Page 32 of Another Last Call
I didn’t blame her for that. She was on a time limit. Stepping back and trying to come up with the most efficient option of raising money was hard enough without the emotional attachment and personal stake Mags had in the bar.
There were a few problems with outright giving her and Josie the money, though. The first being that Maggie would bepissed. I was sure that, if the way she’d reacted to my cabin had been any indication, it would be the end of any sort of friendship I had with her. And maybe I should’ve done it anyway. Maybe I should’ve made Josie take the money and told Maggie that she could hate me and call me an out-of-touch tourist all she wanted, but I wasn’t going to stand by and let her and her mom lose their lives’ work.
Or maybe I could’ve just bought the building. Paid for it, repaired it, charged The Sea Glass a reasonable amount of rent to cover the cost of the repairs and the eventual taxes and such. Maggie would have made the same argument and I could’ve given her the same answer, although she would’ve been more justified in her anger, I think. Being her landlord of not just her business but also the apartment Maggie lived in was just… it was a power I didn’t want. It would’ve for sure cost us any friendship we could have.
But the biggest problem of all was that I didn’t have the money for either.
A month earlier, I might’ve been at least close. A month earlier, I wouldn’t have a shit-ton of hardwood and lumber and cabinets sitting in my garage. And it wasn’t like I could take what I had left and just throw it at The Sea Glass. I still needed to eat and keep the lights on until I sold the cabin and started my business.
It was unfair.
That was why Maggie had been so pissed when I bitched about the cabin. Yeah, I worked hard. Yeah, my dad had worked hard, too. I wasn’t going to pretend like I hadn’t worked for what I had because I had.My parents hadn’t handed me everything in life.
But Maggie worked hard, too. So did her mom. They worked just as fucking hard as I did and my dad did. Harder at times.
It was unfair that they were about to lose everything. I felt like I’d lost everything when my dad died, but realistically, I hadn’t. I had my mom, my friends, my degree, my experience as a contractor. I had plenty. And I had to recognize that my dad helped me get to where I was.
Maggie didn’t even have a dad.
It was something I thought about a lot over the next little while as I worked on my renovations. Maggie was busy doing anything she could to raise money for the bar, so other than a few minutes to chat if she was working when I went to get food, I didn’t see much of her. Aside from stopping by The Sea Glass for a burger daily, that was all I did: work, think of how to help them, work, think of how unfair life was to Maggie and how much it sucked that I couldn’t do anything about it, sleep.
Until I needed to go into the city to pick up some supplies that had been on backorder.
It wasn’t that far of a trip and I figured I’d make a day of it. You know. Pick up some other stuff I’d need from somewhere that wasn’t one of the kitschy shops on Main Street. Stop for lunch somewhere that wasn’t The Sea Glass. Maybe grab a coffee with one of the old friends who kept telling me I was crazy for living up in Marble Beach by myself.
Truth be told, I was looking forward to it. It was almost like a day off.
I didn’t think the line for contractors at the hardware store was too bad, but there were a few blue collar guys with dirt caked on their faces and fingernails who begged to differ. As I walked in, one of them was leaning on the counter and hollering loudly towards someone in the back.
“—Todd, you lazy fuck, come help ya’ girls out here! We got shit to do!”
I tensed, but there was a loud peal of laughter and a man wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt appeared in the doorway. Between the two women dressed in rugged polo shirts working behind the counter and the customers waiting around in everything from jeans and t-shirts to grease-stained coveralls, he looked out-of-place enough that it was obvious he was either the owner or a high-up manager.
“Simmer down, Cooper,” the man—Todd, apparently—said in a smooth, easygoing voice. “Some of us were making sure the girls’ paychecks were signed, you know?”
Cooper huffed and rolled his eyes, but it seemed to be in a good-natured way.
Between Todd and the two women, they made quick work of the contractors milling around. Most of them were just picking up a few things or paying off invoices, so it wasn’t long before it was my turn. As luck would have it, Todd was the one who waved me over to the counter.
“How can I help you, bud?”
“Just picking up a back order.” I showed him my invoice.
“Gotcha. You got one of your crew to help load this?”
“No, I’m working alone. But I can manage.”
He waved his hand at me dismissively. “I’ll grab the cart and help you out to your truck. It’s no problem.”
It was definitely nice of him. I distinctly remember thinking the service at this place would keep me coming back, right up until we got out to my truck and he started helping me load the supplies.
“That was quite the order,” Todd said, referring to my invoice. “What kinda project are you working on all by yourself like this?”
“Renos,” I said as he passed me a box. “I’m flipping a cabin. Uh, up in Marble Beach.”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “I know the place. My buddy’s got a lake house up there.”
“It’s a popular spot,” I said.
