Chapter 18 Maddie
MADDIE
After losing both my parents, you wouldn’t think pain could take me by surprise anymore.
But it’s been an hour since Jake walked away, and my whole body is still heavy with agony, from my aching chest to my empty arms and all the way down to my toes. How will I survive the weight of all this grief?
Why did I ever let myself hope?
But I can’t answer that question. And I can’t honestly say that I would have done anything differently, even if I’d known the outcome.
I close my eyes and all I can see is Dylan’s face, soft with wonder as the tiniest snow flurries glitter in the air. Jake’s big form is beside him, and I know his eyes are on me, even though I’m not looking at him, because I can feel his gaze.
I beg myself to stop, but it doesn’t work. It’s not the force of my will but my phone buzzing that finally rips me out of the moment I’ll probably be replaying in my head for the rest of my life.
It’s my best friend’s number so I pick up right away.
“Monique?” I say, realizing as I say her name out loud that we never call each other. We text. Always.
“Hey,” she says. “I know it’s been a while, and it’s your business, so I have no right to ask it, but please… don’t do this.”
“Don’t… do what?” I ask her, completely lost.
“It’s all over the business news,” she says quietly. “You had to know people would find out.”
“Find out what?” I ask.
“Foster’s Figurines is being broken up and sold for parts,” she says flatly. “You knew your dad better than I did. But we both know that’s not what he would want.”
Delilah.
Of course I knew it was a possibility that she would do this. I just hoped that she wouldn’t.
But without new annual Christmas sculptures, the company can’t stay as profitable as it is now forever. I guess Delilah would rather sell it off than seek fresh talent. She never really liked the business part of the business anyway. She just liked spending the money.
It’s hers, I remind myself again. He left it to her. He wanted her to have it.
And even my best friend doesn’t know that yet.
I wondered why Delilah hadn’t spread the news that she’d inherited everything far and wide. And now I know exactly why. She wanted me to look like the bad guy in all this.
“I know you’re sad right now,” Monique goes on gently.
“But one day you’re going to treasure those memories, and you’ll wish you hadn’t demolished everything he built.
If you feel like you can’t deal with it all, you can hire experts to run it for now.
You don’t have to do a thing. Just don’t do this. ”
“It’s a long story,” I tell Monique. “I promise to explain soon, but… it’s not me doing this. Do you believe me?”
“You’re the only Foster left,” she says. “If you’re not doing it, then you have to do something about it, Maddie.”
I can’t stop it. But it hits me that there might be one thing I can do, however small.
I’m right here on Angel Mountain. I can go talk to the ladies at the local factory.
At least that way they won’t hear it on the news tonight.
They can hear it from me, someone in the Foster family, someone who actually cares about them.
“I have to go,” I tell her. “But I’ll call you soon.”
I pack my few items into my bag, knowing that there’s a real possibility that by the time I get back Jake will have gathered himself enough to tell Michael not to let me back in here.
More than anything I want to take the beautiful coat and sweaters that Jake and Dylan got for me. The cherished memory they represent warms my heart as much as the clothing warms my body.
But they were gifts given under false pretenses. So I fold them neatly and leave them on the cot, and the boots on the floor beside it.
I slip on my old jacket and sneakers, grab my bag and head out, grateful to be running toward something for a change, even if it’s an unhappy task.
I manage to make it down the hallway and into the lobby without anyone noticing me.
The Applebaums are curled up on their loveseat, and Bobby’s parents are talking to Margo as he squats by the miniature Christmas village, watching the magnetic skaters while his sister slides her thumbs over her phone screen, head bopping to the beat of whatever is playing in her earbuds.
Penelope and her cameraman are by the fireplace, making yet another video.
I slip out the front door and call the cab driver who brought me up here. I guess he was right about me needing a ride back down after all. At least I have some cash now.
I probably should have left that behind too, but I honestly don’t know what I’ll do if Michael won’t let me back into the lodge, and I’m willing to sacrifice some of my principles to avoid freezing to death. When I get back on my feet again, I’ll send Jake a check.
I’m shivering and wondering why it’s taking so long for the taxi to get to the top of the mountain, but I don’t dare go back inside to wait.
Just as the cab finally arrives, a contractor’s truck pulls up beside it and workers pour out.
Oh, Jake…
It looks like he might have this place half torn down before I get back.
“Hey again, little lady,” the cab driver says with a big smile. “Back to the bus station?”
“No, thank you,” I tell him. “I’d like to go to the Foster’s Figurine Factory, please.”
“The old soup factory,” he says, nodding. “That’s up by where my cousin used to live. Funny story about him…”
It turns out to be more of a long story than a funny one, and I’m relieved to melt into the back of the cab and not have to say a word for the whole trip.
When we pull up at the familiar old building in the trees, he taps the meter again like he did when he took me up the mountain the first time. But this time I’m not scared about the number on it.
“Want me to stick around?” he offers after I pay, tipping better this time. “Weatherman says a storm’s coming.”
“I’ll call you when I’m done,” I tell him. “You don’t have to wait.”
“Okey-dokey,” he says.
I give him a quick wave and approach the familiar brick structure. The old soup logo that was painted on the exterior faded away long ago, but those bricks are still covered with peeling white paint.
Dad used to say that this factory was his baby and it always made my mom laugh and point out that I was his baby.
But I knew what he meant. We loved Angel Mountain and the ladies who worked at this factory always made it feel so homey.
I worry that there may be some kind of security in place these days. But the front door swings open easily, just like I remember. My feet carry me automatically across the checkerboard floor of the lobby, and I push open another door.
The next thing I know I’m standing in an open space with enormous windows, where huge vats of soup used to be prepared.
Big tables replaced the vats long ago, but the slogans are still on the walls.
Love Them with Soup
Soup Warms the Heart
It’s Always Soup-o’clock Somewhere
There are ladies working at each and every table, wearing colorful smocks and applying tiny paintbrushes to the little figures.
Most of the heads bent over their work are silver and white now. But the feeling of this place is timeless.
“Maddie?” someone says softly.