shot her a look, then smiled slightly. “Truth—but I must say, you’re taking this very well.”
Madeline shrugged, feeling she wasn’t taking it well. Not at all. “What choice do I have?”
“I guess . . . but if you need to rant and rave, I’m your person. I’d never hold it against you.”
“Aw, thanks. That actually does make me feel better.” And it did—but she also felt like crying.
They bought a mop, a bucket, and an industrial-sized package of reusable absorbent cloths.
On the way back to the shop, Madeline called the contractor who’d helped with the renovation—and was informed by a cheery recorded message that he was out of town until mid-October. She didn’t bother to leave a voicemail.
“You could ask Grant to handle it or see if he knows somebody,” Gwen suggested.
“Right,” Madeline said distractedly. “I keep forgetting. You guys know each other.”
“Of course,” Gwen said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We went to school together from grade one up.”
“And you know that he and I know each other well enough for me to call him for help?”
Gwen laughed as if, in addition to stating the obvious, Madeline was also hilarious.
“Let me guess. Kelsey.”
Gwen shrugged. “I don’t even know how I know, exactly. Sometimes, especially if you’ve lived here a long time, Greenridge is just . . . pretty small, you know? Also, he came by the shop to talk to you when I was there once. Remember? We chatted for a bit.”
“Oh, right. I’d forgotten that too.”
“So?”
Madeline cocked her head. “So what?”
“Are. You. Going. To. Call. Grant?” Gwen asked with good-humored exasperation.
“Ever? For sure. Right now? About this? Only if I can’t solve it on my own.”
Gwen nodded. “Got it.”
When they returned to the shop, Gwen helped her clean up the worst of the mess around the broken seal and stuff the pipe.
Madeline suspected the toilet should be drained or something, but she didn’t know how.
That, too, would be something she had to leave for whoever she got to do the repairs.
She hung an out-of-order sign on the bathroom door.
It wasn’t really an issue customer-wise.
She rarely had people ask to use it—but how was she going to work all day without going pee?
“You could hang a ‘back in five minutes’ sign and dart over to your house,” Gwen suggested, but they both knew it wasn’t ideal.
It was nearing 8:00 when Gwen looked at her smartwatch and practically leaped toward the door. “I’m so sorry. I have to jet.”
Have to jet. Gwen’s old-fashioned slang killed her, and Madeline’s mood temporarily lifted. “No worries, Cinderella. I’m used to your quick departures.”
“Cinderella? More like the pumpkin, I think.”
Madeline saw her to the door. “I’m so glad you stopped by. You don’t even know how much I appreciated your help with my chaotic life tonight.”
Gwen patted Madeline’s arm. “I was happy to help—and next time, there will be no crises. We’ll swill tea and wrap parcels so you can bring in the big bucks.”
Madeline scrunched her nose. “If the latter’s going to be a thing, forget pumpkin. I’m going to need you to become a fairy godmother.”
Gwen chuckled again, and Madeline figured that was a silver lining in the day’s bad luck. At least she’d made Gwen, who often seemed so stressed, laugh a time or two.
She didn’t bother to turn the lights out right away, thinking she’d better tackle a few more of the online purchases before she called it a night.
Boots, however, decided she needed a bit of cat time first. She happily complied with his bossy demands for a head rub and back scratch.
His loud purr was as effective as baby aspirin for preventing heart attacks, she was sure, and as he rumbled away, she started putting the day in perspective.
There was, after all, a way she could free up a little bit of cash—even if it would be excruciatingly hard for her.
The thought was interrupted by a knock at the door. For some unexplainable reason, Madeline shivered, and her mind shouted, “Don’t answer that.”
How she wished she’d listened.