Page 69 of Book and Ladder
“Is that a crime? Did I miss a town-hall vote banning smiles in public?”
“What’s going on?” Winona demands.
“Okay. Okay. I had a nice exchange with someone.”
“Oh my gosh! Oh! A phone call! With Chet?” She makes jazz hands and wobbles her head side to side excitedly. “What did he say?”
“No.” I walk over to the display of books on the table near the entry.
“No? What do you mean,no?”
“It wasn’t Chet. It’s just … nothing.”
“That smile wasn’t nothing.”
I’m so tempted to tell Winona about the host of BTTP, but something inside me wants to keep our exchanges private—especially because there’s a ninety-nine percent chance that we’ll never be more than online friends.
“Just tell me,” Winona begs. “You know you’re going to cave eventually and you don’t want to spend this day with me pestering you left and right.” She smiles a smile of self-satisfaction.
“I will—if this becomes anything to tell. Okay? It’s nothing for now. I just … can’t. But you’re one of my best friends. You have my word. If there’s a development between me and anyone, you’ll be the one of the first to know.”
“The first,” she clarifies.
“I’ll tell my best friends. You’re up at the top of the list.” I cross my heart, like we did as kids.
She watches the movement and nods, knowing how seriously we take that gesture, even in our twenties.
I’m floating on my own personal cloud for hours. Nothing gets me down. Not when customers mention the developmentwith looks of grave concern on their faces. Not even when I’m in the office, crunching numbers and trying to squeeze blood from a turnip. Not when Waylon knocks on the office door, his face wary and his hands clasped.
“What’s up, Waylon? You look like someone died.” He doesn’t smile and I wonder if I just put my foot in my mouth. “Did someone die?”
“No. No one died. I just … Well, I got another job. Full time. In town. At Simply Thrifted.”
“You’re leaving?” I swallow the shock.
“Not leaving. I’ll still be in town. I know you’ve struggled to cover payroll. I love Moss and Maple. I just need more hours. And I …”
I cut him off. “It’s okay, Waylon. I understand. Of course. You need to make a living. And you’re welcome back here, or even if you want to pick up extra hours … You’re leaving on good terms.”
I say all the right things. And I mean them.
Waylon’s leaving?
“They want me to start as soon as I’m able, but I’ll stick out my two weeks here.”
“No. I appreciate that, but you should start as soon as you want. We’ll be fine here.”
It’s not like customers are banging down the doors. Effie’s always offering to put in extra time if I need her. She’s retired and only works here for fun and a little pocket money.
“Are you sure?” His face is a mask of worry.
“I’m sure. You caught me off guard at first. But I’m very sure.”
“Thanks, Daisy.”
“Thank you, Waylon. You’ve added a lot to the shop while you were here.”
I know it’s not the O’Connells’ fault that my business ebbs and flows. They aren’t responsible for my overhead orthe costs of keeping the doors open. Still, I can’t help the way Patrick and his family loom in my mind after Waylon shuts the office door behind himself.
