He lifts one hand, stopping me. “She’s inside. Been crying most of the morning.”
That makes me feel awful. My eyebrows pinch together in concern. “Can I see her? Just a minute. I need to explain. Last night was bad, Tom."
He shakes his head and purses his lips sadly. “Not today, Jaxon. She's pretty upset and she asked me to send you away." He sighs and hugs his coffee mug with both hands.
I feel the blood leave my face and drain to my belly where it churns. “Send me away? Come on, Tom. It’s me. You know I didn't mean this."
Tom sips his coffee, but I can see I'm not going to get through to him. “She needed you today, Jaxon." With a furrowed brow and tight jaw, he says, "Son, I know that you've got a lot on your plate, and I'm gonna give you a note of advice. That woman in there is so strong and independent, she doesn’t need you at all. So if she called saying she needed you, then she really did. She can do anything she wants on her own, and yet she knew deep down, she needed you there. Now, you tell me, based on what you know about my daughter, do you think she's gonna get over this any time soon?"
I swallow hard, throat still raw. “Tom, there was a fire… I just…" I have no excuse. I'm not a fireman. I'm just a construction worker now. I did all of that voluntarily and I could’ve taken breaks to check my phone. The fire was out hours ago too, probably right when Emily needed me most, and I was just helping with cleanup. If I had stopped to think about her inspections, maybe I'd have been more tuned in.
“I heard about the fire,” Tom says evenly. “I’m sorry for it. But Emily is my daughter. She’s hurting, and she needs space right now. Go home. Get some rest. Give her a day or two.”
The fact that Tom isn't angry means something to me. I respect that he understands my position, but I also respect that he knows his daughter. Emily is upset, and I won’t get through to her until she's had time for that hurt to wear off.
“Tell her I’m sorry,” I choke out. “Tell her I came by. I’ll come back when she’s ready.”
Just when things were finally getting better. Emily and I had found solid ground again.
Dad and I were scraping ahead on bids despite Langford breathing down our necks. The business had a heartbeat. Now the site is ashes, the bakery is locked by the state, and Emily won’t even see me. It feels like the ground is splitting open under my boots.
I climb into the old beater and the truck rumbles to life, but it physically hurts when I pull away. This wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were just getting somewhere.
And I know who is to blame for both things.
Victor Langford has to be stopped once and for all. And I need help to do it.
24
EMILY
Jaxon's name lights up my phone screen for the fourth time today. I watch it vibrate on the desk next to my coffee and let it go to voicemail. He's been calling me every few hours for days now and never bothers to leave a message. I'm smart enough to know his not showing up wasn’t really his fault, but I'm still too upset to talk to him about it.
Karen's in the kitchen sanitizing the storage shelves again. We've scrubbed every surface, replaced all the dry goods, sealed every gap in the baseboard with steel wool and caulk. The pest control company gave us a clean report on Wednesday, but the state office won't schedule an emergency re-inspection—not even with confirmation from the pest inspector that those rats were purchased at a pet store, not wild vermin. The earliest date for reinspection puts us past the Fourth of July festival and the council vote.
It feels hopeless at this point. Langford won, and I lost, or rather, the town of Beaufort lost.
I pick up the phone after it stops ringing and look at the call log, sulking at the few dozen missed calls I see amid outgoing calls to agencies and organizations.
I heard about the fire from Karen, who heard it from Danny. It was like it was common knowledge around town, which made it feel like salt in a wound. So he was fighting a fire. He still could've told me that. He could have left a thirty-second voicemail saying, "My phone died, I was at a fire, I'm sorry I missed your calls." But he hasn't said a thing, and I am too stubborn to admit maybe I'm being too hard on him.
I've wrestled with that every time Karen frowns at me, and when Leah found out, she lectured me too. It's just hard to let go of the past and the pain he caused. Besides the fact that this current crisis demands my attention and my little girl too.
I set the phone face down on the desk and pull the pest control invoice from the folder in front of me. Fourteen hundred dollars for a problem I didn't create. I write the check and clip it to the invoice and add it to the stack of expenses piling up while my bakery sits empty. At least the college kids found some part-time work elsewhere, and Karen picked up a house cleaning job for a few weeks. But Leah and I are struggling. God, this is painful.
I'm halfway through paying out invoices when I hear the front door open and the bell ring. Everything is so quiet in here without the ovens running and customers chatting constantly. Naturally, I assume it's one of my staff or maybe Jaxon, but I get a shock when I hear a man speak.
"Ms. Carter?" Victor Langford's voice carries down the hallway and filters into my office like a noxious stench. "I saw your car out front. I hope you don't mind me stopping in."
I mind. I mind so much my jaw aches from clenching it. But I push my chair back and walk out to the front of the shop because I'd rather face him in the dining room than have him come find me in my office where I'll feel cornered.
He's standing near the display cases in a navy suit and a pressed white shirt, holding a leather folder under one arm. He looks at the empty display cases and then at me, but he looks more satisfied than compassionate. It's all I can do not to bite his head off. It disgusts me what some men will do to get what they want, and he doesn't even look sorry for it.
"I heard about the inspection," he says. "I'm sorry you're dealing with this. A rodent issue can be devastating for a food service business."
"You're not sorry," I grumble.
He tilts his head. "Excuse me?"
