Page 8 of Healing Hearts
“They’ll be able to follow the trail right to the bank. I’m going to talk to Warren Ferguson right after this. I don’t do any of that shit anymore, Bruce. This isn’t a front for anything.”
“I’ve heard you’re a good worker. You’ve even managed to fix some things I couldn’t find or figure out over the years. The switch to more computerized components and electric cars has been a steep learning curve for me,” he admits.
Whereas I’ve thrown myself into the changes from the minute Maggie worked her magic and secured me the apprenticeship in Utica. I might not be book smart, but I’m persistent and determined when I’m locked into something more practical, something that has a solution somewhere if only I dig long enough or deep enough.
“Earl’ll miss you in Utica, if you decide to go after this.”
He will, but I don’t admit that out loud. There’s no one else working for Earl who’ll stay after hours for far longer than necessary to crack a problem. There have been some advantages in my superficial life—lots of time to get good at work. And Earl’s been fair with overtime and the bonuses I deserved.
“I’ll let you know when I have the finances secured. You’re hoping to bow out in March?”
“I was going to put the business up for sale in March,” Bruce says. “I can leave later or earlier than that if it works for you.”
“I’ll keep you posted,” I say, shaking his hand again before leaving.
Next stop—the bank.
By the end of my day off, I’ve visited every bank in Little Falls, and then I even went to a few different ones in Utica that I researched online that seemed more likely to lend to me.
The only one who’s offered me a loan at a rate and with terms that seemed even remotely reasonable is Warren Ferguson, and even the interest he’s charging is twice what it should be. This opportunity is a year too early for my background check to be clear of my conviction.
One fucking year.
Since I’m considered high risk as an ex-con with a poor credit rating, the loan terms are shitty, and the interest rate even shittier.
Frustration eats at me as I crack a beer in my apartment.
Grady might have the cash, but I don’t want to ask him. We’ve only just started getting closer again, and if I’m gambling on taking over the business, I can’t drag him into it. Family and money rarely mix. Besides, he and Maggie are planning some big renovation of the Whittaker house to turn it into a place Maggie’d want to raise a family. That’s gotta be expensive.
My phone sits beside me, but I don’t know if I can pick it up, send the text I need to write.
With a deep breath, I set down my beer, and I type out exactly what I wish I didn’t have to say.
Timing’s not right. Good luck with the sale.
Immediately, my phone buzzes in my hand with a reply.Sorry to hear that. Probably won’t list until February or March. If anything changes, get in touch.
I’ve exhausted all the legal channels to get the money together, and I’m not putting my future at risk—either through financial or legal gambles or by asking friends and family—to get my dream off the ground. Another opportunity will come up. Maybe not as perfect as this or with the memories this place has, but I can’t dwell on what won’t happen.
I set my phone down, take another swig of my beer, and curse my foolish youth.
Christmas at the Sullivan residence is an event with a capital E. The house is decorated as though a professional has done it. The tree alone must be fourteen feet and stretches into the vaulted ceiling. The warm wooden tones of the decor are perfect for the festive season, and the massive wooden table that sits between the open plan kitchen and living room only increases the grandeur. On a normal day, the Sullivan house is impressive, but the festive season makes it more so.
Christmas music is playing softly through the speakers around the house, and Joanna has lit candles that make the air smell like cinnamon and spice.
My mom is already here, talking to Joanna and drinking mulled wine as the two of them prep the food.
Emily told me that Lila and her family normally come to dinner too, but they decided to have their celebrations in New York. Maybe that’s legitimate, since Christmas isn’t a big celebration for her family. Lila told me once that she celebrated lots of American traditions with the Sullivan family growing up because it helped her feel like she fit in, but the ones she really cherished were her traditional Chinese ones.
Even still, I can’t help feeling a twinge of guilt that maybeI’mthe reason they aren’t here. This is the first year the Castillo family has been invited, because of Grady and Maggie’s renewed connection, and the first year Lila and her familyhaven’tbeen here.
When I turn around, Emily and Amir are coming through the door. Em is wearing a red knit dress that hugs her frame like itwas stitched with her body in mind. From just above the knee all the way to the scooped neckline, the fabric loves every curve. She makes my short-sleeved button up and jeans look sloppy—not that she’d ever say that.
Not for the first time, it strikes me how criminal it is that someone as beautiful as she is inside and out has struggled to connect with anyone since Omar died. She’s the whole fucking package with a bow on top, and no one seems capable of unwrapping her or taking her home.
Maybe it really is that she doesn’t want the possible heartache again. Romantic relationshipsarea gamble. Seems like the only explanation.
“Trent!” Amir cries as soon as he sees me. He races over, and I crouch to sweep him into my arms before raising him high.
