26. Fighting Back
FIGHTING BACK
Carson called Jake early the next morning, as if he thought catching Jake before he’d had coffee or breakfast would make him more inclined to agree that selling the house to the Eatons was a great idea.
“Listen,” Carson said over the phone, “I can talk to them and let them know your aunt is reticent to let the house go at that price.”
“That’s not the problem,” Jake said, tying his bathrobe at the waist before he left his room. “I feel like we already told you this, but it’s the people who are the problem. We’re not selling to them.”
“But—”
“No,” Jake said firmly. “Isabel’s answer is not changing, and neither is mine.”
“I understand that, but—”
“No more buts. This conversation is over. Find another buyer, or else we’ll all be waiting Mier knows how much longer.”
Jake hung up after exchanging curt goodbyes. He poured himself a cup of coffee, combing his fingers through his messy hair.
“Good morning, Jake,” Isabel said. “Was that the realtor?”
“Morning.” Jake took a drink of coffee. “Yeah, it was him. I told him the same thing you said yesterday. I think he finally got the picture.”
“Good.”
Her word was so final, Jake finished his coffee and went to the bathroom to shower and get dressed in silence. His days were now spent keeping the house and yard tidy, and it was during quiet moments like this that he missed volunteering at the beach or texting Robbie to get lunch more than ever.
The wave of sadness hit him like a ton of bricks. If he texted Robbie right now, after their meeting yesterday, Robbie would probably agree to see him again. He might even agree to lunch, as bad an idea as it was.
But Jake held his resolve and stepped into the shower while it was still cold. Seeing Robbie one last time was the worst idea he’d ever had—worse than hooking up with Robbie in the first place, and worse still than admitting his love when Robbie was so vulnerable.
When he got out of the shower, there was a voicemail on his phone. For just a second, his heart thumped—until he saw the number.
“Fuck you,” Jake muttered. “Stop calling me.”
He redialed the number and waited for Carson to pick up. Two rings later, the man answered:
“Ah, Jake, hello, hello. Thank you for calling me back.”
“What is it?” Jake asked with a shortness he would have regretted if it were anyone else.
“I’d like to come over. I have some developments I’d like to share, but in person. Would your aunt possibly be disposed to that idea?”
Jake took a deep breath. “Uh, maybe. Why can’t you just tell me over the phone, and I’ll relay it to her?”
“I’d really prefer to meet in person. These things always go over better when we’re face-to-face.”
Carson was pushing it, but Jake took another moment to consider before answering. “Okay, come over after lunch. I’ll make sure my aunt is aware you’re coming.”
“Thank you, Jake. I will see you soon.”
“Yeah.”
Jake hung up and shoved his phone into his pocket. Right now, he would have given almost anything for one of those warm, gooey cinnamon rolls Robbie liked to make.
“It’s good news,” Carson said, beaming.
Jake had seen him like this before, and so this particular look now was not as promising as Carson probably hoped. “Yeah?” he said, glancing over at Isabel, who kept a neutral expression.
“Eaton’s offering asking price.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. “Those bastards. I wonder if Robbie talked to them.”
“Did you tell him to?” Isabel asked.
“No, I told him not to. I’m gonna go talk to that piece of shit. You deal with Carson.”
Isabel started to shake her head no, but Jake was trembling with rage. He’d specifically cautioned Robbie against getting involved. Why did he have to ruin everything?
“What was that about?” he heard Carson ask as he stalked down the hallway.
“He has a past with the Eaton family,” Isabel explained. “There’s some bad blood there.”
“Ah, I see. Well, shall we discuss this offer?”
Jake closed his bedroom door and grabbed his phone. He could still make out bits of muffled conversation from the living room, where Carson was no doubt sipping his cup of tea while Isabel pretended to consider his lofty ideas and feeble praise of the Eaton empire.
He dialed Robbie’s number before he’d even had a chance to calm down. His breath came in short, forced heaves, and his heart pounded until it hurt.
“Hello, Jake. Is something wrong?”
“You,” Jake snapped. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Silence. And then: “Are you drunk?”
Jake bulldozed over Robbie’s confused question. “You told your family we were planning on declining their offer after I told you not to.” He was practically spitting the words out. “Why do you never listen to me?”
“What? Did they retract their offer?”
“They made a new one—for asking price.”
“Oh.”
Jake laughed harshly. “Yeah.”
“That’s not my parents’ offer, Jake.”
It was Jake’s turn to be confused. “What?”
“It’s mine. I made an offer on the house. I can’t pay in cash like my parents could, but I assumed that wouldn’t matter to Isabel if she wasn’t planning on taking their offer anyway.”
“She’s not going to take yours either,” Jake said. “You’re insane if you believe that.”
“I thought it was worth a shot. It’s better than the house getting bought as a vacation home and lived in three months out of the year, or worse.”
“You’re one to talk. What about that fancy mansion of yours?”
Robbie was silent again for a little while. “Nothing in our future is certain, Jake,” he finally said. “You of all people should know that.”
“You know what? Fuck you.”
“Sorry?”
“You heard me: fuck you and your inheritance and your prissy little family. I never should have believed the version of you that you tried to sell me. You’re no better than your parents. Have fun turning into them over the next twenty years. I hope you rot here.”
“Jake, I—”
“Fuck off.” Jake hung up before Robbie could get another word in. He dropped his phone on the bed and lay back, smothering his face with a pillow so he didn’t have to see or hear or breathe.
It must have been several minutes, maybe even longer, before there was a gentle knock on his door.
“Come in.” The pillow muffled his words, so he removed it and repeated himself.
“It’s just me,” Isabel said. “Mr. Crowley left a minute ago. We had a very illuminating talk.” She sat down on the side of Jake’s bed. “Jake—”
“I know,” Jake mumbled, staring up at the ceiling. “Robbie told me.”
“I’m accepting his offer.”
“You’re only enabling him to stay here and become his parents.”
“I don’t think I am.”
Jake pulled himself up. “What if he’s doing it for his parents?”
“Do you really believe that?”
Jake wanted to believe it. It would make leaving so much easier if Robbie could be the bad guy and Jake could pin all their troubles on him. But Robbie would never do that for his parents, not even if they tried to make it worth his while. He’d given up more for less.
“I’m selling the house to Robbie,” Isabel said again. “How could I not?”
Jake shook his head. He had no answer for Isabel. He had nothing left at all.
The rain picked up again outside, hammering the windows with such ferocity that even Isabel looked momentarily concerned.
“I’ll leave you be,” she said, “but I’m not changing my mind. I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you and Robbie in the end.”
“I’m sorry too,” Jake muttered, dropping his head back onto the pillow, hoping, in vain, that the rain would lull him to sleep as soon as Isabel was gone. “Sorrier than you can ever imagine.”
The rain only got worse the following day, and when Jake awoke with a headache as bad as any hangover, his hopes for moving on after his true final conversation with Robbie, the one where he had burned whatever bridge they managed to repair on the beach, were dashed against the very rocks being pummeled by waves down at the shore.
The next day was much of the same, and then the next.
Isabel wasn’t showing the house anymore, so there was no need for Jake to leave it when a nice older couple or a sweet young family wanted to take a walkthrough.
He was safe to rot on the couch as the rain droned on and well after it slowed, getting up only when Isabel threatened to call Alex.
“I’ll do it,” she said, “and I’ll let that girl give you an earful. Don’t think she won’t.”
“I know, I know,” Jake grumbled. “I’ll get up and go do something.”
“Pick up some groceries at Sandway while you’re out, will you? Anything you want; I can make it work.”
“Sure thing, Aunt Isabel.”
Jake went to his room to change his shirt. His laundry had been piling up, and now he felt a prick of shame warming his cheeks as he stared at the hideous monster glowering up at him. He had to get out of this funk. Leaving permanently would help, but until then, he didn’t know what to do.
He drove to Sandway in silence. He’d tried drowning out the buzz in his head already with all kinds of music and podcasts and radio talk shows, and those didn’t work.
Instead of numbing his brain, the noise lit it on fire, devolving into the kind of discordant chaos that one could only live with for so long.
“Eaton Cafe, coming soon,” Jake recited as he passed the old Book Nook. Except it didn’t say that anymore. The big blue banner had been torn down, perhaps by the storm, and a blank storefront stood there, naked and ashamed in its half-finished state.
Jake slowed and pulled into the parking lot. The work trucks and big machinery that they’d been using to turn the place inside out were all gone, too. The interior was still empty; no counter and no shelves, but nothing else either. It was as if the place sat in limbo.
“The storm,” Jake muttered, pressing his hand to one of the windows to better see inside. “I’m sure the storm’s set them back a lot.”
He couldn’t lie; it gave him a sort of sadistic pleasure to know that the Eatons might not be able to open their cafe in time for the big holiday rush they were anticipating. That had to hurt.