Chapter 12
12
CHLOE
I don’t remember driving home, or letting myself into my apartment, or undressing and running the shower, which I stood under until the scalding hot water grew cold. Eventually, my shivering forced me to turn off the water and grab my towel.
Every carefully planned discussion point that I’d come up with last night seemed wrong today. Okay, I told myself as I rubbed the towel over my hair, Brad’s a nice guy. He’s funny. I like our conversations, and his work ethic. He’s got a good job that pays well. He lives in a reasonable apartment, drives a truck that suits his job and from what I’d gathered, his income. I’d met most of his family and they seemed down to earth. His friends were normal too. There had been none of the red flags that I’d arbitrarily dismissed when I’d been dating—and married to—Tony.
I stopped toweling my hair and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Why was I avoiding him?
Because I was scared. Scared of being hurt again. Scared of being betrayed. Scared of having to face friends and family who would wonder how I had failed so hugely. Had such awful, terrible, bad judgment. Again. If I ended up being left in the lurch, left with hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt, I had nowhere to run. Port Paxton was my safe place, my haven.
I was judging Brad, assuming him guilty of being bad with his money, of being like Tony. Why? I’d made assumptions based upon snippets of a conversation. The way I’d run away from the party, from Brad, was an act I’d expect from a teenager, not a woman in her forties with a freaking business degree. I needed to be level-headed. I needed to talk with Brad, to ask him about the loan, and to not take it personally that he hadn’t mentioned it to me. I hadn’t mentioned any huge details to him, either. We’d never talked about any sort of deeper levels of commitment beyond the here and now, so why I was expecting answers to questions I had no right to ask?
I dried my hair, French braided it, and pulled on my favorite T-shirt and shorts. Squaring my shoulders, I grabbed my keys from the hook by the door, slung my purse over my shoulder, and left, assured that I was going to be a strong and capable woman.
Yet, for reasons I didn’t understand, instead of driving across the island to the other side of the lake where Perry Beach is located, I found myself pulling into the left-hand turn lane to the road that led to Marilyn Bordon’s house.
Marilyn was in her back yard, Henrietta tucked beneath her arm. The two of them stood next to a chicken roost that hadn’t been there last time I’d visited. Brad’s handiwork no doubt. Inside the run were five new chickens—one fully white with a red comb, a white-and-black one, and three golden birds.
She turned and greeted me with a huge smile. “Come to see my new girlies?” Without waiting for my reply, she pointed to each chicken, starting with the checkerboard one. “That’s Margaret Hatcher. She’s a Barred Plymouth Rock.” Her finger moved to the white one. “That’s Snowball. She’s a Chantecler. The three golden ones are Eggatha Christie, Amelia Egghart, and Quackers.”
“Quackers? But she’s a hen. Wouldn’t you call a duck Quackers?” I couldn’t stop myself.
Marilyn shrugged. “That’s what she answers to, so that’s what I am calling her.”
All righty then. “What does Henrietta think of them?”
“She’s not happy with me right now. Or them. I don’t know if I’ll be ever able to trust her to roost with them. But time will tell.” She stroked Henrietta who pecked at her.
“You get them for the eggs or for the pot?”
“Eggs, of course.” There was an “isn’t it obvious” snap in Marilyn’s voice.
Which it wasn’t, considering she’d brought a roast chicken to a potluck party we’d both attended the month before.
“I plan on putting a sign on the road if I end up with extra eggs. The cottagers might buy them. Or maybe I’ll set up a little stand at the farmers’ market.” She placed Henrietta on the ground and let her strut around the back yard. “Now, what brings you out all this way instead of staying home playing kissy face with your man?”
“Kissy face? Seriously?”
She waved a hand dismissively and headed back to the patio where she gestured to a chair underneath a faded umbrella. “Whatever you kids call it these days. What’s wrong, and why are you here instead of talking with your mom?”
Good question.
Because it was easier to talk relationships with Marilyn than it was with my mom, but I didn’t want to admit that. Mom had stood by me during the toughest days of my divorce and all the drama that entailed, so I didn’t want to dump more on her. Or admit I might be about to screw up yet another relationship.
What happened with Tony was not your fault. You didn’t wreck that relationship, he did, Amanda’s voice chimed loud in my head.
“I need an…outside opinion.”
“All right, shoot.” Marilyn sat down in the chair opposite me, crossed her feet primly like a duchess, and watched me, expectantly.
I explained about the conversation I’d overheard and gave her more details than I’d ever shared with anyone outside my family and Amanda about my marriage to Tony. “So you see, I don’t want to get into another relationship where the guy isn’t responsible with his money. I don’t want to end up responsible for all his debts, and Brad…”
“Brad what?” she prompted. “Brad went for a loan but didn’t tell you about it. And that bothers you.”
I nodded.
“Have you discussed your finances with him?”
“No! We’ve only been dating two months.” I shook my head in frustration. “I know that makes me sound like a hypocrite, but…”
“But given your history, you’re afraid. That’s perfectly understandable.” Marilyn reached over and rested her hand on mine, her skin surprisingly cool given today’s heat. “The part that is not understandable, is why you are here talking to me, an old lady, instead of chasing down your man and asking him?”
“Because…” My mouth flapped like a hooked fish out of water as I struggled to come up with a reasonable answer. But couldn’t.
“Chloe, dear, what I’ve learned from over fifty years of marriage to my Bob was men can’t anticipate your questions. Your fears. You have to tell them. Ask them outright. Don’t make them guess what you’re thinking, the same as you don’t like when they expect you to know what they’re thinking. If you have an issue with him asking for a loan, or why he got turned down for one, ask the poor man. Not me. Not your friends. Ask Brad.”
“I know, but…” Then I’d have to tell him about my debts and he might dump me.
“What could he say that would make you know you couldn’t continue seeing him? Get that settled in your head, but don’t anticipate the worst. I’ve known Brad since he was knee-high to a grasshopper, known his family even longer. They’re sensible folk.” She pursed her lips and stared across the lake for a long minute, then added, “Most of ’em anyway. Brad’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’s got a good job—he’s reliable, and he’s helpful to people who need help. Ask him about the loan. Listen to him. Then make up your mind about what you believe, and how you feel. What you can live with.”
“I know I need to ask him to his face. I get it, but…I’m forty-three years old and I can’t afford to be in debt the rest of life. I can’t go back to my parents and say I’ve failed in yet another relationship.” Not to them, not to myself.
“But you’re scared. Because you think everyone is your ex. Chloe—” Finger closed, tightened around my hand with surprising strength, she continued, “We’re all scared of something. Losing Bob? I’m still terrified at the thought of being alone. I get scared at the weird noises I hear at night or facing a repair that Bob used to do that I never bothered learning how to do myself. It scares me to know I’m growing old and feeble alone. I always thought Bob would be there. Don’t give up the chance to find a Bob of your own. They’re out there. I’m not saying Bradley’s the one for you, that he’s your Bob, but don’t write him off because you’re afraid to ask him for the truth.”
“But what if he asks for my truth and learns about Tony? About how the police hauled me into the station and questioned me. How people I thought were my friends automatically believed I was in on Tony’s schemes. That I helped him. What if he thinks like that?” I couldn’t bear it.
“Then he’s not your Bob, is he? I understand why you wouldn’t tell him when you first started dating him, but I think you need to have a heart-to-heart before either of you invests too much. If you love him, or think there is the possibility of something long-term, don’t throw it away because of fear. That’s not the Chloe Pogue I know. That’s not how your parents and your grandparents taught you. Now, get out that phone of yours and call him. Ask to meet him somewhere.” She waved a hand over her patio. “Here if you’d like. I can go inside and stay out of your way.” Her lips pulled up into a grin that reached into her eyes. “Or stay out here and referee if you want. But be warned, I’m impartial and if you start acting like a fool, I’ll call you out as much as I will him.”
Oh jeez Louise, there was no way I wanted a witness, even someone as lovely as Marilyn. “I’m supposed to meet him at Perry Beach in—” I checked my watch and swallowed my curse. “Ten minutes ago.”
Marilyn’s lips pursed. “Text him and tell him you’re on your way. Then get a wiggle on and get over there and hope he hasn’t left already.”
brAD
I paced along the shoreline, the gravel crunching beneath my feet, then clattering when I’d reach the end of Perry Beach and turn around to begin yet another length.
The beach part of Perry Beach was a misnomer. To me, beach implies sand that spreads out along the length of the shore and stretches out into the lake. Perry Beach was a length of smooth gravel and sharp rock. Great for fishermen but not great for swimmers, though us locals used it when the main beaches filled with tourists in the summer. Unfortunately, several years ago, a research team from the local university had announced Perry Beach was under threat by a new-to-the-area algae called starry stonewort, which could clog up boat engines, catch fishing hooks, and formed thick underwater mats that impeded swimming. Which meant tonight, like most days since the announcement, I was the sole visitor.
As I slowed to turn for yet another length of beach, I checked my watch for the fifteenth time. Chloe was ten minutes late, thirty seconds later than the last time I’d checked. Was I being stood up? Or was she ghosting me? No, if she wanted to ghost me, she wouldn’t have asked me to meet her here. Two trips along the short, rocky beach later, my phone pinged. When I pulled my phone from its holster, I bobbled it, nearly sending it flying into the lake. I breathed out a sigh of relief when I caught it and checked the screen.
Chloe
Running late. Be right there. Don’t leave before I get there.
Thank God. She was coming.
Ten minutes later, and twenty minutes late, Chloe’s truck pulled into the parking lot. I hurried to open her door. “Thanks for texting. I was getting worried about you.”
She glanced away, but took my hand as I helped her out of her truck. “Thanks for waiting, and you didn’t need to worry.”
“Of course I was going to worry about you.” Shit, did that make me seem too needy? Clingy? Or worse, controlling?
Halfway to the shoreline, Chloe unthreaded her hand from mine and faced me. “Soooo, we need to talk.”
Crap. She was dumping me. “Okay.”
“At the party the other night, I overheard a conversation you had with Josh.”
I’d had a lot of conversations with Josh and a lot of other people that night. None of which should concern Chloe. “Which particular part did you overhear?”
“I know it’s not any of my business, and you don’t owe me an explanation, but my ex left me with a lot of debt so I got…concerned when I heard about you not getting a loan from the bank.”
Shit. Heat burned in my face, betraying my embarrassment, one of the many blessings of my Celtic background and red beard. “I’m sorry to hear about your ex.”
Why hadn’t she felt she could tell me about him?
Before I could say anything more, she continued, “The thing is, I like you.”
Okay, that wasn’t as warm and inviting as I’d hoped, but it was better than “I don’t think we fit” unless “I like you” was followed by a “but.”
“But…”
Shit.
She looked over the lake for so long, I wasn’t sure she was going to speak again or if she was waiting for me to say something. Or maybe she was gathering her courage because she thought I’d react badly? But then why not meet me somewhere crowded instead of this abandoned beach?
“But?” I prompted.
“I come with a lot of baggage.” She then proceeded to tell me about her ex, about how he’d scammed a bunch of people down in southwestern Ontario, how he’d left her holding a lot of the debts he’d incurred, and even how the police and others had suspected she’d been part of his scams. She told me of lawyer debts to defend herself, of being unable to find a job because people would request a background check or do a quick search on the net and her ex’s history would pop up. “So I came home, changed back to my maiden name, and with a lot of help from my family and a couple good friends, here I am. Working for PRP doing outside work that I swore I never wanted to do again. I’m not complaining about the money, or the work, it’s just not what I spent four years in university to do.”
“And you’re terrified that you’ll find yourself back in the same boat with another guy who’ll leave you with a mountain of debt you won’t be able to get out from under.”
“Right.”
“I’m not in a mountain of debt, Chloe. As for the bank loan?” Since I’d told John I hadn’t gotten the loan, and I’d heard him tell Molly to contact that other firm, I rationalized my promise to keep it secret was over. “A couple weeks back, John offered me the chance to buy him out. That’s what the bank loan was for. I didn’t tell you—or anyone else other than Ellie who helped me with my business plan—because he made me promise not to say anything in case word got out and the guys started quitting. And after I got turned down? I felt like a failure.”
“A secret which you’re breaking now?”
“I couldn’t get the loan. The deal’s off so I don’t think my promise applies anymore.”
“I hate to tell you, but it might. A verbal agreement might still be enforceable.” She frowned. “But you were talking about it with Josh.”
“Forgot to mention he helped me with the proposal. The accounting parts.”
Chloe’s eyebrows arched. “Did they know you weren’t supposed to be talking about it? Because if she did and she told anyone else, that’s a serious ethics breach.”
I scraped my hand across my hair. “It's hard to remember the exact sequence of events. John had mentioned it to me right before we met, but he didn't get serious about giving me a deadline until a while later. Then when he was, John didn’t ask me to keep it on the down-low until I'd already asked Ellie for help, and the damage was already done. Besides, he knew I’d have to tell some people because I had to get funding and write the damned proposal.”
“So you told Josh and Ellie, but not me—who actually works for…” Comprehension lit her eyes. “John’s selling the company to someone who may not keep us all on.”
“He’s selling to someone who I suspect only wants our equipment. So we’ll all be out of a job. You’d only been there ten days, Chloe. Less. I didn’t want to get you worried about having to look for another job if I could get the loan and save the company.”
She may have muttered idiot but I wasn’t quite sure and I already felt like an idiot, so why make her repeat the obvious?
“Why did the bank turn you down? Did they tell you?”
“The letter’s back at my apartment—to be honest, it’s over my head. I know trees, not numbers and business plans.”
“I’m not an accountant but I’m pretty damned good at this type of stuff. Let me look at the letter and see what I can come up with.”
A half hour later, I found myself back at my apartment, sitting across from Chloe, the business plan and letter from the bank spread across my tiny kitchen table.
With a glance from under her eyelashes, Chloe dug into her purse and pulled out a pair of glasses, then flipped through the pages of the business plan. How did I not know she wore glasses? Reading glasses obviously. Sexy as hell, too. She reminded me of a school teacher or librarian, neither of which had been sexy to me in school, but sitting across from me, reading a column of figures that meant diddly squat to me? I wanted to sweep her into my lap and kiss her until her lenses fogged.
I wondered if that was possible. My mother often complained about how her glasses fogged up if she left the house in the middle of winter, or when she left her air-conditioned car in the middle of a heat wave. Could you fog a pair of glasses from kissing the wearer? Now I was determined to find out.
“Would you mind if I take the business plan and the letter and show it to some people? Get some advice? I could take a photo of it if you’d prefer.”
“What people?”
“My cousin Nick, for starters. He’s a financial wizard down on Bay Street. He might have some ideas of how to get funding, or at the least introduce you to people who can back you.” She tapped a paragraph on the bank’s letter. “I also want to look into these government grants.”
“I thought that was for a start-up company.”
“There are all sorts of grants out there. It’s a matter of finding the right one. I have some contacts who can help me.” She pushed her glasses up on her head. Which I also found sexy. “Since you can’t buy out John, you can start your own business. You’ve already got the contacts. You live here. You know almost everyone whose trees you’ve worked on. It’s simply a matter of remembering and writing them down. Contacting them to see if they have more business for you, or can recommend you to their neighbor or family member. Look, when John can’t get to a job Dad needs done, Dad phones a firm in Peterborough. They’ll come out here, but they charge the client from the moment they leave their office and that makes them more expensive than hiring a local arborist. Hiring you . It gives you an immediate advantage to undercut their prices.”
“But John’s selling the equipment that I’d need.” And not to me.
“You don’t need all of it. Write down what you absolutely must have versus what would be handy to have. Chain saws, axes, saws, ropes, carabiners, wood chippers, wood splitters. If you need it, write it down. Then let me take that list and see what we can find used. Or maybe we can get enough to buy John out by not going through this bank. There are alternatives, Brad.”
“We?”
“What?” She glanced up, looking over her glasses.
“You said ‘we’ like we’re a team.” I tried to stop the hope welling inside at her use of the term. Tried to remind myself it may have just been a generic word. Not a sign that she saw us as an us. That she wasn’t using the business plan as a way to create distance. “Are we? A team?”