Page 136 of Always Meant for You
Cal surveys the box. “We don’t have to fix every single one, do we?”
I adjust my purse strap. “We probably should,” I murmur.
He tilts the box. “How many are there?”
Sally taps the top sheet. “Five thousand.”
“Why’d you order that many, Mabel?” he asks.
I chew the inside of my cheek. I hadn’t said anything out loud. Not yet. I didn’t want to jinx it.
He watches me closely. “Are five thousand people coming today?”
“Five thousand RSVP’d yes,” I answer quietly. “Another two thousand marked ‘maybe.’”
Margaret stiffens. Betty blinks. Sally gasps.
Cal nods. “So, hypothetically, seven thousand people could show up in our town?”
I plaster on a smile. “Hypothetically.”
I hold Cal’s gaze, and what I see in his eyes isn’t fear. It’s something close to awe.
“You never know for sure what could happen when people RSVP online,” I say, the words tumbling out. “When I . . .” I pause. “When myformer clientin New York RSVP’d to a sample sale for designer handbags, eight thousand people said they’d be there, but only around two thousand showed up. I want to be prepared. I figured three thousand would be a safe bet, but I didn’t want anyone to go without, so I ordered five thousand.”
I hold Cal’s gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
He takes a step closer. “You can tell me anything, Mabel. I want you to. I’m not here to slow you down. But you’ve got to give me a chance to keep up.”
“All right,” I say, wishing I could lean in and wrap my arms around him.
Sure, this is a crisis, but we’re not falling apart. We’re figuring it out.
I don’t think we were these people four years ago.
Margaret assesses the box, then glances at the clock on the wall. “You’re going to need a lot of hands to correct that many papers in less than an hour.”
Time is not our friend.
I pace the length of the diner, then stop in front of a community bulletin board. A flyer catches my eye. “This is it!” I exclaim.
“What are you talking about?” Cal asks, coming to my side.
Adrenaline hits my system like a jolt of espresso. “I have an idea. Give me your keys, Cal.”
“To the truck?”
“Yes! I’m having an epiphany. Well, epiphany might be pushing it. It’s more of a harebrained idea.”
Cal hands over the keys.
“Thank you. I’m driving so you can hold the assports,” I explain.
He frowns. “We’re leaving?”
“Yes!”
I head for the door, then stop and peer at the old Folgers coffee can next to the register. It’s crammed with pens that probably date back to 1965, but they’ll have to work.
