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Everything had been working well for the past three years, until now; we’re about to lose the land and the employees are ready to quit. I don’t blame them though, with the way things look, I would also be searching for a new job.
How could this happen?
We were blindsided by the office manager, accountant, and landlord—my father, Thatcher St. Clairmont. He did a poor job at everything. The mortgage is upside-down, the bank account nearly empty. We can barely pay our employees, and our suppliers . . . well, that’s another story and a half.
Technically, he destroyed everything we built. And I know, it’s something I should’ve seen coming, but I trusted my father with my life. Who would’ve thought he was doing a shitty job at his work and in life? After he died, his lawyer and close friend delivered the news: sorry, Seraphina, you’re fucked and not in a good way.
Okay, he didn’t say it in those terms. It was something like: the property has two mortgages, and both are past due. The bank probably might foreclose on it soon. The business and your father’s bank accounts are overdrawn and . . . some of the suppliers haven’t been paid for the last couple of months. That explained why every time we call them asking for our next delivery they keep demanding payment. They didn’t screw up our account—my father did.
Now, we’re scrambling to figure out how we’ll pay the loan before the bank repossesses the property. Luckily, we live in a small town where people give second, third, and even fourth chances—including the local bank. They gave me three weeks to come up with a solution before they kick us and all our patients out of the rehab center.
My first idea was to sell all the other properties my father left me. At least, I assumed he was going to leave them to me since I was his only living child—and relative. When I asked about them, the lawyer explained that he didn’t have much to his name.
See, I’m literally fucked. I feel guilty about this whole thing, because I’m dragging Blythe with me. Though, she assures me it’s also her fault. She’s the one who insisted we rented my father’s property instead of looking into a commercial building closer to Hartford, like I suggested from the beginning.
The past doesn’t matter, though, right? I wish that were true. I continue thinking about my father’s behavior and wondering how I missed all the signs. I wish he had at least used the monthly rent we paid to cover the mortgage.
“Maybe we should sell you, Evangelina.” I touch the dashboard of my old car. It’s been with me since I graduated from high school. She’s been a great car, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The money I get from her might cover a salary or two.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take my frustration on you,” I tell Evangelina while I caress the dashboard.
God, I need to stop talking to objects about my issues, but it’s not like I have many people who I can tell what’s on my mind during these crazy times. My best friend is suffering along with me. It wouldn’t be fair to add my guilt and pain to her own suffering, would it?
I wish I knew where the money went that Father used to have—the St. Clairmont family comes from old money. He had to be dropping the money into the fireplace for it to disappear. There’s no other explanation and maybe one day I’ll figure it out.
Frustration and anger boil inside me along with the pain of having lost the only family member I had left. The memory of everyone who’s died threatens to drown me in sorrow—my siblings, my mother . . . everyone I love gone too soon. I’m alone, trying desperately to keep the remnants of my old life from crumbling completely.
The people in this town are trying hard to support me, even help me. The cookie sale Mrs. Romano kindly organized when she heard we were in trouble covered the employee salaries.
It’s amazing to see others helping me, but it makes me realize that my father hasn’t done much for me in years. And I mean it in terms of emotional support. He pretended to be there for me, when in fact it seems like he was stealing from the center. I have so many questions, and he’s dead.
Still, I can’t help myself but yell: what the fuck were you thinking, Dad?
Followed by: why did you hate me so much?
I guess things were weird between us, and I never realized it until now. I thought we had a great relationship. I was his last living relative, and I checked on him daily—even when I didn’t like drunk Dad. But as I keep discovering so many unsettling things about him, I’m starting to wonder if his love for me was also a lie.
It’s probably an unfounded theory. The high levels of stress and anxiety are just starting to make me think the worst about him. But deep down, I know he cared. I have to cling to that, even as everything else falls apart around me.
As I’m driving toward Whispering Pines, a small Massachusetts town just thirty minutes north of Boston, my phone rings. It’s Blythe. It takes me a few seconds and some courage to press the green button on the dashboard and answer her call. Listen, I’m more than happy to speak to my best friend, except lately every time I pick up her call, she’s ready to spill bad news, and today I can’t handle it. Not when, as I said, I feel responsible for this mess.
“Yes?” I answer tentatively.
“Hey, babe, you’re not going to believe what I just got,” Blythe exclaims, her voice bubbly with excitement.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, bracing myself. This is probably just another bad omen, I think gloomily. Blythe laughs during the worst times. Her motto is: If I don’t laugh, I’ll be sobbing all the time.
“A lost lottery ticket with the winning numbers?” I guess half-heartedly, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead.
She laughs. “Nope, but it might be almost as good as that.”
As good as that? I can’t see anything that might be able to save us. A miracle, are those even happening in this millennium?
“Alright, you’ve piqued my interest,” I admit, but try to hide any hint of hope because this can be yet another terrible idea. “Tell me about this amazing new opportunity.”
My gaze stays fixed on the road ahead, but fingers gripping the wheel a little firmer as I brace myself.
Could this unexpected luck be our way out? Or is it just another pipe dream?
