Page 3 of Battle of the Exes

I know Rue didn’t mean to hurt me, but I am. I’m still part of this family, even if I do live two thousand miles away. The Silver Quill is as important to me as it ever was.

“I could have spoken to the new landlord,” I say, even as I realize from what she’s said that it wouldn’t have mattered much.

“We did, Ivy, and to the bank, plus several lawyers, you name it. But you’re right, I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to burden you with all this,” Rue says, sounding contrite. After a pause she adds, “We’ve exhausted our options. It’s time to think about liquidating.”

“Liquidating?”

My stomach drops. How did it get so bad, so quickly? “Did you tell Mom and Dad?”

Our parents have taken retirement to the max. They’re currently on a month-long cruise to South America.

“I had no choice but to tell them. They’re sad. They don’t blame me for running their business into the ground.”

Her voice breaks, and I hear her sniffle. I can’t recall the last time I heard my cheery sister cry. It’s off-putting.

My protective instincts are on overdrive. “Stop yourself right there. You didn’t ruin the store, Rue. If anything, you gave it added life.”

“Thanks,” she mumbles. “It wasn’t enough.”

I hear the sadness in her voice. It matches my own. I grew up in the Quill.

I may be late to this crisis but I won’t go down without a fight. “I can help pay,” I blurt out.

Silence.

Rue doesn’t have to speak the words for me to know exactly what she’s thinking. That even though I make a fine living as a syndicated columnist with a large, loyal readership, I can’t sustain the payments on my SoHo apartmentandclose the gap in rent for the shop indefinitely. It would be a temporary fix at best, simply kicking the eviction can down the road.

I try a different tack. “Can we bring in more income somehow?”

“I’ve tried everything, but we’re competing with online stores.”

I don’t buy that, not completely. “The Silver Quill offers something no virtual store can—the personal touch, knowledgeable staff, ambience. We have a real following.”

“Preaching to the choir, sis,” she says. “Let me put things bluntly.”

I can’t imagine how she could get any blunter.

“Unless I—we—come up with a solution in the next few weeks, we are going to have to close our doors on the last day of June.”

“But that’s a month away.”

She sighs. “Yep.”

I sense her trepidation. She’s scared. With Gary knee-deep in his own new accounting business, I suspect I’m Rue’s only remaining prayer. “How can I help?”

As though she’s been waiting for that prompt, she asks, “Can you come out here for a few days?”

“To Silver Pine?”

“That’s where the store is, so yeah.”

No doubt her request took a lot of guts. In all these years, Rue never asked me to come back. She knows my deal. I promised myself never to return to Silver Pine. Over the years I made a few exceptions—for Rue and Gary’s wedding and Lulu’s birth. Oh, and Thanksgiving. Once.

That’s not to say I haven’t been back to my home state. A few years ago, my folks moved to a senior living condo in Denver, where we convene every Christmas.

Rather than answer her, I say, “Why not move the shop to a smaller place?” even as I cringe at the thought. The Silver Quill has been on Main Street next door to Mae’s Sweet Peak Café for as long as I remember. Moving would be the equivalent of stomping on the soul of the place.

“There’s no available property. It’s hopeless…”

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