Page 10 of Late Bloomer
“How neat,” Trish says, eyes glinting as she leans toward me. “Tell me more.”
Damn, Ilovethis woman. She makes me feel like the most interesting person in the world, like she genuinely cares about me.
“Shoes are my favorite to paint,” I say, voice rising in excitement. “Creating unique designs on leather mules and clogs. I want to sell them.”
Trish’s smile never falters. “Honey, that sounds like thegreatest idea in the world. You’re gonna make a fortune. And I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to imagine you doing that at the Thistle and Bloom.”
I can see it too, my hair undone, long, gauzy dress flowing in the soft summer breeze as I stand on the porch of that perfect cabin, the sun on my cheeks and the sweet scent of flowers in the air. I’ll walk barefoot across the grass, set up a spot under a shady tree, working for hours on my tiny labors of love. Peace. Purpose. It’s all about to be mine.
My eyes go a bit misty, and Trish reaches across the table, holding my hand.
“But, to be blunt about it, darlin’—and I hope you can forgive me because I truly hate talking about money, it’s such a dirty thing—but are you sure you can afford it? Like I said on the phone, the price isn’t negotiable. And I’m certainly sick of all these men calling me up and insulting me with low offers. I’m giving away a piece of my heart here, I’m not going to be steamrolled on the price on top of it all.”
“Hell yeah. Know something’s worth and hold your ground,” I say, as if I’ve ever held my ground in my life. I’d give my soul away if someone asked for it nicely enough.
Trish winks at me. “Three hundred thousand ain’t something to scoff at.”
She riffles through her purse for a second, then pulls out a manila envelope, sliding the deed across the table to me. I pretend to look at it like someone who knows what they’re doing would. Seems real enough. The seal on the bottom is raised and everything.
I swallow past my dry throat, the reality of that amount thumping at every pulse point. A queasy wave rolls through me, but I push it down. Icanafford it. After taxes, it’s most of what I made from the winning ticket, with just enough left over to buy supplies and live off as I try to get my business going, but everyone always says to invest in property… right?
“I can afford it,” I say, lifting my chin and holding Trish’s kind gaze.
Trish studies me closely for a moment, and I’m swamped with respect for how thoroughly she’s vetting me, that she cares enough for this piece of land that she’ll make sure whoever buys it is worthy.
“I believe you,” she says at last, taking another sip of her tea. “But—and I know this is none of my business, darlin’, so tell me to mind my beeswax if I make you uncomfortable here—how can a girl as young as you afford that kind of chunk of change? Have you been doing something besides art?” She leans forward, excitement glowing across her glossy pink smile. “Let me guess, you’re one of those brilliant entrepreneur types, right? You are, I can tell. So smart and creative.”
I giggle, fluffing my pink hair. “Eh, I’m not sure about that, but thank you.”
Trish smiles expectantly at me, waiting for a viable answer. It’s my turn to size her up. Her big blonde hair doesn’t move with the breeze that passes by, and I can’t help but respect a woman who commits to that kind of height. Her eyes are kind and bright, a thick smear of purple eyeshadow over each lid accompanied by spiky, black eyelashes. The whole thing somehow works with her skin-tight cheetah-print top and painted-on leather pants that hug her full curves that are similar to mine. I can smell the soft tang of cigarette smoke and vanilla on her skin, oddly comforting and sweet. She has an energy to her, a true exuberance like she’s fully in the moment, thrilled to see what happens next.
I’d be a fool not to trust her.
“Well,” I say, voice low as I lean forward, glancing around us. “I know this will sound completely fake, but I swear it’s true. I sort of… won thelottery.”
Trish’s perfectly lined lips drop open in shock. “No you did not.”
“I did!” I giggle at the absurdity of it all.
“Like, the Mega Millions?”
I shake my hands. “No. Not that extreme. But a pretty decent chunk on a scratch-off. I… I honestly still can’t wrap my head around it.”
Trish stares at me with her mouth hanging open for a moment longer, then she closes it into a radiant smile, eyes crinkled at the corners. “My heavens. Sugar, I know I don’t know you, but good Lord am I happy for you. Unbelievably happy.”
“Thank you. I… That truly means a lot to me. I’ve had some weird reactions from people in my life finding out about it. Many who never gave me the time of day suddenly want to ‘catch up.’”
Trish slaps her palms on the table, making our drinks quake. “Pardon my French, sugar, but hell no. Don’t give thoseno-good opportunists a dime. You’re too kind of a person to be taken advantage of.”
I suck in a breath, ready to back down, tell her it’s not that serious, but she holds up a hand, cutting me off.
“And I’m sure you’re about to tell me how you’re okay and end up convincing yourself that what they’re doing isn’t really like that, but I want you to listen to me real good for just a minute now.”
I’m frozen by the wisdom etched in the lines around her eyes, the knowing press of her lips. I hang on every word.
“Life has handed me so many bitter pills over the years,” she says, gaze flicking to her lap for a forlorn moment. “And I’ve made some pretty darn big mistakes of my own, but my greatest sin is being too trusting of others. Not protecting myself when it’s all said and done.”
Her eyes fix back on me, steady and vulnerable. “I’d change a lot of things. Say no. Leave sooner. Put myself first for once. And it’s hard not to be angry when I think back on it all.”
