Page 45 of Healing Hearts
When we’re done talking real estate, Lorna says, “I heard Trent Castillo took over Bruce Mullen’s shop.”
“He did,” I say. “Are you looking to get some work done?”
“No,” she says, glancing at her husband whose expression seems slightly perturbed. “I also heard he’s living in your house. Are you with that man?”
The way she says “that man” as though he’s a toxic substance gets my back up in a way that’s never happened to me before. Well, maybe not never, but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt such a strong desire to not just defend someone but flatten the person making the accusations.
“He’s renting a spare room from me while he gets his business off the ground,” I say, trying to maintain a polite façade for thesake of business. Their property, if I was able to list and sell it, would be a huge commission.
“So you two aren’t dating?” Skepticism coats each word.
“No, we’re not.”
“I told you, Robert. These Sullivan girls aren’t stupid enough to get mixed up with him twice.”
“There’s a lot of chatter about it round town,” Robert says. “Your daddy’d be rolling over in his grave if you got mixed up in that like Maggie did.”
“To be clear,” I say, measuring my tone, “Maggie wasn’t mixed up in anything the first time, and there’s nothing to be mixed up in this time. Mullen Mechanics is a legitimate business.”
“Itwas,” Robert says, sliding a glance at his wife.
“You know,” I say, rising to my feet. “I don’t think I’m the right real estate person for you. I have no interest in working with or representing people who believe someone is exactly the same person at thirty-four that they were at nineteen. It’s ludicrous, actually, and I think you should both be ashamed for being so gossipy. My father,” I say, my rage barely controlled, “would be proud of me for keeping an open mind and giving people a chance to prove they’ve changed.”
“It’s a real shame,” Lorna says, “that you’re going to let Trent Castillo drag down your reputation like this.”
“Florida seems like it’ll be a really great fit for you both,” I say, gathering my things and storming out of the house. I throw my car in reverse to turn around, and once I’m at the end of their long laneway, I pause to take a few deep breaths.
I should have said more, defended Trent more. But while I have dealt with a few thinly veiled comments since Trent moved in, no one has been that blunt.
No one has ever spoken to me like that at all. And I realize now that part of that was probably the buffer of my doctor father and my lawyer mother. The Sullivan namedidmean a lot in LittleFalls, and it makes me irrationally angry that Trent, who is such a good man, is being cast as a villain, someone who deceives the Sullivan women and drags them down.
The reality is that he’s only ever lifted me and Maggie up.
Next time someone tries to confront me about Trent and his past, I won’t hold back.
Chapter Nineteen
Trent
Bruce left last week, and this week, thanks to the social media posts and the article in the paper, we’ve had steady bookings. Even next week already has a number of slots taken with regular service appointments.
Overall, May isn’t looking too terrible, and I’m feeling a tiny bit of hope about the future. There’s a chance I can make a go of this.
It helps that I have Mia’s endorsement tucked into my back pocket if things slow down or don’t continue on a steady increase. She did warn me that if she told people she only uses me to look after her vehicles, that I’d probably draw a more national and international clientele. Lucrative, but not exactly the small-town experience I’m hoping to keep going here.
For now, I really want to keep my focus on establishing good relationships in town, making the locals feel like they can trust me.
Around town, it’s been a mixed bag of reactions, with some people making shady comments to my face while others offer heartfelt congratulations about getting my life turned around. Ifigure anyone who hasn’t said anything that’s gotten back to me is reserving judgement, waiting to see if I’ll fuck up or make a go of it.
Brett’s working the late shift on Thursday, and my mom has left for the day. Brett’s just tidying the shop before we close up when a BMW X1 pulls into our lot. It’s a flashy canary yellow, which isn’t to my tastes, but my curiosity is piqued. I haven’t seen the vehicle around town.
When the driver’s door opens, it takes me a beat to clock who steps out. Dan Ramouli. I’d heard from Grady that he’d taken over the gas station across town, so I’d avoided filling up there or stopping in for any reason.
“Brett,” I call into the shop. “I need you to be present for this conversation, if you don’t mind.”
My mother is still doing the booking, but whenever a client has a complaint or question, I’m the one who deals with it. Last week, an irate customer got me cornered outside my office and started throwing my past in my face after my mother left for the day, and Brett suggested that a second person floating around might make at least some people less likely to let loose. For those who are truly unhinged, I’d have backup.
In Utica, Earl handled all the forward-facing client relations, and I never really considered how people who weren’t happy no matter what we did were appeased.
