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Maddison
“So, you take donated items, not just cash?” I ask the uppity woman on the other end of the phone line. “That is awesome news. You’d be surprised at how many charities in this town won’t take anything but cold, hard cash … You’re the fifth place I’ve called so far this morning.”
“Could I make a suggestion?” Her tone lets me know she’s going to, whether I give her permission or not. “Perhaps the next time you contact charitable organizations, you might want to wait until a weekday, during business hours.”
For the first time since waking up, I realize that it’s Saturday.
“Oh, shoot. My bad. Listen, I am really,reallysorry to disturb you if you’re having a day off from work. And I’m very glad you picked up.”
Because I have to get rid of my car.
Today.
If I wait, I’m going to lose resolve.
“You called my cell phone three times in a row,” she snaps.
“I did, didn’t I? Sorry about that. I was hoping it was an office line and if I just kept trying, someone might pick up eventually. So, you guys take in strays, is that right? I checked out your website. It’s neat that you have all those cats, and some dogs, too.”
“That’s right. And half the proceeds from the thrift store go to supporting the animals. Currently, funding is going toward the usual basics, food, kitty litter, vet bills, but we are also
saving for an addition. The new room will be used so we can house more animals.”
“Great. I mean, I’d make this donation anyway, but it feels good knowing it’s going to a good cause.” I sip my coffee, then peer down at my notes.
The slip of paper, covered in charity organization names and numbers, partially hides the typed contract. I can see my signature, and Hana’s below it.
Yikes.
Hana.
What’s she going to think when she finds out what I’ve done?
She won’t be happy, I’m guessing.
And that will make two of us.
I’m not happy about my behavior last night, nor proud of it.
It was shameful how I flirted with Nick.
How I practically begged him to kiss me.
Shameful and foolish.
And it won’t happen again.
“And will it be clothing you’re bringing in?” the frosty woman on the other end of the line asks. Her attitude takes on a different flavor, since I now know I’ve caught her on her cell phone, early on a Saturday morning.
Poor lady was probably in bed.
“I should warn you,” she goes on, “we don’t accept electronics.”
“Hm. I don’t think this counts as electronics, though it has plenty of those in it. The stereo is aftermarket and super stellar. I’d like to donate my car.”
“And it… it works? We’re not a disposal grounds, Miss…”
“Maddison. Bradshaw is my last name, in case you have to write up a receipt or something. This car runs perfectly. She’s totally paid off, too. I’ll bring the title and write up a quick bill of sale so it’s yours, free and clear. Maybe you guys could sell it. I bet you could get at least ten grand for it.”
