Page 45 of Always Meant for You
God bless the old Young sisters.
Sally’s got Mabel on the ropes.
Mabel pushes back the brim of her hat even farther. “Not a hat factory.” She glances away. “But there were a few hiccups at my place of employment, and now I’m home.”
She widens her grin, but I see pain flash in her eyes. She’s not just hiding job trouble. It’s deeper than that, cutting right to her heart.
What the hell happened out there?
Did someone hurt her?
The thought lands hard, and I feel the burn building behind it. Could it have been some guy in the city? Some jerk thinking he could mess with her. Use her. Break her down. She’s too proud to admit to it. Too stubborn to ask for help.
“Will you be wanting your old job back, Mabel? We could throw a few shifts your way,” Margaret says, eyeing her kindly.
Mabel straightens. “No, thank you, ma’am. Like I mentioned, I’m back home to strategize my next move. I’m branching out. Plotting my own course. I’ll be busy doing that.”
“And that can’t be done in New York City?” Margaret asks.
“Well . . .” Mabel stammers. “You know, a change of scenery never hurts to spur new creativity.”
She’s knee-deep in bullshit. If she doesn’t stop, she’ll need a shovel to dig herself out.
“And did you get to visit Paris? You were always talking about Paris,” Sally asks with a soft sigh.
“Not yet. I’ve been so busy in New York.”
Mabel’s forcing a brightness into her tone, but it thins at the edges, brittle enough to snap.
Am I the only one who can see this?
Sally frowns. “But you’ve been gone four years? I figured you’d traveled the globe, eating fancy food in your pretty clothes and colorful shoes.”
“I’ve been in New York the whole time. It’s quite a city,” Mabel replies, forcing a smile so wide her lips look ready to split. “But with this new venture I’m working on, I’ll be traveling soon.”
“You always were our dreamer,” Sally says, patting Mabel’s arm.
Mabel maintains her grin, but it’s hollow. That word salad might’ve satisfied the sisters, but I see it for what it is. Elverna is her last resort. She lost her job. Ran from the city. And now she’s back.
A forced reset.
“Order’s up for Muldowney,” the cook calls from the kitchen.
Mabel blinks. “I didn’t order anything. I’m a little short on cash right now, but maybe I’ve got a few dollars buried at the bottom of my purse.”
She grabs the same pink bag she’s always carried and starts digging.
Margaret waves her off. “Don’t you worry. Your father called it in. It’s on his tab.”
The sisters move toward the counter where a casserole waits, still steaming.
I glance over.
She’s struggling, and she knows I see it.
She doesn’t look at me, just mutters under her breath, “Not a word, Callan Horner. I mean it.”
I lift both hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”
