Page 125 of Save the Date
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Ten minutes later, the two women burst through the front door, alternately gagging and gasping for air.
“Oh my Lawd,” Alice exclaimed, wiping at her watery eyes. “Oh my Lawd.”
Cara slumped against the door of the Cadillac. “I wish I could unsee what we just saw.”
“I had no idea,” Alice said. “I should call that owner. I bet he doesn’t know the roof caved in.”
“Or that raccoons have taken up residence. Or that the last tenants left a year’s worth of rotting garbage in the so-called kitchen,” Cara added.
Alice shook her head. “We cross this one off the list. That just leaves us the dry cleaner’s shop on Paulsen.”
“Which is too small and has no yard for Poppy,” Cara said.
“Or the duplex on Hall Street,” Alice added. “It had parking, a courtyard garden for Poppy, and a nice apartment upstairs for you.”
“And it’s twice as much as I can afford, and I’m not crazy about that block. Other than that, it’s perfect,” Cara said.
Alice unlocked the Caddy, turned the air-conditioning on the polar-ice-cap setting, and rolled the windows down to allow the hot air to escape. “We rode by a dozen properties today, hon. You nixed everything except for Paulsen and Hall. What do you want to do?”
“I want to stay right where I’m at,” Cara said stubbornly, dabbing at her damp forehead with a tissue. “But since that’s no longer an option, I guess we should call the duplex owner. Do you think you can talk him down any on the rent?”
“I doubt it. She told me she had two other showings this week. If you think it’s a possibility, we probably need to jump on it pretty quickly, or we risk losing it.”
“I know, Alice. But I’m really scared. I’ve got a big check coming from my next wedding next week, and with that, I can just barely scrape up enough for first and last month’s rent for Hall Street, plus moving expenses. But what if something goes wrong? I’m one wedding away from skid row.”
Alice patted her arm sympathetically. “I admire you young single gals so much. Starting and running your own businesses, I never could have done anything like that when I was your age. I got married at nineteen, started having my babies. John was always the boss. Don’t get me wrong. He’s always been a wonderful provider, but I went from living in my father’s house to being somebody’s wife and mother. I never would have had the guts or the smarts to do the things you’ve done, Cara.”
Cara smiled ruefully. “I’m not so smart, Alice. I’ve had a rotten marriage, my business could come crashing down around me at any minute, and in the meantime, I’ve been so busy trying to save the business, the one promising relationship I’ve had since my divorce just went up in flames.
“At least you have your kids, and your grandkids, and a solid marriage,” Cara went on. “What have I got to show for the last ten years? A crappy van, a website, and a dog who’s an obedience-school dropout. I don’t even own my own house.”
“You will,” Alice said. “You’re having a run of bad luck right now, but I know things are going to change for you. I’m Irish. We know these things.”
“I hope you’re right,” Cara said. She sank back into the Cadillac’s buttery leathery upholstery as Alice turned the car back toward the real-estate office.
“Sure I can’t take you out to a late lunch?” Alice asked, as she pulled alongside Cara’s own car. “My treat.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got to get over to South Carolina. We’re doing a walk-through and site visit with the bride and groom and their parents, and I need everything to be perfect,” Cara said, reaching for the passenger-door handle.
“Cara?” Alice put a hand on her arm. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call the new owner of your building? See if we can’t come to an agreement that would allow you to stay put? It seems a shame to leave a place that’s so perfect for your needs, just because of some misunderstanding.”
“No misunderstanding at all, Alice,” Cara said soberly. “Jack Finnerty deliberately misled me. Jones Street is just a shrewd real-estate investment as far as he’s concerned. He’s just as bad as Cullen Kane, just as bad as my former assistant. Just as bad as my ex-husband. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”
“Okay,” Alice said slowly. “Shall I call about Hall Street? See if we can get moving on a lease?”
Cara’s shoulders slumped. “Yes. Go ahead. But I can’t write any checks until next Friday. Make sure they understand that.”
51
Her car’s air conditioner thrummed ineffectively against the glaring midday heat. Sweat stung her eyes, and her pale blue linen shift, which that morning she’d thought would look so cool and effortless, now stuck to the back of her legs and resembled a limp, slightly used Kleenex.
The Eugene Talmadge Memorial Bridge was a suspension bridge that separated Georgia from South Carolina. Cara glanced down, toward the brownish green water of the Savannah River below, and saw a huge container ship gliding toward the port. Her arms were rigid as she gripped the steering wheel with two damp hands.
Alice had just called with the news that she was drawing up the lease for the duplex on Hall Street. Cara honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
She had ten days to pack up her apartment and shop—her life, in essence—and move out of Jones Street and over to Hall. And she had to do it by herself. This time around there would be no Bert, to make her laugh and help pack and unpack boxes, and moan and bitch about schlepping stuff up and down stairs.
