36. Bethany
Chapter thirty-six
Bethany
Major lifts his head when I step into Grant’s office.
Grant closes the folder in front of him and focuses his attention on me.
“Bethany.”
“Do you have a minute?”
“I do.”
I sit across from his desk. The office windows overlook the arena. Practice is still underway on the ice below, players moving through drills in dark jerseys while coaches shout instructions I cannot hear through the glass.
Timothy circles behind the net, takes a pass, and sends the puck up the boards. Shane moves into the lane beside him.
Then the drill carries both of them out of view.
I turn back to Grant.
Major rests his chin on Grant’s shoe.
“You told me before that I misunderstood the offer,” I say. “I’m ready to hear it now, if it’s still available.”
Grant studies me for a moment.
“It is.”
Relief moves through me, followed closely by embarrassment.
I fold my hands over the notebook in my lap.
Grant reaches for a folder near the edge of his desk and slides it toward me.
The name of my business is printed across the top.
Not my name. My business’s.
I stare at it.
“This is a service agreement.”
“Oh.”
I open the folder.
The first page outlines property inspections, routine maintenance, repair coordination, vendor management, emergency calls, and seasonal preparation for several team-owned properties.
Hockey House is listed first.
Below it are two short-term player apartments, an administrative guest property, and a small office building near the arena.
“This is a contract with my company,” I say.
“That was always the intention.”
I look up. “You wanted to be my client.”
“Yes.”
“Not my employer.”
“No.”
I turn another page.
The proposed fee is larger than I expected. Large enough that I read it twice.
I keep reading.
The contract includes provisions for subcontractors, emergency authorizations, material budgets, and renewal terms. There is no requirement that I personally complete every repair or inspection.
No fixed office hours.
No employee handbook.
No line appointing Grant Thorne ruler of my calendar.
“You expect me to hire help,” I say.
“I expect you to decide how your company will fulfill the contract.”
“What if I wanted to keep some of my current clients?”
“That is your decision.”
“And choose my own contractors?”
“As long as they meet the insurance and licensing requirements.”
I turn another page.
“Why didn’t you explain this before?”
Grant’s expression remains neutral.
“I tried.”
I close my eyes briefly.
“Right. Sorry about that.”
Major shifts beneath the desk. Grant’s hand drops to the dog’s head, fingers moving once behind his ear.
I look down at the contract again.
“I thought you wanted me to give up my business and work under you.”
“I was offering your business enough work to expand.”
“And this is not because you're madly in love with my mother?”
Grant’s eyebrows rise slightly.
“That would be an extraordinarily poor reason to enter a long-term service contract.”
I glance toward Major. Major’s tail taps once against the floor. Grant leans back in his chair.
“I offered the contract because the work at Hockey House was completed on time, within the revised budget, and to a standard that passed inspection without additional corrections.”
“The guys helped.”
“You created the schedule, assigned the work, coordinated the contractors, and made sure they did not use the power tools irresponsibly.”
A reluctant smile pulls at my mouth.
It fades when I look at the amount again.
“I cannot do all of this alone.”
“No.”
The immediate agreement catches me off guard.
“I expected at least one encouraging lie.”
Grant taps one finger against the folder. “That does not mean your company cannot do it.”
“I have never hired anyone.”
“You have hired contractors.”
“That is not the same as managing employees.”
“No. But it is not starting from scratch either.”
I turn my pen between my fingers.
Hiring someone means payroll.
Insurance.
Taxes.
Training.
Trusting another person to represent a business I built one job at a time.
It means giving someone else access to the work I have always protected by doing it myself.
“What if I hire the wrong person?”
“You may.”
“That is not reassuring.”
Grant’s mouth moves slightly.
Not a smile, but close.
“I can connect you with the team’s business manager,” he says. “She can explain how to set up payroll services, insurance requirements, and the difference between hiring an employee and using an independent contractor.”
“You would do that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want the contract fulfilled.”
There is the Grant answer.
Practical.
Direct.
Then he adds, “And because I want you to learn how to expand.”
Something in my chest loosens.
He is offering help.
I can take it or leave it.
I smile despite myself. Then I look down at the contract. “I am interested.”
Grant nods as though he expected that answer.
“I want time to review everything.”
“You should take it.”
“And if this does not work, I do not want my mother trapped in the middle.”
Grant’s expression changes slightly.
More serious.
“Laurie is not part of this agreement.”
The answer settles something I did not realize I was still holding.
“Thank you.”
“When can you give me an answer?”
“By the end of the week.”
“That works.”
I close the folder but keep it in my lap.
There is one more thing.
The reason I scheduled this meeting instead of asking him to email the proposal again.
“Mom has been covering Hockey House.”
“Yes.”
“I need to talk to you about that.”
Grant watches me carefully.
“Laurie said she could continue until you are ready.”
“I know.”
Mom can handle the next visit.
I can return after I know Timothy’s schedule. After enough time passes. After the possibility of seeing him no longer makes my stomach tighten.
But there would always be another 'after'.
“I’m ready,” I say.
Grant looks at the arena clock on the wall.
“The next scheduled visit is today.”
“I know.”
“Practice ends in approximately forty minutes.”
“I know that too.”
The knowledge has been sitting beneath every question since I arrived.
Shane brought Timothy to the arena. He will take him back to the lodge afterward. If I leave now, I may finish before Timothy gets there.
Or I may not.
“I better get going then,” I say.
Grant nods.
“All right.”
I stand and tuck the contract into my bag.
Major rises with me, stretches, then returns to Grant’s side.
At the door, I look back.
“I really did misunderstand.”
“Yes.”
“I am trying to do less of that.”
“That seems wise.”
High praise from Grant Thorne.
I leave before he can take it back.
***
A few of the players vehicles are already parked beside Hockey House when I arrive.
Shane’s truck is not there.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel.
Timothy is not here yet.
I turn off the engine.
The porch light is on even though it's daytime. Snow has been cleared from the steps. Someone has stacked firewood beside the railing.
My key feels unfamiliar in my hand.
I unlock the door and give my usual double knock as I open the door and step into the boot room.
The first thing I notice is that my labels are still there.
The bins sit beneath them in orderly rows.
Someone has added a smaller handwritten sign beneath the last label.
WESLEY IS NOT A TOOL. STOP ASKING.
I stare at it.
“Jonah,” I call.
A crash comes from the kitchen. Then Jonah’s head appears around the corner. For one second, his face goes completely blank.
Then he smiles. “Bethany.”
Wesley appears behind him holding half a sandwich.
“Is this a scheduled haunting?”
“I still have a key.”
“That was my second theory.”
Maxon steps out of the rec room. “You’re back.”
“I’m working here again.”
Maxon holds my gaze for a moment.
“Good.”
Jonah reaches for my bag.
“I can carry that.”
“I have it," I say automatically and then stop.
I look at the bag.
It contains replacement filters, cleaning supplies, two tools, and a box of lightbulbs.
I hand it to him.
“Thanks.”
Jonah’s eyebrows lift.
Wesley presses one hand to his chest. “Growth.”
“Finish your sandwich.” I shake my head at him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I step into the kitchen.
It is not spotless. But the counters are clear. The dishes are loaded into the dishwasher. The maintenance log sits beside the refrigerator, open to the correct week.
I pick it up.
Every required check has been completed.
I do not know why that surprises me.
Maybe I thought my absence would erase everything I did here.
Instead, the lodge kept a shape I helped create.
The realization is warm without being dangerous.
I set the log down.
“What needs attention?”
Jonah places my bag on the island.
“The upstairs bathroom faucet is dripping.”
“The mudroom light flickers,” Wesley adds.
“And the back door sticks again,” Maxon says. “Not badly.”
I take out my clipboard.
“Anything urgent?”
Three heads turn toward Wesley.
He looks offended.
“I have done nothing.”
“Today,” Jonah says.
“Unfair.”
I start with the faucet.
Jonah comes upstairs carrying the small toolbox before I ask.
He holds the flashlight while I check beneath the sink.
“The washer is worn,” I say.
By the time we finish upstairs, Maxon has replaced the mudroom bulb. Wesley has swept the salt and gravel from the entry without being threatened. Jonah writes the faucet repair into the log in handwriting large enough to be seen from space.
I inspect the rink last.
The ice shines beneath the overhead lights. Fresh snow is piled beyond the boards.
The cold has turned the sky deep blue. Headlights could appear on the road at any moment.
My heart responds to the possibility before I can reason with it.
Maxon notices where I am looking.
“Shane and Tim usually take longer to leave.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
He opens the lodge door and holds it for me.
Inside, I update the maintenance calendar.
Laurie’s name appears beside the last two visits in her neat handwriting.
Wesley leans over my shoulder.
“Does this mean we have to start hiding the evidence again?”
I give him a flat look. “My regular schedule starts again today.”
Jonah smiles.
Maxon only nods.
He understands this is larger than filters and leaky faucets.
I gather my coat and work bag.
There is no reason to stay.
The scheduled tasks are complete.
At the boot room door, I pause.
Maxon is putting the toolbox away.
“Maxon?”
He looks up.
My courage shrinks so quickly it almost disappears, but I push on.
“Please tell Timothy that I miss him.”
Maxon nods.
“I will.”