Chapter 32
SAM
Staying with my parents would have been easier for me, but I haven’t spoken to my mom since I confronted her about Mandy and the way she’s always treated Becca. Plus, I know I deserve whatever’s coming.
When I knock, Grammy answers with her usual warmth, “Hey, stranger. Fancy seeing you here.”
She pulls me into a hug. Then she and Grandad spot the duffel bag.
“What’d you do?” he deadpans.
“Why do you assume I did anything?” I shoot back, even though it's true.
Grandad snorts. “Son, I’ve been married for fifty-four years. A woman like Becca … she’ll carry the whole damn load, until she can’t.”
I nod, swallowing hard. I tell them everything. The loan to Holly. The things I said, how I didn’t make Becca a priority. Even the postnup with Becca removing any claim to the house.
“We thought we were being fair, giving you the house at a deal while letting Holly get the funds. Maybe that wasn’t the right call. A home should be between a husband and wife … and we complicated it by having family receive the payments,” Grammy states, shaking her head.
“It was generous. It could’ve worked for both of us. If I hadn’t treated Holly like glass and Becca as if she’d always wait,” I admit, trailing off.
Grandad sighs. “We’ve all babied that girl since the accident. But I think it’s time she stood on her own. Your dad finally said no, refusing to offer her the money. I wish the rest of the family had.” He shoots me a pointed look.
“You and me both,” I admit, meeting his gaze.
Grammy looks between us, and then gives him a knowing look, some unspoken conversation passing between them. She stands up, takes our dishes, and gives each of us a kiss on the cheek.
“I am heading in to watch my shows, you boys catch up,” she states as she walks out of the room, leaving me a little confused by the abrupt exit.
Grandad leans back and chuckles.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I bought a ’67 Shelby Cobra?”
I blink in surprise. “No. You had one of those? That’s a sweet car, Grandad.”
“Not for long.” He laughs. “I’d just landed a big job.
Your dad was a baby. I was rubbing elbows with the big shots of Cascadia, councilmen, property developers, that kind of thing.
They all had fancy cars, steak dinners, the whole deal.
I started thinking I deserved what they had.
So I bought the Cobra. Deep midnight blue, white racing stripes, zero to sixty in 4. 2 seconds. A beauty.”
I let out a low whistle.
“I drove it straight to the country club. Made sure the boys saw me pull up. Felt like a king. Came home that night, all puffed up, expecting your grandma to be impressed.”
Grandad glances up, recalling the memory. “She looked at the car and asked, ‘Is it on loan?’ I said no. Then she asked if I used our money. And I—” he cringes, “—I said, ‘It’s not ours. It’s mine.’”
I wince. “Oh, man.”
“Yep. She said, ‘Alright then. I’ll get my own.’ I laughed at her. Big mistake.”
I grimace in sympathy, imagining how that went.
“She started babysitting this neighborhood boy. And while watching two kids, she approached the single construction workers on the job sites in town, asking if they wanted home-cooked meals a couple of times a week. She made $650 her first month.” His voice is filled with both shock and pride.
I pull out my phone to do a quick conversion. “That’s over six grand today.”
“Exactly. She stopped spending a dime of my money. And since it wasn’t our money, I didn’t get laundry done, meals cooked, and worst of all?
” He pauses, shaking his head in shame. “She quit the business. Without her, it fell apart: no invoices, no contracts, no orders. Son, she was the best collector in town. Someone didn’t pay up?
She tracked them down. I swear the bookies were looking to recruit her. ”
I laugh at the thought, but I believe every bit of it.
“So what, you begged her to come back?” I ask, sitting on the edge of my chair.
“I wish it had been that easy. Flowers. Gifts. Nothing worked. Then one night, I was drowning in paperwork and TV dinners.” Grandad takes a steadying breath.
“And I broke down. That woman walked in, hugged me tight, made me some eggs and coffee, then sat down to help me sort through the mess.” His voice softens.
“Next day, I added her to payroll. I went to the bank and set up a separate account for her. I wanted her to know I saw her, and I understood her contribution.”
I nod slowly, the weight of it sinking in. I had that woman, the partner, to get me through it all. And I pushed her out.
Grandad leans forward. “Son, we all screw up. But if you want to fix it? You need to stop asking for forgiveness and start earning trust. That’s the only way back.”
“I’m working on it, promise.”
“Good. Because as much as I love you, I don’t want you camping in my guest room forever.”
I laugh. “Neither do I.”
I wake up in the spare room, with a pink lace duvet cover and walls covered in baby photos of me, Holly, and my Dad. I stretch, prepping myself for what’s ahead.
Today is going to be a big day. Holly and I are meeting the last of the city inspectors before the salon can open.
Plus, Holly has scheduled a meeting with Mandy to go over her new employee contract.
No equity, but an above-market-rate salary; Holly’s decision.
The decision to cut her best friend out of the business partnership was tough for her, but it was the right call.
I pull into the salon, seeing that Holly repainted the accent wall herself. It’s not perfect, but she should be proud. Actually getting her hands dirty, making her dreams come true herself.
If all goes well with today’s inspection, the soft opening is two weeks away.
Holly’s already inside with Lucinda, who’s pointing toward a storage cabinet near the shampoo chairs. Lucinda is a compact woman in her fifties, with silver-streaked dark hair pulled back tightly and the kind of posture that suggests she has been managing environments like this for decades.
“You want the dye refills close to the sinks—saves your back. And keep the acetone out of sight of any client. Nothing says ‘spa-like’ less than chemical labels,” Lucinda says.
I slip past and pour myself a cup of plain drip coffee in the break room. Mandy’s request for a fancy espresso machine was denied by Holly, even if it would help with the “vibes.” I take a slow sip, steadying myself for what’s ahead.
My phone buzzes, and I instantly smile when I see that it’s Becca. I swipe it open immediately.
Becca
Forwarded message
Rick’s text sits there between us now. No commentary or explanation. For a second, I just stare at it. A month ago, she wouldn’t have sent this. Becca would’ve handled it herself, shut it down, and carried it alone.
My chest tightens from what this means. She’s letting me in.
I re-read the forwarded message, focusing on the content, where he says he is complicating things on my side.
The locks were changed after I confronted him, and the cameras were installed.
For good measure, Dad drafted a termination letter we sent to his lawyers.
It officially severs Rick’s role as an advisor, or whatever he was, and includes a clause to cease any future contact regarding the business.
What could he be complicating?
I don’t have time to delve too far into that thought.
Lucinda and Holly walk over to me as Mandy strolls in, twenty minutes late.
She's in a dress that looks like it costs more than the espresso machine she wanted.
The scent that reaches me first is Chanel No.
5 and something sharper underneath; something that makes me think her morning started earlier than most. She pauses when she sees Lucinda, cocking her head.
“Oh, you must be with the cleaning staff,” Mandy says brightly. “Nice to meet you. There’s still a lot of dust around. Maybe you could start with that instead of drinking our coffee?”
Holly gasps while my jaw drops in disbelief. Clearly, if someone had two working brain cells, they would see that Lucinda is not with the cleaning staff. Holly jumps in to defend her, but Lucinda is faster.
“I’m not with the cleaning company. And we won’t have one until we start turning a profit. It will be every member of the staff’s job to maintain their station.”
Mandy looks momentarily stunned at this statement. Before she can insert her foot into her mouth anymore, Holly jumps in.
“Mandy, this is Lucinda Torres. She was the excellent guest speaker I mentioned to you while I was going through school.”
Mandy’s eyes widen slowly, but she attempts to recover. “Apologies, Lucinda. We are just so busy getting this salon set up, I can’t keep track of all the moving parts.” Mandy reaches out her hand, and Lucinda takes it. “Mandy Stevens, Head of Guest Experience and First Impressions.”
What the hell? That has to be a made-up title. I lock eyes with Holly, and she looks just as bewildered as I do.
Holly leans in, whispering to me, “I have no idea where she got that title, or what it even means.”
I bite back a laugh and look over at Lucinda. Before she can respond to Mandy’s absurdity, Holly straightens her spine and tackles the conversation head-on.
“Mandy, Lucinda has over twenty years of experience in the industry and has been a part of multiple salon openings. She has agreed to come on as Principal Stylist … and partner.”
Mandy looks at Holly, confusion evident on her face.
“Don’t you think we have enough partners? Between you, me, Rick, and Sam’s involvement, how much do we have to throw around?” She laughs uncomfortably. “No offense, of course.” Mandy throws out to Lucinda as an afterthought. Lucinda doesn’t even bother to give her a response.
“Actually, Rick will no longer be involved.” I decide to jump in at this point, giving Holly a small reprieve. “We were looking through the contract closely, and we found some anomalies.”
“Like what?” Mandy asks, face unreadable.