Chapter 22
The next morning after school drop-off, I park my Honda in the public lot by the waterfront park and walk the few blocks to the shop.
On my way, I pass one of the cute little boutiques that dot the downtown, and something in the window catches my eye.
I freeze in wonder, staring at the floaty yellow dress on the faceless mannequin. It wasn’t there yesterday.
“That’s it! That’s my dress!” I press my nose to the glass, drinking in the sight of it, heart beating with excitement.
It’s exactly as I pictured it. The store isn’t open for another half hour, but I see a light on inside and rap on the door, hoping the owner, Paula, will make an exception and let me in.
I bought a very overpriced tin of popcorn last year for her granddaughter’s pep band fundraiser.
Paula remembers the popcorn and is delighted to let me try on the dress.
“I only have this one size in yellow, so I hope it fits,” she says cheerily, stripping the mannequin with an expert hand. “It just came in yesterday. It also comes in red and navy if you need another size.”
I check the tag and frown. It’s a size smaller than what I usually wear. It’s a size I haven’t been since Gus was born. Maybe it runs large? Here’s hoping.
“It has to fit,” I mutter under my breath. “It’s my dress.”
In the fitting room I shimmy out of my jeans and flutter-sleeved top and slide into the dress.
It’s cool and expensive-feeling, light as a feather.
I suck in my stomach and try to zip it. No luck.
It stops at my bra line. Thwarted, I breathe out and empty my lungs, and then by force of will I inch the zipper up and up until it finally reaches the top.
I can’t quite draw a full breath, but it fits like a glove.
A slightly too-tight glove. Still, the image in the mirror matches my vision exactly.
I decide to ignore the slightly suffocating feeling of not being able to draw a full breath.
I’ll just have to take shallow breaths when Henry proposes to me.
Paula wraps it up for me and runs my card. It’s expensive, and I wince at the price tag, but then again, how can I not buy it? It’s destiny. I heave a relieved sigh to be back in my normally sized clothes though.
* * *
Almost-perfect yellow dress in a bag on my arm, I float into the shop feeling optimistic. That is, until I open the door and am greeted by a grim-faced Walt.
“You’ve got a problem,” he says without preamble.
My heart sinks. I quickly stash my purse and new dress in our tiny office and Walt takes me over to where the bare plywood subfloor is mottled and dark-looking.
The carpet is long gone, exposing what is underneath.
Jakob is standing there looking sternly down at a large splintered hole in the floor.
He glances up at me and nods a greeting.
I nod back worriedly. “What’s going on? Why is there a hole in the floor?”
Walt chews his gum. “Subfloor is rotted out more than we thought. Jakob stepped on this patch and his foot went right through. Looks like you’ve had water damage under there for a long time.”
I stare at the patch, realizing that the floor in this part of the store has felt a little spongy for years. It’s not near the bathroom though, so does this mean we have another problem and more damage? “How bad is it?” I ask, wincing before he even answers.
Walt takes off his baseball cap and scratches his head. He has a mop of curly white hair that springs up when he removes the cap. “Depends on how much damage is done, and what’s underneath. We’re gonna have to open up the floor and see what’s going on down there.”
“Okay.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath, trying not to panic, trying to recapture the sense of lightheartedness I was feeling just a few moments ago. “What’s the worst-case scenario?”
Jakob frowns. “You could need new pipes. You definitely need a new subfloor. Depending on the extent of the damage, it could be a couple thousand dollars.” He meets my eyes, his gaze sympathetic.
A couple thousand we don’t have. I nod, trying to keep calm and not fly into a panic. Obviously there is nothing we can do but fix it. We have to have a functional floor that we won’t worry about customers falling through.
“Okay.” I sigh. “Do what you have to do and let me know what you find. We’ll figure out the money somehow.
” I wonder how in the world I’m going to afford to open my own store at the rate things are going.
The repairs are eating into that ten-thousand-dollar seed money at a worrying rate.
We’re going to have to find the extra money for these repairs somewhere.
The bad news casts a pall of worry over the morning that isn’t dispelled even by the arrival of a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
A delivery guy from Petal and Pitchfork Flowers comes through the door with a gorgeous arrangement of locally grown dahlias, cosmos, and other blooms. “I’m looking for Emmie Wynne?
” he asks, glancing around the construction site in confusion.
“That’s me.” I take the flowers from him and read the card.
May your day be as lovely as you are.—Henry
Jakob is watching me. When I glance up, he quirks an eyebrow questioningly. I ignore him and take the flowers into the office where I can admire them in peace. I put them next to the bag with my new dress in it to remind me of what is coming, what I’m aiming for. Somehow this will all be okay.
I’m in the middle of composing a thank-you text to Henry when Mom pops into the office. Dot must have brought her over. Mr. Butters waddles into the office too, and I scratch him under his chin. He’s wearing a satin bow tie with daisies on it.
“Emmie, why is there a giant hole in the floor out there?” Mom asks worriedly.
I sigh, punch send on the text, and set my phone down. “Because the universe can’t let only good things happen, apparently.” I tell her about the subfloor and the potential cost.
“Oh dear.” She frowns. Her mouth is a little pinched with pain today, and she’s massaging her hands covertly. I think I need to take her to see her doctor. Her meds don’t seem to be keeping up with her symptoms lately. On the list of things that are not good news…
“Can we afford all of these repairs?” she asks quietly.
“We can afford it,” I tell her, “but I don’t know how I’m going to afford to open my chocolate shop too.
We need to cover the repairs plus first month’s and last month’s rent and a damage deposit on a storefront.
And that’s provided I can even find a good space for my shop.
I need a miracle to find the kind of space I’m hoping for. ”
Not only that, but I’d still have to outfit the shop, and that takes a lot of money.
I could make the chocolates here in our commercial kitchen and would only need to purchase some upgraded equipment, so the costs would not be too high from the chocolate production side.
But I still need to find a storefront that looks like the one in my vision and then buy décor and display cases for it.
Right now it’s feeling like a herculean task.
“Oh, honey.” Mom sinks into the single folding chair wedged in the corner of the tiny office.
“I wish there was something I could do.” She looks concerned and helpless.
I hate to see her worry like this. It’s not good for her.
I try to shield her as much as I can, but even I can’t pretend the giant hole in the floor isn’t a problem.
“Ask your church ladies to say a prayer for the right space to fall into my lap,” I suggest. “The right space at a price I can afford. It feels like it’s going to take a miracle.”
I’ve learned never to underestimate the praying power of a group of motivated, retirement-age women. No one can rival them for stamina and sheer force of will.
Mom spies the bouquet on my desk and brightens considerably. “Oh, those are lovely. Are they from Henry?”
I blush and she reaches out and strokes the petals of a peach dahlia. “How thoughtful of him.”
We hear the bell on the front door jingle, and then Dot yells for us.
“In the office,” we reply in unison. A moment later she sticks her head in the door. Mr. Butters gets up to greet her, wagging his stubby tail.
“Why is there a giant hole in your floor?” Dot asks in alarm. We explain the situation and she listens with a frown.
“Well, I’m afraid I’ve got more bad news for you,” she says. She looks gloomy. My heart sinks. Dot never loses her can-do attitude. This must be really bad. Mom and I exchange a worried glance. “What’s going on?” I ask.
Dot heaves a sigh and leans forward confidentially.
“I heard this from Mary Beth over at the Nail Boat. Her husband works for the county, and he heard it firsthand. The county finally got around to voting to approve the new water and sewer codes they’ve been talking about for years.
” Dot absentmindedly scratches Mr. Butters between his ears.
“They go into effect in January. All the affected businesses are going to get a letter in the mail this week about what we’re going to have to do to upgrade our buildings to meet the new codes before January. ”
We stare at her in dismay.
“What rotten timing,” I whisper, heart sinking.
This is terrible news. “These are the new codes that everyone keeps saying are going to mean huge renovation bills for property owners?” I ask with a sick sense of foreboding in the pit of my stomach.
They’ve been threatening to update the codes for years, requiring all local businesses in the county to comply with the new standards for water and sewer, but so far it hasn’t happened. Until now.
Dot nods. “Everyone who owns property in downtown is on the hook for the cost of getting their property up to code.”
I lean my head back and shut my eyes. This is turning into a truly awful day, and it’s not even noon.
“Oh dear,” Mom breathes, hand at her throat.
Dot shakes her head solemnly. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it, girls,” she says.
“It’s bad news. And not just for you and me.
There are a lot of folks who are not going to be able to pay.
Some of the bigger stores can probably foot the bill, but I’m guessing at least half a dozen are going to have to close up shop and sell their storefronts because they can’t afford to upgrade.
Maybe more. And I’m worried I’m going to be one of them. ”
We look at one another in dismay. Just a few minutes ago, yellow dress on my arm, I felt like I was on top of the world.
Now we’re facing some huge hurdles that threaten everything I’m working toward.
And many of our friends and business neighbors are going to be affected too.
This is going to be a big blow to our downtown business community.
I think of the little shops owned by friends who are fellow small-business owners.
The Cat’s Meow, Saltwater Vintage…Cargo Hold…
the list is growing longer the more I think about it.
This could be a catastrophe for historic downtown Poulsbo. What are we going to do?
Mom places her hand on my shoulder gently. “It’ll be okay, Emmie,” she says quietly. “Like your dad always said, there’s always a path, even if you can’t see it yet.”
“This path may lead me straight to bankruptcy,” Dot grumbles. “I’m just barely breaking even as it is. My mermaid-for-hire gigs are the only thing keeping me afloat, and I can only spend so many hours in the water without getting all pruney.”
I think of the napkin in my purse, of the two items I ticked so confidently last night.
I glance at the hem of the yellow dress peeking out of the bag on the desk.
I need to open my own chocolate shop. Everything hinges on it.
If I can’t make it happen, how will my vision ever come true?
But the mounting cost of repairs is a big stumbling block, and now Dot’s news about the codes means our financial position is about to get even worse.
How can I possibly make everything work out?