Page 22 of Fitting the Financier
“Mrs. Tobit has nowhere else to go and Mrs. Konners has lived in that house all her life — she raised her children there.”
“No one in Candy Cane wants big development, trust me,” I reassure her, but we’re not naïve. Development means money. Money goes a long way in keeping the town pretty for tourists.
“I’m not helping by running my business from home, am I?”
Dad clenches his teeth, but nods. “If we ever fight them in court, they’ll make the case that a business is being run from that block.”
“Tell Jen I’ll move Cupid.”
Dad lifts Naomi’s hand, bringing it to his lips, but Mason intrusts by loudly clearing his throat. It doesn’t matter because my gut tells me their relationship has changed. I don’t know when or how, and I don’t know what this means for us.
The chatter fizzles around me and I don’t recall which tree we pick, only that I recite our address to the clerk to deliver the tree. A mixture of emotions tightens my chest as we make our way back to Noami’s. Shock leads them. I can’t erase seeing the warmth in my dad’s eyes when he looks at her.
Despite my shock, there is happiness, too. Neither would be lonely anymore, and no one deserved joy more than my dad and best friend.
CHAPTER TWELVE
NAOMI
Isaw the for-sale signs on my neighbor’s property but chalked the moves up to the usual reasons older adults moved. I grimace. Grams would have known.
By the time we arrive in town, I’m ashamed of not keeping a closer eye on Gram’s friends. No wonder the town still thinks I’m an outsider.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, opening the gate to my neighbor’s house.
“Where are you going?” Charity hurries to catch up to me.
“She needs to know what’s happening.” I knock, but don’t have to wait long before the door swings open.
“Why, Naomi?”
“Hi, Mrs. Tobit, can we come in?”
“Sure you can.” She turns back inside. “Just took a batch of gingerbread cookies out of the oven.”
“Let me help.” I count five Christmas trees and at least a dozen Santa ornaments and that’s just the living room. Sugar and spices fill the air in the kitchen. The room smells nice, like every Sunday before Grams died.
“I can’t tell you the last time I had four young people in my home at the same time.”
“Only two of us are young, Mrs. Tobit,” Charity says with a wink. She’s doing what she’s always done, lightening the air for what comes next. “The other two are sporting wisdom highlights.”
Mrs. Torbit chuckles. “As long as they’re not sneezing and peeing at the same time. That makes them young in my book.”
I choke on the glass of milk the older woman serves me. “Gram’s called that multitasking.”
Mrs. Torbit snorts.
“I’m sorry I haven’t visited more often.” Nathan’s presence is an anchor behind me. “I wish I had a good reason.”
“Sometimes a person just needs to figure out who they are when the fog clears, that’s all.” She pats my hand. “But don’t you worry, I’ve kept an eye on you.”
Somehow, hearing those words is oddly comforting. Charity squeezes my hand and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am.That I’m not invisible, that folks in this town see me.
“Now, as much as I’m enjoying your visit, I know you didn’t come for the cookies.”
Taking a deep breath, I relay what we know about the developer and his plans for our properties. Mrs. Tobit’s facial features go through an array of emotions, including sadness. I can relate to the pain of losing my home and not having family close for support.
Mrs. Torbit adds more cookies to the plate. “We’ve had visitors for months asking us to sell.”
