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I just wanted someone to help Mom.
And yes, I understand the hypocrisy of me running out when I myself could be printing grotto pictures.
There was a good reason for that.
I did not get along with printers. I’d broken every single printer I’d ever touched, and I’d even thrown one out of an upstairs window and smashed it to smithereens when it wasn’t complying with me.
So, yes.
I was banned from using printers in our house.
Any printer. All printers.
I was lucky I was allowed to use the other appliances, honestly.
Verity, however, worked in technology and was able to use a printer without the frustrations and bitching I had to go through.
I circled the parking lot three times before I was able to snag a space to pull into. God, I missed the non-tourist season where parking was in abundance, and I didn’t have to waste half a tank of gas to park.
Gas was expensive, okay?
I paid for parking and grabbed my purse, heading in the direction of the square. It all looked pretty sad with the lights turned off, but it was quiet enough that it was only the regular residents around.
Mr. Tremblay hurried to his accounting office while speaking hurriedly on his phone in his French-Canadian accent.
Mrs. Chen kept her daughter, Anna, attached to her arm as they hurried toward their Asian grocery store that I knew I had to visit for some spices this afternoon, while her husband, Simon, followed closely behind.
Francis Mitchell walked along, hand-in-hand with his granddaughter Lexi, stepping over every crack in the sidewalk, and she giggled as they did so.
Janet Bell perused a notepad, and as she crossed the street, Heather Witherspoon had her teenage son by the collar and was dragging him along past the bank.
Oh, dear. Liam was in trouble again.
I smiled at the scene before me. For a second, it felt exactly like a normal morning. One I could see on a Tuesday in June or a Friday in March, maybe a Monday in October or a Sunday in August.
I hadn’t seen this enough lately, and as I clutched my purse to my body as I hurried toward the bakery, I felt nothing but contentment.
I was profoundly grateful for the town I called home, and maybe I needed to express that a little more.
Just not this week.
Christmas was stressful enough, thank you.
I pushed the door to the bakery open. It was a mixture of the best kinds of smells, but my senses homed in on the sweet one of cinnamon rolls.
Oh.
Yummy.
Debbie beamed when she saw me. “Good morning, Quinn! What can I get you?”
I leaned on the counter and grinned. “A shot of vodka and an ounce of cocaine.”
She didn’t bat an eyelid as she said, “Sorry, honey, we can’t serve vodka until five p.m. and we’re fresh out of cocaine. Can I interest you in an espresso and a croissant?”
“If that’s all you’ve got, I suppose it’ll have to do.” I sighed. “Is Erin around?”
“She is, but she’s slammed. Got a lot of custom orders for Christmas in, so she’s asked me not to let anyone back.”
This day just got worse.
“How’s your mom?”
“I shouted at my sister this morning,” I admitted. “She was pissing me off. Even Gramps had enough, and I might have unloaded on her a little.”
“Ack. I’m sorry, Quinn. I know it’s rough right now.”
“She had a little bell she was ringing for people to attend to her desires.”
Debbie put my order in front of me. “She’s really milking it, huh?”
“You could say that.” I put money in front of her.
She pushed it back to me. “No.”
“Yes.” I shoved it right back. “Deb, I woke up this morning, shouted at my grandpa for putting alcohol in the eggnog again, and tore my sister a whole new vagina ahead of her giving birth for her crappy attitude. The least I can do for my karma is pay for my breakfast.”
“All right. Lord forgive me for getting in the way of your breakfast.” She took the money and rang up the order, then gave me back my change which I threw into the bottom of my purse.
I paused. “I caught Mom crying last night. I didn’t let her see me because I know how she feels about that kind of thing, but could you…”
Deb reached over and touched my hand. “Could I go over there later and cheer her up? Of course I can, honey. She’s my best friend. In fact, I’ll take Martin with me. He can visit with your dad, your sister can watch her own daughter, and I’ll drag your mother out for dinner somewhere so she can relax.”
My throat felt thick, like there was a big old lump of emotion there. “Thank you,” I said, my voice a little heavier than usual.
“And, Quinn? You’re doing a lot, too. Make sure you’re looking after yourself, okay? The last thing we all need is you and your mom going down. Your family might just fall apart.” She smiled. “If you need anything—”
