Chapter 36
It had been a banner week for china, linens, silverware, and glassware sales, with people happily oohing and ahhing over pieces to make their Thanksgiving tables festive.
As Madeline spent the last half hour or so before she was due to close restocking and reorganizing, her mind was abuzz with happy thoughts and no little bit of awe.
She was doing it! The Second Chance Shop was .
. . a thing. She was almost at her do-or-die six-month moment-of-truth time, and she was turning a solid profit, even after paying herself a wage and covering the business’s full operating costs.
She hadn’t had to dip into her personal savings account for anything for a while now—a good thing since it was nearly empty.
She’d rebuild it, though. The holiday season would be a good one, she was sure—and she’d have her new tenant paying rent by early spring.
Her tenant. The idea of Grant being her tenant was a joke they both found funny, even if it was also technically accurate.
She rested her hand on a stack of linen napkins, delicately embroidered with small leaves and acorns.
So pretty, so perfect for this time of year.
They triggered a slight dilemma. She and Grant were hosting a potluck dinner for Thanksgiving—their first event-event as a couple.
A couple. The idea still made her blink from time to time.
Her little house was going to be filled to the brim, and in addition to dinner, she wanted to give small thank-you gifts.
She had a set of four heavy cut-crystal tumblers for Sam and Aisha’s dad, Charlie, whom Madeline had yet to meet.
She’d put aside a gorgeous cheeseboard with copper detailing for Annie and Lita, who were bringing one of their incredibly decadent salted caramel cheesecakes for dessert.
She’d already decided on a Fitz & Floyd pumpkin-shaped soup tureen that had come in with a box of donated stuff—people gave away such treasures!
—for Aisha, Jase, and Mo, knowing that Mo and Aisha, especially, would love it.
Not only was it gorgeous and fun, but apparently, Aisha regularly made a pumpkin soup that was the “yummiest soup in the whole world,” according to Mo and confirmed by Jase.
But the napkins . . . Aisha was definitely someone who’d appreciate them over paper ones.
They wouldn’t just sit in a drawer at her house.
She’d use them, Madeline was sure. So, there it was.
No dilemma, after all. She’d give Aisha both.
Madeline snatched up the pretty, practical napkins, then tucked them into the bag at her feet and continued to putter.
The only tarnish on her bright, shiny dinner party plan was that Gwen, who’d initially seemed shyly excited by the invite, had passed when she heard other people would be there.
Madeline was so wholly caught up with the here and now, and the shop was so busy and bright, filled with last-minute customers and brilliant fall sunlight casting a golden glow on everything it touched, that she wasn’t prepared for Ronny’s voice in her head—a voice that trembled. Not prepared at all.
I’m really happy the store has worked out for you, that this change has brought so much healing.
Madeline’s heart panged. Hard.
But are you sure that you’re sure? There’s no reason to have your Second Chance Shop here. You should be near family.
Madeline smoothed her hand across Magda’s hundred-year-old buffet.
As Magda had warned—or promised, Madeline thought with a soft smile—it hadn’t made it this far unscathed.
Life had left various marks and dings, including a deep scar on one side that Madeline knew would never completely disappear, no matter how time softened it or people tried to polish it away.
Yet—again as Magda had observed and Madeline herself had noted time and time again about other things—despite its wear and tear and obvious signs of use, or maybe because of them, it was beautiful.
She inhaled the shop’s familiar, heart-lifting scent of lemon and peppermint. Through the big arched doorway leading to the rest of the shop, she heard Aisha, who’d come in to help for a few hours, cheerfully chatting with a customer.
Madeline’s thumb found the ring she never took off and rubbed along it.
The silver was warm to her touch, heated by her blood—her life—running in her veins.
And almost as if the ring was the famous lamp from stories of old, as she rubbed it, she saw Grant’s old truck roll into view outside the big window and come to a rest.
She smiled, then whispered, her voice saturated with love, bittersweet old memories, and the joy of new ones too, “I wouldn’t have chosen any of this. I would’ve kept what I had, of course, I would’ve . . . but I have family again, Ronny. Here. Family of my heart. And . . . I’m so grateful.”
It was as if the room inhaled sharply, though it was probably just a breeze from the slightly ajar window. The curtains rippled.
Madeline knew, just knew, Lauren would be laughing and groaning, saying something like, Ugh, you are so sappy, Mom.
What she wouldn’t give to be teased by Lauren again or to exasperate her with what she had sometimes referred to as Madeline’s “smothering.” But also . . . how fortunate she’d been to have had Lauren at all, to have gotten to love her for the time they had.
Sorrow clogged Madeline’s throat, and she closed her eyes. I love you, she thought. That will never change. No one will ever replace you, and I will never forget you.
Du-uh, came the immediate response, but Lauren’s voice was soft with affection. Of course, you won’t—but also, that’s not how hearts work. They don’t need to replace. They just make more room for the new.
Madeline didn’t know whether to cry, laugh, or roll her eyes. It was so precisely like something Lauren would say that it was hard for her to know if it was merely her wishful thinking or imagination or—
She released a heavy sigh, just as the supportive weight of a kind hand rested on her shoulder. Grant. Lyle used to comfort her a similar way, seeming to sense when she’d needed touch, not words. It was a lovely memory.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mads,” Grant said cheerily as she turned to him. The instant he saw her face, his own expression changed. “You okay?”
Madeline patted his arm. “Yes, thanks . . . I was just thinking about Lauren and everybody.” She cleared her throat. “And feeling grateful.”
Grant’s voice was soft as velvet. “But sad too?”
She shrugged. “Yeah . . .”
Grant wrapped her in a hug and planted a kiss on the top of her head.
Madeline sagged against his solid form, taking solace in him.
After a moment, Boots, in his new favorite role as of late—that of bossy, four-legged chaperone—wandered over, head-butted her leg, then looked up at her meaningfully as if reminding her . . .
“Shoot!” Madeline glanced at her watch and immediately changed gears. “Right! I need to lock up. We’re closed, and we have plans.”
Grant smiled, and his expression was as comforting as soft, worn denim and as cheering as a sun-kissed sky. “Yes,” he said happily. “We do.”