Page 17 of House of Payne
I stand and grab the map, etching the address of the restaurant in my mind. I still have more on my plate to complete today, but I’ll make sure to pay the diner a visit tomorrow.
Running small businesses out of business should make me feel bad, but I realized a long time ago that my black heart hardly allows me to feel bad about anything.
It’s not like they haven’t even brought it on themselves by biting off more than they can chew.
Whatever brimstone rains down on them is of their own making.
I’m just the instigator, and I don’t mind it one damn bit.
Chapter Five
London
My mind is still spinning as Dad and I walk home late that evening, having spent an exhausting day at the diner. I still can’t quite fathom what happened. It’s been on my mind throughout my shift, and I can’t shake it even now. I can’t get the image of those men out of my head. I expect them to jump out and attack us again at any moment. And I can’t believe my childhood home was refinanced.
I can’t believe we’re so close to losing it all.
A small voice in the back of my head keeps pointing out my dad’s role in all of this, and as much as I hate to admit it, I wonder if it could’ve been avoided.
Why hadn’t he tried harder to keep from going down that path?
What on earth possessed him to think that borrowing money from those people was a good idea?
He must’ve been desperate. You know how much the diner means to him.
Except I keep replaying the scene in my head, the moment the man’s hand collided with my father’s cheek. I keep seeing my dad topple to the floor, and the more I think about it, the sicker I feel.
I don’t want to imagine what will happen if he can’t repay them.
I know it won’t end well for him or the diner.
Please let me help him find a way out of this. This can’t be how it ends for thehouse and the diner.
I won’t let it.
At least after seeing and hearing everything, I hope that Noah will understand why I can’t move with him right now. My dad needs me now more than ever. I can’t leave him with this mess. I have to figure out a way to help him. I have to figure out how to fix this, even though it feels hopeless.
A chill joins us as we walk down the winding streets of Boston. Warm lights from other shops and restaurants brag about the business they bring in, much more substantial than anything we’ve drummed up in years. In a city where so many people are successful, why do we have to struggle so much?
Then, we pass an old bakery I used to love, owned by a couple who had spent thirty years in the business. Now the lights are off, and the closed sign is up for good. They went out of business about a year ago, suffering under the same problems we’re dealing with. Even with all their experience, they couldn’t save themselves.
It’s a haunting reminder of what could happen to us. This is the kind of tragedy we face. My father could lose his dream and everything he’s worked for. I can’t let that happen.
“There’s got to be a way to fix this,” I say as we near our small, two-story Victorian. “I can’t just sit back and watch as you lose everything.”
“I told you, sweetheart, this is not your problem to manage,” he assures me with a shake of his head. “I appreciate how much you want to help, but you’ve already done more than enough. This is on me. I don’t want you to worry a bit about it.”
I want to point out that it’s not just him that would be losing everything. I’d be losing my home, too. I’d be losing the business I left college behind to help run. I’m just as invested in this as he is, and I don’t know what I’ll do if we lose it.
After everything we’ve sacrificed, I’m not ready to throw in the toweljust because a bunch of thugs decided it’s time.
I suspect saying that out loud would only make him feel worse about everything. So, I keep quiet as we walk up the stoop and let ourselves into the house.
Our home has seen better days , but it’s still cozy, decorated in shades of blue, gray, and white. It reminds me of a day at the Cape, and I realize how long it’s been since I’ve stood by the ocean. I miss the freedom of the salt against my skin. I miss wishing every worry away into the wind. I miss the thrill of standing on the edge of jagged rocks, knowing that one wrong step could send me tumbling.
I turn my mind back to the unpleasant reality I’m living in. We already ate at the diner, as we often do for dinner, but we also have emergency ice cream in the house along with sundae supplies. I think now is a good time to dig into them.
“I’ll make you a sundae,” I tell my father. “And we can watch a movie; anything you like. I think after today, a relaxing evening is just what you need. Then, tomorrow morning, we’ll brainstorm ideas and…”
