Done With Love (20 page)

“Ms. Gorecki, I would love to extend your line of credit, but your liquid assets do not meet our bank requirements. Based on your financial records, your store is in the red, and you’ve begun to make substantial withdrawals from your savings account.”

Mr. Blythe, the banker, peered at me over the rim of his glasses. His southern twang tweaked my already shot nerves. He was new to the bank. Though his gaze was kind, his tone was cut-to-the-chase serious. My old banker, a nice man with salt and pepper hair and an easy smile, had retired. I wanted to cry.

“But as you can see from my business plan, I have no doubt the boutique’s profit will increase significantly after the bridal expo. If you look at the numbers from the last expo my dresses were featured in, you’ll see
Once Upon A Dream Boutique
did very well, better than any of the numbers I projected before opening the business. I offer a unique line of bridal fashion. It’s all part of the dream, Mr. Blythe. My clients come to me because they want a fairytale wedding, and they’re willing to pay for it, no matter the cost.” I smiled at him, my hands folded primly in my lap. I wanted to be the image of confidence, and keeping my hands clenched together kept them from shaking.

Mr. Blythe tapped the tip of his pen against his notepad, and I fought not to fidget in my seat. After a couple of excruciating long minutes, he set the pen down.

“Ms. Gorecki, I am going to be honest with you.” He crossed his legs behind the desk and gave me an expression which could only be described as sympathetic. A ball of dread hit my stomach, hard. “When you made this appointment, I was warned you might be here for a credit extension. Personally, I love to see small businesses thrive. It’s why I enjoy my occupation so much. I can see potential in your little store, and you have such passion for what you do; it’s refreshing. But there is someone in the offices upstairs who has some…ties to a family who might not agree with the bank giving you a credit extension. And based on these records,” he waved at my beautifully bound business plan, “I would have a hard time swaying anyone to my way of thinking, even if there wasn’t so much influence against your boutique already.”

The saliva in my mouth was almost too thick to swallow, and my eyes were wet. I blinked back the tears, pushed down at the disappointment, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Mr. Blythe, I am a good person.” I could hear the plea in my voice, and it made my stomach turn.

His lips were pinched in discomfort. “I have no doubt, Ms. Gorecki. I wish I could help you. My only suggestion would be to try another bank. Or perhaps you could ask your family members for help?”

I shook my head. There was no way I would risk my parents’ money on a business headed for failure. They’d already put money into a wedding that never happened. There was nothing I could do now, except go bank shopping. But Mr. Blythe was right—with my financial records, I would probably have a hard time convincing anyone to take a leap of faith on my boutique.

I stood before the tears could take over, and gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you, Mr. Blythe.”

He shook my hand, a frown on his lips. “I am very sorry we couldn’t help you.”

I didn’t answer. What was the point in saying anything? He handed me my business plan, and I took it and hurried from his office. Rushing through the lobby, I told myself to keep it together. After I slipped behind the wheel of my car, I turned into a shuddering mess of tears.

I didn’t know how long I sat in my car, but when my cell phone rang, it startled me out of a daze. I answered, “Hello?” without looking at the caller ID first.

“Hey, honey. How are you?” my dad asked.

“Hi, Daddy. I’m fine. Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Your mom just wanted to know if you’d be here for supper tomorrow? She’s making meatloaf.” Then, before I could answer, he added, “The good recipe, the one with the green peppers.”

In our family, there was a good meatloaf recipe and a bad meatloaf recipe. The only one who didn’t know about the “good” and “bad” titles was my mom, who still made her mother’s recipe out of habit. Every once in awhile she made the recipe she’d gotten from Roxanna’s dad years ago. When she did, my dad liked to spread the word to us girls.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I smiled. Just hearing his voice made me feel better, it was like a deep, soothing rumble in my ear. Growing up, he’d been a menacing figure to the boys who showed up at our door to pick me, or one of my sisters, up for a date. The conversation would always start off with:
I have a shotgun right here in this house, son, and don’t you forget it.

“Glad to hear it. We missed you last week, and your mom made chili and cinnamon rolls.” The note of concern in his voice was hard to miss. My parents could sense something was wrong, but I didn’t want to worry them, so I pretended to be fine, even with my boutique crumbling to ruins before my eyes. My mom was a worrier, and my dad was a fixer—I didn’t want my mom to have ulcers over this, and I didn’t want my dad to insist I take their money, and he would. I would not let Deborah’s poison touch my parents.

“I’m sorry about that. I just had a lot to do at the boutique. Inventory stuff.” Skipping dinners was better than telling them everything was fine, when it wasn’t, that I was fine, when I wasn’t. I hated lying to them. They still didn’t know the truth about what happened to make me change my mind about Jeremy. At this point, I didn’t think it would matter. I wanted to keep them out of the muck for as long as I could.

“Go easy on yourself, honey. Your mother’s worried you’re wearing yourself down,” he said.

A thick tear rolled down my cheek. “I’m fine, Daddy. See you tomorrow, okay? Tell mom I’ll bring dessert.”

I hung up, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders and emptiness in my heart. I would be bankrupt at twenty-three years old, and then what would I do? I had put all my eggs into this one basket—there hadn’t ever been a need for a contingency plan because there had been no room in my mind for failure.

Merging into traffic, my brain ticked over every possible way I could save my business, but my mind drew a blank.
There has to be something.

“You have to tell them.” Catherine dried her hands on the hand towel in our parents’ kitchen, pinning me with one of her older-sister-knows-best stares.

I lifted the serrated knife from the loaf of fresh baked bread and waved it at her. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” She dropped the towel to the counter beside the tossed salad bowl.

I glanced over my shoulder at Gen. “You shouldn’t have told her. You know she can’t keep her mouth shut.”

Catherine’s stare was unwavering. “She
told me
how bad your finances were because she should have told me, like
you
should have.”

“No, I shouldn’t have. It’s not your business to know
everything,
Ms. Know-It-All.” I sliced into the bread on the cutting board.

The smell of browning meat and green peppers slow cooking in the oven made my mouth salivate. There was a big batch of scalloped potatoes in the top oven and sweet corn bubbled in the crock pot. Every year my dad picked corn from my mom’s garden in the back yard, and then we girls would process it in butter and half-and-half, packing it into plastic bags to freeze for the winter. The sweet, rich smell mingled with all the other tantalizing scents filling the house. Since I was eating with no reservations now, I couldn’t wait to sit down and stuff my plate full of food the way Gen always did. The only difference was that my twin was working out and taking care of herself, while I still didn’t give a damn. After my meeting at the bank this week, I planned to eat my feelings.

“You can’t just keep it from them,” Catherine insisted, and I groaned in annoyance, setting the knife down. “They should know if you’re in trouble.”

“Catherine, this is not your problem, so quit getting pushy, okay?” I set the slices of bread into a napkin-lined basket.

“I’m not being pushy,” she denied.

Gen laughed. “Ha! You’re always pushy.”

“I’m not going to change my mind,” I told Catherine.

“They could help,” she said.

“Let Lexie make her own decisions, Cat,” Gen said.

“Keep it down,” I hissed at them. “I don’t want Mom hearing.”

“Yeah, Cat,” Gen said.

“Mom is in the bathroom.” Catherine sliced button mushroom into the salad bowl. “And if she heard us, it’d be a good thing.”

She couldn’t leave anything alone, but that was Catherine. As the oldest, she thought she knew best. Sometimes, she did. But this time, I didn’t think so.

“I’m not telling Mom and Dad, and
you’re
not telling them either.”

“You could lose your business, Lexie,” Catherine pressed. “Do you know what a bankruptcy would do to your credit?”

I stiffened. “Of course I know what a bankruptcy would do to my credit.
Jeez, Cat.
”

“Which is why you need to tell them before they see your name in the newspaper for bankruptcy court.” She walked over to the double ovens and pulled the bottom oven door open. “You know Mom will have an anxiety attack.”

I did know. I was pretty sure the anxiety attacks I’d been getting were genetic. “It’s not going to get to that point, Catherine.
I have a plan.
”

Catherine sighed. “Sometimes it’s okay to ask for help, Lexie.” Her tone was less pushy now, and I could hear the concern in her voice.

“Cat, I know you mean well, but I’m not telling Mom and Dad anything.” I shook my head. “They’d dig into their retirement to bail me out, and this mess is
mine.
Not theirs.” I turned away from her. “They’ve already wasted enough money on me and a wedding that never happened.”

Catherine’s hand settled onto my shoulder, giving me a gentle squeeze. “They don’t blame you for that.”

“No,” I said, “but
I
do.
”

To end the conversation, I stepped away from Catherine, bread basket in hand, and walked through the doorway connecting the kitchen and dining room. Mitzy lay under the table, curled up into a ball. I sat down in my chair and picked up my cell phone to read Roxanna’s text:
Just us tonight since Gen and Matt are going to the movies. I’ll pick you up from your parents’ and we’ll go rent something to watch.

I typed back:
Come early! Eat with us.

If Roxanna were here, all the attention would be on her because she was a talker. If she didn’t show up, I prayed dinner would fly by. I worried Catherine would open her big mouth and spill my financial woes to everyone at the table. She really did mean well. She was the type of person who wanted to fix everything, which she’d inherited from our dad. Most times, I didn’t mind her stepping in and giving me guidance, but this time she was wrong. I would find a way out of this mess myself.

Gen set the pan of scalloped potatoes onto a hot pad in the center of the table, then sat down beside me. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Since when does Catherine listen to either of us?” I asked in frustration, adding a slice of bread to my plate and then offering the basket to my twin. “She drives me crazy sometimes.” I leaned my head back and called out, “Daddy, supper’s ready!”

Mom rushed into the room. “Oh good, you cut the bread. Where is Catherine? Is the meatloaf out of the oven?” The edge to her voice said she worried it might be burnt.

“It’s out, she’s bringing it to the table,” Gen said as the men all shuffled in.

My dad sat at the head of the table. Now that Gen had a plus-one, I sat to his right, across the table from my mom. Beside my mom was Catherine’s empty chair, and next to Catherine’s chair sat her husband, Tony.

“You can make your plates.” My mom waved her hand to gesture at the table covered with food. “We’ll say grace when Catherine sits down.”

I picked up my dad’s plate and dished him a large serving of potatoes while my mom poured him a glass of ice water.

“Thanks, honey,” he said, taking the plate from me.

“Ouch, this is hot.” Catherine hurried to set the large pan of meatloaf down on the hot pads on the center of the table. The top of the loaf was glazed with a tomato sauce, slightly browned, the edges crispy.

“It smells great, Marilyn,” Matt said. He’d tasted the bad meat loaf recipe a few times, so he already appreciated Roxanna’s dad’s recipe.

“Thank you, Matt.” My mom preened under his praise, and I smiled. The quickest way to my mom’s heart was to compliment her cooking.