Chapter 45
forty-five
Noah
Minutes after Willow and I make it to the store the next morning, the doorbell chimes.
“Well, that was an interesting start to my day,” Ms. Angela says as she trots inside and straightens a few things.
“Lovely display, my dear,” she tells Willow, her pursed lips saying something’s definitely wrong.
“I need to talk to you two,” she tells us, gesturing to the office.
“Actually,” she says as she switches the Open sign to Closed, “There’s no one in here yet, right? ”
“Only Elaine in the prep room and Dean at the unloading dock,” I say while Willow looks at her with wide eyes.
Ms. Angela engages the lock.
“Coffee?” I offer.
“Sure. And let’s maybe crack a bottle of the cheap stuff and pour a splash in it.”
Willow frowns. “It’s barely eight.”
Ms. Angela nods eagerly. “Uh-huh. It’s going to be a long day.”
“You want to at least tell us what this is about?” I ask over my shoulder while I get the coffees and Willow goes to the liquor aisle.
“This requires a seat,” Ms. Angela says. “Where is she going?”
“Getting the booze and running it through our house account.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Boy oh boy. Everything’s above board now. I remember the good ol—”
Willow glances at me from across the store. “Aunt Angela,” she calls out, sharing my growing aggravation. “Not even an inkling of a direction? You’re killing us here.”
“Fine,” Ms. Angela says, taking the cup I hand her. She waits until Willow returns, twists off the cap, tops off her cup, then says, “One word. Gail.” Then she turns on her heel and marches to the office.
“She always knew how to manage suspense,” Willow says as I fill our matching cups with piping hot coffee, almond milk and a splash of maple syrup for Willow, black for me.
Willow extends her mug with a wink. “Mr. Callaway.”
Smiling, I clink with her. I don’t care what Gail has up her sleeve, just looking at the travel mug my wife got me—the same as hers, with the words Noah Callaway in Millie’s handwriting—makes me happy.
Willow had her add Mr. and Mrs. on the other side, so the two mugs look like those bridal gifts I always thought were silly but now seem intrinsic to my happiness as a newly married man.
“Let’s do this,” Willow says with a small sigh, her chin pointing to the office.
“Sit down,” Ms. Angela gestures to us. “You ready?”
I have a shit ton of work to do. I take a sip of the steaming coffee. Had this been the only change my wife made to the store, I’d still be thanking her for the rest of my days. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Famous last words, young man.” She takes a long sip, smacks her lips, then sets the cup down.
“As of yesterday, the select board is in possession of a request from Mrs. Gail Callaway to schedule a special public meeting.” The select board is our governing body.
I’ve been a Selectperson for years, alongside Owen, Cassandra, Lynn, and Colton.
Colton is our chairperson, and Ms. Angela our secretary.
“As soon as I’m done here, I’m emailing the whole board. ”
Ms. Angela’s tendency to sit on information is a little irritating, but I know better than to address this now. “Why would she do that? I expected her to take us to court.”
“The only thing I can think of is that she doesn’t want to pay lawyers.”
Right. “She’d rather have the town do it, and she’ll use the outcome to her advantage if it turns out the way she wants.”
Ms. Angela makes a face. “She always had a way with money. Specifically, how to get some without working—by using others.”
Gail is going to use the fact that the store would go to the town if the marriage was ruled as fake—whatever lawyers might call that.
She’s thinking that for some reason the town will want to own the store, and that they’ll do what’s needed to establish I didn’t meet the conditions of the trust. Then she’ll piggyback on that to get her hands on the rest of the estate.
She’s trying to get the town to do the heavy lifting of the lawsuit.
“People will see right through it,” I state.
“Some will. Others can be jealous or downright mean. I wouldn’t take the threat too lightly,” Ms. Angela says. “For all we know, they could be meeting with people behind our backs, promising who knows what if things changed here.”
She takes a sip of her coffee, then resumes.
“She made an official request, and she has a petition going. You’ll be getting a phone call from Colton at any moment.
” She pulls out a manila envelope from her canvas bag and hands it to me.
“I just spoke with him. I asked him to give me half an hour before he calls you.”
I set my mug on my table, rip the envelope open, and pull my phone out. “I’ll call him right now, get this over with.”
Ms. Angela tut-tuts me. “There’s more.”
What could be worse than our personal affairs aired out at town hall?
She folds her arms, her gaze going between the two of us. “Gail Callaway will be staying at Lilyvale.”
I choke on my coffee, my glasses instantly steaming up.
Willow laughs. “Over my dead body.”
“It was my idea,” Ms. Angela says, instantly sobering us, “and it’s genius.
” She raises a hand to silence us. “Just listen. A week ago, Gail checked into the resort. Since then, she’s been badgering everyone in town to give them information corroborating the fact that your marriage is fake.
You have to say, circumstantial evidence is very much against you.
For years, Willow has been pining after you, Noah, but you barely even noticed—”
“That’s not true!” How can she say such a thing in front of Willow? It’s so insensitive. I place my hand on Willow’s nape, but she tilts her chin to Ms. Angela, indicating to let her continue.
“The point is, no one can even testify having seen you grab a cup of coffee together at Millie’s or even just a drink at Lazy’s before you came back from Vegas.
” She looks at me pointedly, and I have nothing to say to that.
It’s true. She turns her attention to Willow.
“Remember that time at Game Nights, right after Kiara’s wedding?
It’s not like I didn’t try to get you to say something was up—”
Willow nearly chokes on her coffee. “Oh that’s what you were doing? ’Cause it seemed to me you were just—” Ms. Angela’s glare shuts her up. “Never mind,” Willow whispers.
“I was giving you an opportunity to share the news. Course, I didn’t know there was nothing to share. Sheesh. You really made it look like there was absolutely nothing going on between you two, and next thing you know, you’re eloping! That doesn’t look too good.
“What’s worse, there’s got to be someone who saw you go to the mansion after you dropped me off at home, and we don’t know if this person will speak up or not. It’s easy to put two and two together for someone who doesn’t know you. Willow went to Lilyvale to offer Noah a deal, which he took.”
“Or she just came to cuddle with me,” I offer.
“Nope, that won’t stand. She looked too uninterested in you at Game Nights.”
“Is that so?” I ask, faintly bruised.
“Turns out your wife is an excellent comedian,” Ms. Angela says. “Problem is, this wasn’t the time to hide her true feelings.”
I take Willow’s hand in mine. I should have seen who she was, and how she felt about me, but feeling guilty about my blindness isn’t going to do anything. Instead, I’m grateful she’s who I’m sharing my life with.
“What does Gail staying at Lilyvale have anything to do with all this?” Willow asks.
“Right,” Ms. Angela says. “So, Gail has been staying at the resort with some gentleman and his son—developers. She’s been showing them around, asking questions about you, digging through documents at town hall.
Now, last night, her suite at the resort experienced a spider infestation.
They moved her during the night, but less than an hour after she was settled into her new suite?
Spiders again crawling on the walls, on her bed. A real horror story.”
I resume sipping my coffee, actually reveling in the woes of my stepmother. “Seems like good company for her.”
“It gets better. She calls Wendy and Todd at the hotel, but they’re sold out. So she calls me, begging for any room at the bed-and-breakfast.”
“I hope you’re charging her double,” I say.
“You haven’t been paying attention. I told her I was full as well, but that as the widow Callaway, she should sleep at Lilyvale, as was her right.”
There goes my coffee again, down the wrong pipe. “Why would you do that?” I croak.
“Oh, I love it,” Willow coos. “You’re such a devil.”
Ms. Angela points at Willow. “She’s got it,” she says with a big smile. She leans over to pat my wife’s leg. “Good girl.”