2. Liam
Ibegan the morning by getting reamed out by a homeowner about delays that were entirely her fault. When that was done, I learned that one of my roofers put a nail through his hand and another of my guys had punctured a drainage pipe, which we’ll now be replacing on our own dime.
But even all of that isn’t responsible for my foul mood at present—a foul mood my sister Bridget will definitely call me on.
She comes to the door and watches as I walk the path to her house. “Can’t even tell you broke it,” she says, glancing at my leg.
I grimace. “I can tell I broke it.” The cast has been off for weeks, but when I’m climbing up a ladder, my right leg is still weaker than my left. Surfing is impossible—I can barely do a pop up. And my checking account sure as shit can tell I broke it.
I head toward the leaking toilet she called about, which is the exact kind of thing her worthless husband should be taking care of. I’ve stopped bothering to ask where he is. Scott either takes more golf trips than any human alive or she’s covering for him.
“Got the invite to Caleb’s wedding,” she says, following me into the bathroom and hopping onto the sink. “Who’d have thought you’d be the last one to settle down?”
I drop my bag onto the floor. “Yeah. No one.”
“You’re too picky,” says Bridget. “You really should have given Missy a chance. Sometimes one date isn’t enough to—”
“Hey, Bridge?” I ask, turning to glance up at her from the bathroom floor. “Can we not do this today?”
The familiar conversation entitled Perfectly Nice Girls You Shot Down has never been a favorite of mine, especially when I agree with her. A little more than a year ago, my closest friends were all either headed for divorce or confirmed bachelors, and now all three of them are happily taken and that just leaves me—the only one of us who has been out there dating the entire time. I’ve been out with a hundred girls who were cute and nice and did nothing objectionable aside from boring me. Acknowledging that I’m the problem, and I clearly am, doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to tie myself for life to a woman who’s got me yawning an hour into our first date.
“Fine. I’ve got someone else you ought to meet. This single mom whose kid comes into our practice. She’s so friendly.”
“A single mom?” I shake my head. “No thanks. That’s twice as many people to disappoint.”
“Three times as many, actually,” she counters. “She’s also got a second grader. But Liam, you like kids. You were great with Daisy. Maybe that’s the piece that’s missing.”
It says everything about my sister’s marriage that she thinks kids can fill the empty space in a relationship. I’m pretty sure if she and Scott had had one together, she’d see how flawed her logic actually is.
“I’m tired, Bridget,” I grunt. “Let it go.”
Her head tilts. “What’s up with you today? You’re in a mood.”
I knew she’d fucking ask.
“I met with the bank,” I say, holding my hand out for the wrench. I don’t feel like discussing it, but I’ll have to tell her eventually. “They’re not going to give me the loan, which means my investors are out too.”
Her mouth falls open. “I thought you said it was a slam dunk.”
“That’s what they said back before I broke my damn leg. I don’t have as much saved up anymore. I am ‘no longer a good credit risk.’”
My crew did their best, but we fell behind while I was laid up. Why’d I have to climb that roof? It’s like I was one guy when I went up there and another entirely when I landed. Or maybe the change had already happened, and it just took a hard fall to make me realize it.
Everyone’s been treating me like a beaten dog since then. Everyone but Emerson Hughes, that is. She has no fucks to give about my feelings or anyone else’s. If it’s possible to develop a crush sight unseen with a woman who’s almost invariably cold to you, I’m pretty sure I’m halfway there. I’m also pretty sure that if you’re infatuated with someone who hasn’t shown a hint of interest in you, you need a shit-ton of therapy.
Which I now can’t afford.
I just feel something there. In her mean-but-funny responses and the way she refuses to lower her standards but is always reasonable when we hit a delay. I’ve never worked harder in my life to peel back someone’s armor, but the small glimpses I’ve gotten of her were worth it. Like the fact that she cries during that holiday ad where a little kid brings a present to the lonely old guy upstairs. Or that she’s surrounded by some of the most amazing restaurants in the world, but the best meal she ever had was a box of donuts she and her dad split when she was small. I like it all. I like it more than I should. She just seems to have something the Perfectly Nice Girls do not, and tomorrow I find out if it was all in my head.
Until I do, I’ve got no time for Bridget’s single mom or anyone else.
It’s after five when I get back to Main Street, nearly closing time for most of the places in Elliott Springs. Even though I’m in a hurry, my gaze is drawn toward the end of the street.
She’s beautiful, standing there in the afternoon light. I’d dare anyone to say otherwise. Simply looking at her is enough to make me really understand what it means to want something. To want it desperately.
Some people—perhaps even most—would say she’s too much work. But what I see is her strength. She’s been through some shit, but she still stands proud. And she’s stunning, sure, but it’s her tenacity that makes her so much more than that.
I can’t believe the morons on the city council want to turn her into a parking garage.
Lucas Hall was built in the 1800s by a group of rich landowners, undoubtedly off the backs of cheap immigrant labor. Whatever her origins, she is what remains of our town’s illustrious beginnings, and I want to make sure she still remains long after the rest of our history’s been replaced.
Before the bank turned me down for the loan, I had big plans, plans that would preserve Lucas Hall while bringing in the tourists everyone seems to want. Now, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to present when the town holds its first hearing the week after next. I just know I’ve got to do something to stop the way outsiders are destroying our town.
Reluctantly, I turn and jog across the street to Pearsons’ Hardware, ignoring the twinge in my leg, nodding to Jim as I head back toward the plumbing section.
I’m only a few feet inside the store when I notice the shelves are practically empty.
“Hey, Jim?” I turn his way as he comes out from behind the register. “Where the hell is everything? There’s nothing back here.”
He winces. “You haven’t heard, I guess? We’re closing up shop.”
It’s so unexpected that I stop in place, hoping I’ve misheard him. Pearsons’ is an institution. I came here as a kid. My dad came here as a kid. “Closing up? Why?”
He raises a shoulder. “Got a decent offer so I took it. I’d planned to retire in the next decade anyway…It would be hard to turn down the money just for a few more years here.”
I narrowly stop myself from objecting. Obviously, if he wanted to pass this place on to his sons, he would have. If he cared about his family’s legacy, the town’s legacy, he’d have done something else. Increasingly, it feels like I’m the only one who cares about preserving anything at all. “Who bought it?”
He shakes his head. “Some corporation. MT Enterprises? I think it’s gonna be one of those spin places. They bought Cuts-n-Stuff too.”
I say goodnight to Jim and walk back outside, my gaze moving from one end of the street to the other in shock.
Right before that roof gave way and I broke my leg, I felt this chill at the base of my spine. Life sneaks up on you, and that chill is the warning that comes too late. You feel it as a roof sags and you realize how easily all your plans could be fucked up. You feel it when you land two floors below and realize it could be days before anyone knows you’re missing.
Or when you discover, once the ink is dry and it can’t be undone, that some asshole has already bought up your whole goddamn town.