Page 54 of Book and Ladder
M&M: Entrepreneurship for the win. No one tells me what to do and I don’t have to get on board with anything that doesn’t align with my values.
Host: I envy you.
M&M: Don’t. I didn’t mean to make my situation sound superior. Freedom to align myself any way I like is just a perk. Trust me, right now I’d almost sell out if someone else would shoulder my situation with me.
Host: Sounds rough.
M&M: It’s tragic. But I’ve been through worse. I’m the David to their Goliath.
Host: You know who wins in that story, right?
M&M: You made me smile my first smile of the evening.
Host: I’m glad. From what I recall, you just need a few smooth stones and a slingshot.
M&M: I wonder if I could arrange for overnight shipping.
Host: Now I’m laughing—first laugh of the night.
M&M: Hang in there. Family stuff can be so challenging. Hold your ground. Be true to yourself. You might lose something, but in the end you’ll keep what matters most.
Host: That’s amazing advice.
M&M: Thanks.
Host: I think I’d say the same thing to you. Hold your ground. You might have to make a sacrifice. But in the end, you’ll land on your feet, stronger for what you went through.
We wind up chatting for another half hour about his upcoming topics for the show. When we finally say goodbye, I close my laptop with a sigh and a contented grin.
Then I send Dad a quick text with a nutshell summary of our situation.
He responds with “Chin up. This is only in early stages. Not a done deal.” My father, the perpetual optimist. Still, it feels good to be reminded it’s not over til it’s over.
That feeling of optimism buys me a good night’s sleep, but I wake with the familiar pool of dread seeping back into my belly. My thoughts as I drive to work whip every which way like loose papers in a windstorm, impossible to catch, impossible to organize, all scattered. I move through the morning at the shop in a semi-daze. Every time I touch a book, ring up a sale or dust a bookshelf, I’m reminded this shop may not be here this time next year.
At lunch, Cass comes bounding in the door carrying a large brown bag.
“I brought sustenance,” she announces, plopping the bag on the check-out counter. “A little pick-me-up to soften the news about your new neighbor.”
“Patrick?”
“No, your new neighbor here—the development.”
“It’s not final,” I reiterate the mantra my dad planted last night. “They just got the okay to survey the land.”
“Okay. True,” Cass says, but her face looks like she’s assuring a child of the existence of Santa.
She abruptly changes the subject. “By the way, thanks forgiving me the heads up about the calendar shoot. Those firefighters. Whew.”
“Most of them,” I agree.
“All of them,” Cass says. “You have to admit, that calendar is going to look good. They’re all gorgeous.”
“I believe beauty goes beyond what we see with our eyes.”
“Same,” she says.
“I rest my case. One of those men hides a traitorous heart beneath his well-defined pecs.”
