Page 5 of Waiting for Tuesday

I shook my head. I couldn’t let myself think that way. Today was Tuesday. The day I was born, the day I was named after, myluckyday. Shoeless Austin flashed into my thoughts, but I quickly dismissed him. Even his walking out that morning was lucky. Had he not, I would have been forced into a conversation where I tried to pretend to remember his name. Yeah, it was lucky he walked out. Today was lucky. The perfect day to sign papers.

Becky squeezed my hand and leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Is that your contractor?”

I turned in the direction of the lot just as my real estate agent, Mark, gathered papers from the top of his car.

“No.” I shook my head. “That’s my real estate agent. Mark.” I glanced over to the passenger seat, hoping I’d find Jake Johnson, but he wasn’t there.

I furrowed my brow and picked my bag off the floor. Mark was a consultant for JM Construction, one of the nicest people I’d ever met, but he definitely wasn’t Jake.

He waved his hand in the air as he made his way across the lot. “Mr. Johnson isn’t able to make it today. I hope that’s not a problem.”

I hoisted my bag up to my shoulder and frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh yes, yes. He had an OB appointment with his wife.” His dimple retreated a little deeper into his cheek. “It’s a boy, but don’t say you heard it from me.”

I laughed and nodded. “That’ll be fine.”

Mark punched a code into the lockbox and proceeded to open up the building. “We won’t need him today anyway.” He waved a hand to the inside of the building and stepped aside. “Would you do the honors, Miss Patil?”

I nodded, grabbed hold of Becky’s arm, and pulled her in behind me. I’d found JM Construction after endless months of searching. Jake had one of the best reputations in the industry, but his lack of presence left an uneasy feeling in my gut. I stepped onto the cracked, uneven flooring and pulled in a calming breath. Deep down I knew we wouldn’t need him today, that all the fear swirling in my head was ridiculous, but I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking as I took in the dark, dusty room. Ten years of neglect laid itself at my feet, and I scrunched my nose at the sight of it.

Becky threw her arm around my shoulder and rested her head on top of mine. “It’ll all be okay. It’s nothing a little soap can’t fix.”

Mark followed in behind us, running his hand along the wall so damaged it would need to be torn down.“We’ll need to get a HAZMAT crew in here before we start the demo. But it shouldn’t take more than a week.”

I nodded, even though anxiety threatened to steal my breath. He continued opening cabinets and doors, scribbling notes on a large yellow pad, then stopped and placed his briefcase on the dirt-covered counter. “Are you ready, Miss Patil?”

I looked to the old broken tables scattered about the whole shop, knowing it was too late to back out now. “Yes, of course.”

We spent the next hour talking about plans. Even though Jake wasn’t here in body, his plans were well laid out and precise. His crew would begin tearing everything down—tables, booths, the bar—and put up a solid wall, separating the product floor from the back room. This was the most pivotal part of my plan. It would cause some delay, but I needed the kitchen operational from the start. The two-phase construction was critical to staying on budget. I’d transfer supplies from Mr. Chavez’s garage, replenish product in the back room, and when the product floor was complete, everything would switch.

“The crew can start as soon as we have the keys.” Mark looked down at his notes and flipped a few pages before looking back at me. “There aren’t any complications that I can see—no liens, we have a motivated seller, and a solid offer. We should have the keys in our hands in thirty days.” He smiled and pushed the papers across the table before closing his briefcase. “All that’s left to do is to sign.”

My stomach fluttered as I pulled the papers toward me. I glanced over to Becky, who immediately nodded her approval as I opened the first page. “Do you have a pen?”

Chapter THREE

Tuesday

One month later

* * *

“Wait, where are you?” I balanced the phone on one shoulder, leaning back in my chair to open a bottle of Kombucha.

“Just outside of Crescent City—where I met your father.”

It was our normalTuesdayconversation. The only regular thing in my mother’s wild and transient life. I nodded, taking a swig of the pungent tea before turning back to my computer. “Who are you staying with?”

“A woman I met at the art fair. She has a herd of grass-fedgoats with the richest, most beautiful milk I’ve ever tasted. I’ll bring you a gallon next time I’m in LA, for your soaps. It would be outstanding.”

“That’d be great,” I replied, clicking a few buttons on the computer to print another label. “But what are you doing there?”

“Oh, you know me,” she said in a singsong voice. “I’ve moved onto my next adventure… but I miss you, sweet pea. You should come join me.”

“I miss you too, Mom. But you know I can’t…”

Silence.

---