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I hop in my truck and again drive like mad into town, cursing myself because I knew I should never have left her alone.
When I arrive downtown, I drive up to what looks like a crowd gathered in front of the bakery. The whole town is here, standing in the middle of the street, confusion on everyone’s faces.
I don’t bother using an actual parking space but hop out of my truck and run to the scene. Nate meets me halfway.
“Dad. She’s real upset. I told her to call you. She said she didn’t want to bother you, but I knew you’d come. Somebody needs to sort this out.”
Why in the world Nate is somehow refereeing this situation is beyond me.
“Where is she?”
Nate gestures toward the bakery, where dozens of people are standing out front, spilling into the street.
I push through the crowd, finally making my way to the front, where I find Mariam engaged in a shouting match with none other than Joyce, the two of them struggling over a white real estate sign with Joyce’s face on it.
“What the hell is going on?”
I’m watching the world’s strangest tug-of-war between two people.
“Jesse! What are you doing here?” Mariam exclaims.
“I’m trying to figure that out,” I reply, looking from Mariam to Joyce.
“Ma’am? Mariam? Can you both let go of the sign?”
“No, I will not,” Joyce says. “The building is for sale, and the contract with the seller says I have to display this. Ugh! Give it back, you little….”
The agent struggles to gain leverage in her high heels, giving Mariam the upper hand.
“No way! This building is not for sale!” Mariam spits back.
“That’s not for you to decide,” shouts the other woman. “The owner listed it! I’m doing my job!”
In the kerfuffle, the only way I can see this ending is someone getting hurt by the spiky end of a real estate sign.
“Mariam, let go,” I say.
“You’re not the boss of me!” Mariam shouts through her teeth as she struggles to rip the sign out of Joyce’s hands.
“I know I’m not, but sweetheart, someone is going to get hurt, please let go so I can figure out what’s going on here.”
She huffs and cries out when I finally wrench the sign away from her, stumbling back slightly.
“I can’t believe you’re taking her side!”
Joyce, out of breath, stands with her arms akimbo, outrage all over her face. “There’s no side, young lady! I’m doing my job!”
“Which is what? Trolling me?” Mariam shouts.
“Get over yourself! You already got way more than you deserve.”
I inwardly cringe at that. I want to say I don’t know what she means, but I’m sure it’s a crack at our age difference. I do not like that.
People have come out of the bakery to watch this catfight, and I do not like that this is such a spectacle, for either of their sakes.
“Joyce,” I say. “Why don’t you start.”
I can feel daggers being thrown at me by Mariam’s eyes. “The owner has decided to sell the building, and my agency is listing it. I walked over with my sign, and your pint-sized girlfriend came running out of the bakery threatening me.”
