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“What?” I pull open my phone, my eyes glancing over the 54 unread text messages and 23 unopened voice mails, a few from Aly and Caro, one from a thread with the bridesmaids, and the rest from Zeke. I dial Lule’s number and she picks up on the third ring.
“Oh, Faye,” she says, her low, always strong voice scratchy and cracked.
“Lule, thank goodness. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. There was a fire. At the Knitty Kitty.”
“What happened?”
“It was in the storage room. Bad wiring, they’re telling me. Not my fault, but my stock ignited and so did my security system. They had to break a window to get in.”
“Shit,” I say, running my fingers through my hair.
“But they got to it fast. It didn’t even smoke enough to stink up the place. And Pasha is helping me move the yarn so it can breathe.”
“That is why I work out so much, Faye. So I can help my woman relocate her fur,” Pasha says in the background.
“Tell him to stop calling yarn ‘your fur’ in public,” I say, shaking my head.
Edie’s eyes go wide and she stifles a laugh.
“Meh, I don’t really mind what he calls my fur in public.”
“Jesus, Lule. He needs to lock you down, now!” I say the last part a little louder hoping Pasha will hear me, and I think he does because I hear a crack of laughter in the background.
“He can certainly try,” Lule says with a happy lilt in her voice.
“What does this mean for the shop?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says. “We will have to close until we can make the repairs. Insurance will pay for it, thank goodness. But it will take time.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “But I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Yes, and you can stay in Quebec for as long as you like!”
“I’m not in Quebec,” I say, my stomach flipping. This is making me nervous.
“Psh, wherever you are, it is fucking cold and if you like to stay in that weather, you have no reason to rush back. Insurance says we will likely need to close for two weeks. Assuming we can re-open.”
My face falls. “Do you think you won’t re-open?”
She lets out a sigh and the background noise disappears. I imagine she’s stepped inside her home or car or somewhere else, alone.
“Honestly? I don’t know.” Her voice breaks. “I’m trying to be brave. But you just never know between the landlord and the insurance. If the landlord has to make improvements, he may raise my rent—”
“You have a lease. He has to honor that.”
“But if he finds I am at fault, well, then insurance can get tricky too. It could be too messy to stay open.”
“Oh.” My heart hammers away in my chest, crumbling away just a little bit more.
“I don’t want to give you false hope. But I also can’t afford to pay you if we’re not open. You understand, yes?”
“Yes, of course,” I say, swallowing around something much harder and darker.
“I’m so sorry to spring this on you, especially after such a happy night! Please tell your mother congratulations!”
“It was my sister, Lule.”
