Page 83 of Coffee Shop Girl
No one had made me swim in deeper waters than this girl.
I think you’re surviving and doing a damn good job of it,I finally said.
Thanks. :)
I could picture her lying back. I wanted to brush hair away from her face and cup her chin. The memory of falling asleep with her on the couch haunted me. My arms felt oddly cold and empty. Not wanting to let her go just yet, I said,See you in the morning, Bethany.
Sweet dreams, Mav.
Sleep finally slipped over me. My dreams were restless, filled with the expression on my father’s face when he lay in his casket, and the coldness I’d felt radiate through me.
27
Bethany
The rest of the week passed in a blur of stolen moments with Maverick as we made changes to the coffee shop. Maverick stole a kiss every time Lizbeth left to go to the bathroom or grab a new book. He took me to lunch one day and tried to figure out my favorite dessert, even though I didn’t have one.
For a blessed week, I felt like I was floating. Life seemed suspended for a brief summer lull. I poked my head out of the haze of grief and soaked up all the love, attention, and touch a girl could ask for.
But Credit Card Day loomed large.
I tried not to think about it while preparing the store, while running through my numbers, or while Lizbeth and I hung flyers for a new book club at the coffee shop next month. Even though I checked twice a day to reassure myself that I had enough money, I still felt terrified.
Maybe the money would just ... disappear.
Lizbeth, Ellie, Devin, and I bounced around antiques stores for several days, trying to findfunky-cabin-cozy, as Lizbeth called it.
“It’s your new vibe,” she informed me. She set aside a shrunken moose head that looked like a cross between a swamp souvenir and a voodoo doll. “Trust me, Bethany. I was made for this kind of work.”
Although my heart prickled while it happened, I allowed Lizbeth to pull the ugly fish down off the wall. We had a solemn burial in the backyard that, oddly enough, made me feel a little better. Lizbeth brightened like a star, falling easily into her creative element. Piece by piece, the shop slowly pulled together.
My heart beat a sad, hollow staccato as everything changed.
Later that week, I stared at the calendar while the stench of paint fumes filled the air. We’d closed the store early so Lizbeth could start painting. She looked adorable in a pair of Dad’s old overalls and a too-big shirt, her hair pulled into a high bun. Blue tape lined the floor and ceiling as she prepared to paint the walls a warm plum, accented by taupe.
Thanks to some donations from the local hardware store, whom my father had frequented, I’d only had to pay for paint—which left us with a hundred dollars. In Lizbeth’s words, we wereinvesting inaesthetically pleasing decorations. So far, that meant a silhouetted moose shade and an antique oil lamp.
The silence, punctuated only by the sound of Lizbeth laughing at her audiobook and Maverick speaking to his assistant on the East Coast, fell like a weight around me.
Time to do it.
No avoiding the credit card now.
The statement waited in my inbox, unopened because I’d been leaving it there for the absolute last moment. It would be due tomorrow. I’d have to pay online today to be safe, because I’d skipped last month.
Despite Maverick’s attention to the finances, I still didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to comprehend the enormity of the task that lay in front of me. It was so much more than justthiscredit card. There was still the mortgage. The line of credit at the bank. Saying goodbye to Dad.
This credit card just represented it all.
“This is irrational,” I muttered.
But it felt as if my fate were somehow listed in the numbers.
I wiped my hands on my apron and drew in a deep breath. Sounds of summer rang from outside. Tourists gathering paddleboards from the rental shop next door. Trucks hauling boats to the lake.
A lovely soundtrack for such a horrible task.
With a deep inhale, I grabbed my computer, opened my email, and stared at the message on top.
