Page 6 of All Because of You

Evan tried again. “That is, the former owner passed away almost five months ago, and the new owner has just arrived back in town. As far as I know, she doesn’t have plans to reopen it.” Madison had said so.

At least, he thought she had. Maybe he’d just assumed.

“Of course, we’ll confirm that right away. It shouldn’t be a problem.” Dad quirked an eyebrow at Evan.

“Right. No problem at all.” From what Chrissy had told him, Madison would never stay and run the store. But he didn’t know for sure what she was planning. Still, with the way Dad and Mr. Aldrin were looking at him, he needed to make some sort of assurances so this deal didn’t die a sudden, horrible death.

“I’ll be frank.” Mr. Aldrin removed his glasses. “Walker Beach is not the only location we are considering. If there is already a viable competitor here, that will make this town a no-go for us. That combined with the earthquake aftermath and the incentives that other locations are offering . . . well, I’ll confer with Mr. Herman, but at this point, I’m just not sure we are going to be able to make this work.”

No, no, no. This was all going downhill so quickly. “Of course you’re entitled to your opinion, but I believe Walker Beach is the best town there is.” If it weren’t, Evan would have been on a plane to anywhere else a long time ago. “The people here are resilient. We have heart, sir, and that’s not something you can say about every other town. What can we do to turn this around for you?”

Much as he tried, Evan couldn’t keep the pleading out of his tone. Sure, in isolation, this deal wouldn’t make or break his bid for Denise’s job. But like Jack had said, people had been clamoring for a hardware store option ever since Chrissy had closed-up shop. If he succeeded, people would love him for it. If he failed, he was one step further away from everything he wanted. He’d have to work that much harder to prove himself.

Mr. Aldrin shut the proposal booklet and stood. “I’m not sure there is anything you can do.”

It didn’t matter how hard he’d worked. Evan had indeed failed.

Again.

And the look on Dad’s face said he’d never really expected any differently.

Chapter 2

Had her aunt ever heard of a file cabinet?

Madison groaned as she sifted through the piles of papers on Aunt Chrissy’s desk, ensconced in the tiny office at the back of the store. How she’d managed to keep the store afloat all these years with her level of disorganization was a wonder.

And all by herself too.

How had she done it, day in and day out, bearing the load alone? Not to mention the quiet of this place, which was enough to drive Madison batty. Even though libraries were zones of quiet, they had energy, one that pulsed and hummed with life thanks to the thousands of stories surrounding their patrons.

A light rain plinked against the window as Madison tried to make sense of her aunt’s system of organization—assuming she had one. The papers in front of her seemed to be bills, but whether they’d been paid or not was anyone’s guess. And then, toward the edge . . . were those invoices? And good, there was the lease agreement. She made a mental note to look at that later since she’d need to inform the landlord that she intended to sell the business.

At least the ledger seemed to be in decent condition, although it would have been nice if her aunt had finally embraced the miracle of digital accounting.

Her head pounded, whether from being in a room lit only by a single lamp in the corner and the gray daylight that managed to filter through the clouds or just from the pure exhaustion, she couldn’t tell. Being among Aunt Chrissy’s things during the last few days had left Madison with an aching heart and an inability to sleep.

As did the fact she was currently jobless with no prospects on the horizon.

Madison picked up the top paper in a new pile she had yet to examine. It seemed to be a printed email, so perhaps this stack was personal correspondence? As she set the page back down, a name popped out at her. Evan Walsh. Her eyes quickly skimmed the contents of the paper. Evan’s email signature identified him as Walker Beach’s assistant community development officer, and the message string was about some board Aunt Chrissy had been on. Purely business, nothing personal about it.

Yet, what had Evan said the other day? Something about how he and Aunt Chrissy had gotten close before she died. How had that come to be? Madison hadn’t seen Evan since their encounter on her first day back to town, and most of her was OK with that. But some part also wanted to ask him to elaborate, to tell her about Aunt Chrissy’s last days.

Ugh. She needed a break.

Madison fled the dank room and walked to the front of the store where she’d left her book this morning. Flicking on the wall switch, she flooded the place with light. Once again, the sight in front of her stole her ability to breathe.

It was as if she’d stepped into a time machine. Nothing had changed during the last decade. Oh sure, the supplies were more modern, and the walls had received a fresh coat of bright yellow paint. But the display of colorful paint cans glued to the white brick wall, the collection of quirky shovels and tools hanging from the ceiling above the front window, the always-present Christmas tree in the corner—those things had Madison just waiting for Chrissy to walk in from the back, crack her knuckles, and say, “Here’s to another great day!”

A tear pushed through her defenses and slipped down her cheek. Man, she missed her aunt. Staying away from here, she’d been able to convince herself that Aunt Chrissy wasn’t really gone. But now there was no denying it, even though her aunt’s palpable presence permeated every square inch of this place.

Her book. She needed to read, to escape. Madison located her purse sitting on the front desk and rummaged inside. But instead of her novel, she pulled out the letter she’d received just that morning—mail forwarding had worked much more quickly than she’d anticipated—and slumped against the wall.

When she’d missed the deadline to apply for federal aid at her university the first time, she’d taken out a private loan with a small credit union in Los Angeles, and the interest rate had been outrageous. She’d been stupid, but school had been so important to her. Unfortunately, while they’d allowed her to defer payments until graduation, they didn’t offer any grace periods afterward, which meant her first payment was due next month. It wasn’t necessarily for an outrageous amount of money, but it was still more than she had in her bank account.

All the money Aunt Chrissy had left her had been used to pay the mortgage on her properties and for Madison’s last semester of school. Selling the store and house wouldn’t bring in any money until the sales were final—and who knew how quickly they’d even sell?—but she needed money pronto.

A knock on the door interrupted her desperate thoughts. Madison stuffed the letter back into her purse and glanced up. Someone in an orange jacket huddled just outside.

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