Layla – Present
I arrive at the bank at five to nine and park out front. My stomach has been fluttering with nerves since my alarm went off. The windshield wipers are working overtime to clear the heavy rain. Through the blur, I can just make out the red brick building ahead.
I kill the engine, pull my hood up over my head, and make a run for it almost knocking into Owen, who’s on his way to work, head down, headphones in, completely oblivious.
When I push the frosted glass door open, I’m greeted by a woman in a perfectly tailored pink blazer, long, shiny brown hair cascading over her shoulders. She sits behind a dark wooden desk and looks up at me, smiling.
She looks familiar.
“Layla, how are you? I heard you were back, I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“I’m good,” I say politely. “How have you been?”
I’m trying to remember her name. I think it starts with an S… Savannah, maybe?
“Oh, you know. Just about the same since you left,” she says, tapping something into the computer. “Nothing ever changes around here.” She swings in her chair, eyeing me. “I heard Amie’s getting married. Took Parker long enough to ask, don’t you think?”
No.
It’s not Savannah.
Scarlet?
Sierra?
“She just graduated in June,” I say. “I think his timing was perfect.”
She narrows her eyes. “She should’ve never got back together with him, if you ask me.”
Blair.
That’s it.
That’s her name.
“I didn’t.”
She leans forward slightly, her lip twitching with the start of a smirk, until a soft voice calls out from the side of the room.
“Layla!”
Elinor.
Her face lights up with a warm smile, eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Goodness me, it’s been years.” She opens her arms for a hug. I step into it, and for a moment, the nerves settle.
“What brings you in here?” she asks.
“I was actually hoping to get some advice from you.”
Her smile widens. “Well, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but please, ask away.”
I glance sideways, Blair is not even pretending to be subtle about listening in.
“Could we maybe talk in private?”
Elinor nods and gently touches my elbow. “Of course, right this way.”
She leads me down a short hallway into a small office at the back of the bank.
I’ve been in this room many times before, always with Dad.
There’s a single window behind the desk, branches from the tree outside tapping wildly against the glass in the wind.
Rain pelts the pane in steady sheets. The room’s colder than the rest of the building.
I zip up my jacket and take a seat opposite her. She sits, still smiling kindly, folding her hands on the desk.
I remember how she used to give me candy when I came here as a kid. When you’re six years old, that’s basically Santa level kindness.
“So,” she says gently, “tell me what I can help you with, Layla.”
“I’d like to open an account.” I pause, pressing my hands into my knees to still them. “And… I’d also like to ask about the possibility of a loan.”
“Okay.” She nods. “I can help with that. What kind of amount are you thinking?”
“I’m not sure.”
She tilts her head. “Well, I can run a quick eligibility check, see what you might qualify for, if that helps?” Her fingers begin tapping across the keyboard. “Do you happen to have your bank statements? I’ll need to know what you’ve got coming in, and any savings accounts in your name.”
I reach into my bag and pull out the slightly crumpled paperwork I printed this morning. I slide it across the desk.
She reaches for a pair of black rimmed glasses, then holds the first statement out at arm’s length.
Her brow furrows. She glances up at me, then back at the page.
She sets it down, shaking her head.
“I don’t think you need a loan, Layla.”
“I’m pretty sure I do.”
“If we’re only talking about your current income, then no, you wouldn’t qualify for much of anything. But honey…”
She leans in slightly and lowers her voice, glancing toward the closed door behind me.
“You’ve got enough money in that savings account to buy the whole darn street and you’d still have some left over.”
I swallow hard. “That’s the thing. I can’t use that money.”
Her brows rise. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
She lifts the paper again, puts her glasses back on, and peers closer.
“It’s a join account,” she says, reading. “You and a Mr. Ben Matthews.”
“You said there’s no loan eligibility on my current income?”
She sighs. “No, honey. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Thanks anyway, Elinor.”
I reach for the paperwork, stuff it back into my bag, and pull my hood up.
“Do you still want to open the account?”
“I’ll come back another day,” I say, already halfway to the door.
“Layla.”
I pause, hand resting on the handle.
She stands. “I’m not going to ask you why you think you can’t use that money. But I am going to tell you this, legally, you have every right to. I’ve heard the rumors. This town is a vortex for gossip.” She rolls her eyes. “If they’re true, then I am so sorry for you loss.”
Her voice is gentle, sincere. She offers me a soft, sympathetic smile.
“If you change your mind,” she adds, “you know where to find me.”
***
I stir the sauce into the pasta while Jacob grates the parmesan.
Mabel is in the living room, talking to one of her children on the phone.
She has just under a month left before she leaves on December twentieth to spend the next six months with them.
I find myself feeling a little sad at the thought of not having dinner with her for that long, I’ve really grown to love this little Friday night tradition I’m now a part of.
I toss some mushrooms into the pan and lower the heat to a simmer.
Jacob opens a drawer and starts to set some utensils on the table. We haven’t said much to each other since we arrived, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s forgotten about the car.
“How was your day?” I ask.
He moves around me and opens the cupboard beside my head.
“It was okay. Busy,” he answers. “What about you?”
“It was busy too.” Harry’s is always packed on Fridays. It’s as if everyone in town either eats there or orders takeout.
“Friday rush,” he says.
He walks to the fridge and pulls out a bowl of salad wrapped in plastic wrap. He sets it down on Mabel’s white crochet tablecloth, then starts laying out the plates.
“Yeah, Harry’s is crazy on Fridays.”
I don’t want to be talking about Harry’s right now, there’s a long list of things I’d rather talk to Jacob about than my job.
I turn my attention back to the sauce and stir it. “Have you seen Owen this week?”
I cringe at how not subtle that came out. I’m not sure what I was going for, but that definitely wasn’t it.
“No.”
I can hear the smile in his voice, and I refuse to turn around. I grab some thyme and season the sauce.
I feel his presence beside me and glance over. His back is leaning against the counter, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, tattoos on display.
“But I might have some news about a car.”
I drop the spoon. “You do?”
He smiles. “Is that what this was?” He gestures toward our conversation.
“I didn’t want to outright ask in case you forgot, or didn’t find anything.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys. Unhooking an extra one from his chain, he holds it out.
“This is yours now,” he says. “It’s the spare. The owner still has the car, but it’ll be ready on Monday.”
“How much?”
He holds eye contact before answering. “Four hundred.”
I eye him skeptically.
He shrugs. “One of our foremen was upgrading.”
“It’s better than Farrah, right?”
“Farrah?”
“Owen’s car?”
“Oh. Yeah. It’s better than Owen’s car.”
“Thank you so much, Jacob!”
I throw my arms around him before I even realize what I’m doing.
He hesitates for a second, then wraps his arms around me, his hands resting on my back.
He smells like a mix of cedar wood and salt air.
My hand finds the nape of his neck where his hair curls slightly, just like it used to when we were younger.
I have to fight the urge to thread my fingers through it.
“I hope you’re not burning my sauce.”
Mabel’s voice brings me back to reality.
We part from each other, his forest green eyes not breaking contact with mine until Mabel moves between us, fishing the spoon I dropped out of the sauce.
I’m smiling like an idiot.
I look down at the little black key clutched tightly in my hand. I have a car. It feels like a significant moment.
Mabel takes the sauce off the heat, and we help her plate up the food.
I take my seat facing Jacob.
“Why are you smiling so much?” Mabel asks as she reaches for the parmesan.
I shrug. “Are you excited to go back to Louisiana?”
She waits until she’s finished sprinkling the cheese on top of her pasta before answering.
“I’m excited to see my children and grandchildren. I don’t like leaving Warren, though. Six months is a long time for him not see me.” She takes a sip of water, then looks at us both. “Would you check in on him from time to time?”
“Of course,” Jacob says.
She smiles, then takes a bite of the pasta.
“It’s Warren’s birthday tomorrow,” she announces. “We’re having a little party for him at the retirement home, if you’d like to come.”
I look at Jacob, and he nods.
“What time?”
“Two o’clock,” she says, then turns to me. “I was hoping I might get to try some of your baking before I leave…”
I swallow.
I haven’t attempted baking since before Ben died. I miss it. But the longer it’s been, the more hesitant I am.
“It’s been a while since I’ve made anything. I’m not sure it would be any good.”
“Nonsense,” she says. “Anything you make will be perfect.”
Jacob catches my eye. “We had another meeting with the Broadmans.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, dear. Are they giving you the contract?”
Mabel doesn’t seem to notice the subject change, and I’m thankful.
“Hopefully,” he says. “They still have other offers on the table, but Keith and I are optimistic.”
“They’d be crazy not to choose you.”
He smiles at me.
“I agree, dear.” Mabel adds. “You and Keith have my vote every time.”
Jacob talks more about the Broadmans and their plans to expand their hotel business, which has been taking off in recent years.
They’re planning to build a new hotel right here in Rockport.
Since I left, the tourist boom has only grown, and the demand for accommodation means the Broadmans are eager to start where they’re guaranteed a profit.
I love listening to Jacob talk about work. He gets so passionate, it’s hard not to hang on every word.
By the time dinner’s over and Mabel and I finish our usual routine of washing up together, it’s late.
I sit on one of the workbenches while Jacob is up on a step ladder a few feet away, fixing one of the light fixtures.
“I’m going to miss Mabel.”
“I know,” he replies, his back to me as he works.
“I can’t believe I’ve been here for nearly six months.
” I glance around at the progress Jacob has made in the shop.
The large gaping hole that used to be a few inches over from where he’s standing is now sealed and plastered over, no more damp.
There’s still a lot of work to do, but the amount he’s tackled during these Friday night dinners and in his spare time is impressive.
“It feels like it’s been longer,” I add.
“Do you think you’ll stay?” He looks over his shoulder at me.
I nod. “I just wish I had things a little more together, like I did in Louisiana.”
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” he says, finishing with the light bulb.
I shake my head. “I feel like I’m about two years behind where I should be.”
He steps down from the ladder and wipes his hands on a cloth.
“But you’re not.”
“Look at you,” I say, gesturing toward him. “You have a business, a house, a car…” I pause. “A life.” I bite my lip and shake my head. “Everyone else seems like they have it altogether, and I feel like I move one step forward and three back everyday.”
“It only seems that way.” He rubs the back of his neck, then lets his hand fall to his side.
“Everyone you’re comparing yourself to hasn’t had to go through what you have, Layla. It’s not easy going from having everything figured out, well, as much as anyone can, to starting over. To having to build it all again.”
“I don’t even know how to build it again. I feel like this part should’ve been in the grief leaflets the hospital gave me.” I sigh. “A guide on how to live.”
He sits down beside me, nudging my knee with his.
“I went to the bank today,” I say, exhaling. “Asked about a loan.”
He stares at me. “For here?”
I try not to smile at how transparent I still am to him after all these years.
“Elinor said I’m not eligible. I’d need to use the money in my savings account.”
I press my hands into the wooden board, squeezing it.
“You don’t want to do that?” he asks, sounding confused.
I shake my head. “I don’t want to use it.”
It shouldn’t even exist, I want to say.
“If you need money to buy it, I can help, Layla.”
“I don’t need help,” I say. “If I’m going to buy somewhere, I can eventually turn into a bakery, then I want to be the one to do it.”
His lip quirks into a small smirk and he nods.
“What’s holding you back from using the savings?”
I pull down the sleeves of my jacket, rubbing my thumb along the fabric. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right. It’s Ben’s, for a start.”
He stays silent, watching me.
I stand up and walk over to where the hole in the ceiling used to be.
“You’ve made good progress in here.”
“It’s been slow,” he replies. “I’ve been trying to get down a few extra nights a week, but things have been so busy lately.”
“With the Broadmans?”
“Them, and a few other clients.” He leans against the workbench. “The Broadmans would be huge for us, but they’d also be huge for a lot of other contractors, which means there’s some undermining going on.”
“In your company?” I ask, sitting back down beside him.
“No. But Alex’s brother Mikah, he has a company.”
“That’s who Rhett works for now.”
He nods. “They’re pushing them for the contract.”
“Do you think they have a chance?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“If you don’t get the contract, is that… would that be bad?”
“No,” he says. “We’d be fine. It would just make things even better.”
“I still think they’d be crazy not to pick you and Keith.”
He grins. “Thanks.”
I grab my handbag off the floor. “I should probably go home, since I’m baking Warren a cake tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to do that, Layla. If it’s too much, I can tell Mabel.”
“No,” I say. “It’s okay. I want to.”
I think that’s at least partially true.
Part of me does want to bake again. I’m just scared.
“If you change your mind, Mabel will understand.”
I smile. “I know.”
“I’ll pick you up around one?”
“See you then.”