Page 3 of Pining for You

John sighed. “No.”

“We need someone by the start of next week or it’ll leave us real shorthanded. Especially after this storm.”

John grunted. “I hate interviewing people.” He side-eyed me. “You want to handle that? It’ll give you practice for when you’re running things after I retire.”

I held still, my brain whirling as it tried to decipher the unspoken meaning. After? Not if? At his fifty-fifth birthday party, John’s wife Molly had suggested he retire, but John had laughed it off and told her to wait another five years. At his sixtieth birthday party, she’d mentioned it again, only to receive the same answer. Same answer he gave her at their annual Christmas party last year. But that after hinted that Molly’s suggestion had taken hold.

“You’ve made a decision?”

He heaved a long sigh. “I got a call yesterday about selling out to that outfit out of Toronto—the one that runs all those cheesy commercials. I gotta admit their offer is pretty tempting.”

Shit. I’d heard horror stories about that company. About how they were run by a businessman who had no understanding of tree management. They were all about how to make a profit and save a buck, even if it meant putting its employees at risk.

John stared out the side window, and lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “You know how Molly’s been nagging me about moving back to New Brunswick. Goin’ on about how her parents are getting older and she wants to be there for them.” There was a long pause before he said, “Housing is cheaper down that way. We could sell our house here, buy a bigger house with some land, and still have a nice nest egg to live on.”

Hard to argue a decision that would make a man’s life easier, his wallet heavier. And his wife happier.

John had his rough side, was grumpy as hell, and saw things only his way, but over time, we’d learn to respect each other.

He shifted in his seat, angling his body toward me. “I haven’t given them my answer yet but if I do decide to sell, I want to give you first shot. Are you interested? If you’re not, that’s fine.”

Wow. Me being the boss? Owning my own business? To take over Pine Ridge Prunery meant I’d have to learn how to manage employees, payroll, taxes, client management. None of which had been covered in my arborist training. How much would John want for me to buy him out? Could I afford to take on a loan to purchase the client list and take on the company name? Would I even qualify for a loan?

“Let me think on it,” I said slowly. “I’d need to talk to the bank, but yeah, I’d love first shot at it.”

“Good. As I said, we haven’t made a decision yet. Might not happen at all. We’re simply talking, you know?”

I nodded, both thrilled and terrified at the prospect. The idea of working for myself, of being the boss and responsible for other people’s livings, scared the crap out of me. If I didn’t take a chance now, when would I? Not only that, if I didn’t step up, the new bosses might lay off me and everyone else, too.

John rolled his shoulders, the joints audibly cracking. “Don’t say anything to anyone yet or everyone will jump ship and leave us—leave you—shorthanded.”

Though the wind was still fierce, the rain had died down and the thunder now rumbled in the distance to the south. I was about to start the truck to get back out onto the road when John’s phone rang yet again.

John raised a finger, stopping me before I could put the truck into gear. “Hang on. It’s Mike Pogue.”

Mike owned a local property management business that sent a lot of business our way. Saving John the trouble, this time I hit the button to accept the call.

“Hey, Mike. What can I do you for?” John said.

“I got a call from Marilyn Bordon over on Island Road. One of her trees has come down in this storm and is resting against the side of her house. She’s worried it’s going to tear off her eavestrough or come through her kitchen window. Can you get someone over there to get it out of the way?”

“Let me guess, it’s the old mountain ash I recommended be taken down a couple years ago?”

“That’s the one.”

John rolled his eyes at me. “I’ll send Brad’s team over to check it out. We’ll take care of the old lady, no worries.”

John hung up and muttered, “Old Marilyn is lucky that sucker didn’t come through the roof. We told her when we gave her the estimate three years ago that tree was riddled with borers. It’s not like she couldn’t afford what we quoted to remove it.”

“She loves that tree. Her husband planted it for her when they bought the house,” I reminded him.

Marilyn Bordon had been the school secretary at my elementary school and had always been nice to everyone. Including me, even on the days when I’d been sent to the office and ended up sitting in front of her, waiting for the principal. Which happened more times than I care to admit. Don’t ask.

“Her damned fool husband planted it too close to the house.” John harrumphed. “People always forget that the tiny sapling is going to grow into a big-ass tree.”

Like I hadn’t heard that complaint, and said it myself, though never directly to the client who usually hadn’t been the one to plant the tree in the first place. I changed course and took John to the office so I could get to work. “I’ll call Nash and have him meet me over there.”

As John was climbing out of the truck, I leaned over and caught his attention, “D’you want me to give the bill directly to Marilyn or email it to Mike?”

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