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I blink at the news. “What?”
“Your partner was always lax at paying the bill, I’m afraid, and your account was almost never in good standing, Ms. Olson. I understand you’re going through a massive hardship, but the truth is, we cannot make an exception for you. You were going to get dropped as it was. The fire merely sped the process along.” His words gut me.
“Paxton didn’t…this isn’t a recent problem?”
“No. I’m sorry. I know this is hard—
I laugh bitterly. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“I wish I could help you out. I really do. But your situation is too risky for us to move forward with your company.”
“I understand,” I breathe. “Thank you for your time.”
“Best of luck, Ms. Olson.”
“Yeah. Thanks. You too.” I dial up the building owner, but I know it’s going to be another disappointment. When I get him on the phone, I hear it in his tone. “…and they won’t help me out. What’s your insurance situation like?”
“Lily, I’d love to help you, but even with insurance, I’m not re-cooping a cent. My premium is too high—I won’t be rebuilding, just covering some losses.”
“But that location is perfect for a restaurant, Ted. I can’t believe you’d give it up—
“I’m superstitious. Rebuilding where a freak fire hit is a bad idea. It’s a sign—nothing should be built there. And with my insurance giving me a hard time, I don’t have a reason to rebuild. I’m donating the property to the city and taking the tax write-off.”
I kick the wall, then hope I didn’t leave a mark on it. It’s a relief when I see nothing on the wall, but the metaphor hits too hard.Shit. I’m not leaving my mark anywhere.
“Lily? You there?”
“Yeah, sorry. Um, I understand. Thanks for your time.”
“I’m sorry, too. When I ate at Oyster Hill, I knew you were going places. Don’t give up, okay?”
I swallow the hot ball in my throat. “Thanks.” Hanging up, I throw myself on the bed, trying not to cry.
Someone knocks on my door, and I know who it is by the softness. “Come in, Mom.”
She smiles as she comes to the bed with a tray in hand. Her soft brown curls hardly move when she does—too much hairspray. Mom doesn’t wear makeup. She never saw the point. To her mind, a smile is all anyone needs to look nice. Her green eyes shine and her naturally pink upturned lips suit her round face. “PB and J, plain chips, pickles, and an ice cold Yoohoo. Thought it might cheer you up.”
I grin, then chow down. “Thank you for this.”
“I’ll never understand how you got into French cooking, when this stuff is your favorite.”
“The other stuff is a challenge. This is comfort food.”
She nods gently and sits next to me. “So. It’s after one.”
“And?”
“I thought you might like to get out of the house before you see Aria.”
“Why?”
She sighs, still smiling. “Lily, I know this is hard to hear, but your restaurant died. Not you.”
Choosing to ignore her reality and replace it with my own, I tell her, “This could use more peach preserves.”
“Lily.”
I huff. “I know all that. And your sandwich is perfect. I was just being a snot.”
