Page 1 of Courage of the Mountain
1
LILY
My hands tremble as I read the latest letter from Top Spot Realty. “Ouch!” I exclaim, setting down my cup of coffee. I grab a rag and wipe off the scalding liquid that spilled over my hand.
Sighing, I close my eyes and try to calm my racing thoughts. It’s not the first letter I’ve received from the aggressive real estate company trying to buy this small mountain town. They want to give Hope Mountain a “facelift,” as their letters explain.
I’ve informed them in numerous replies that my bookstore, Between the Covers, is not a sixty-year-old woman getting an invasive surgery so she can look twenty years younger. In fact, I’m pretty damn proud of what I’ve been able to accomplish in the last few years. And I’m not about to let my blood, sweat, and tears go to waste.
This time, the letter informs me of the rising cost of insurance for small businesses like mine, and how a lot of the plans don’t cover damages from accidents. I’m not sure why they’re telling me this. Is it a threat? What is this, the real estate mafia?
It would be a shame if something happened to your quaint little bookstore…
I roll my eyes at my paranoid thoughts. That kind of thing doesn’t happen around here. I’m sure it’s just another scare tactic.
I fold the letter up and stuff it in its envelope, sticking out my tongue when I see the Top Spot Realty logo stamped on the outside. I toss the whole thing in the trash, then busy myself with cleaning up my office.
It’s still weird to think about this being my office. I have the desk mostly cleared off from the previous owners, but the metal shelves and filing cabinets still need to be emptied and replaced with something more my style. Refurbishing the office is the last thing on my ever-growing to-do list, however.
I’ve worked here since high school, alongside the owners, Daryl and Marsha Foster. The two opened Between the Covers over thirty years ago, and it’s been a staple in Hope Mountain ever since.
Last year, Marsha started having serious medical issues, leading to the discovery of multiple tumors. The shocking news rippled through the community, and like true small-town residents, we all pitched in to help them through.
The ladies’ prayer circle at First Baptist coordinated meals–mostly hearty casseroles that freeze well and stick to your bones. The last time I checked, the deep freeze in the Foster’s basement was still half-full of untouched casseroles.
For my part, I took over most of the day-to-day responsibilities of the bookstore as Marsha and Daryl went to doctor appointments, dealt with multiple surgeries, and spent time resting. Thankfully, all the tumors have been removed, and Marsha is well on her way to making a full recovery.
The whole ordeal made Daryl and Marsha rethink how they wanted to spend their golden years–and when those golden years would start. The two wanted to travel and have theexperiences they always said they would. I absolutely adore that for them. Daryl and Marsha are couple goals for sure.
However, I’ve found that getting a hold of retired people traveling the country is more difficult than I thought. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy they are enjoying their lives. But I need some signatures from them so I can start enjoying mine.
Speaking of… I rifle through the stack of papers on the chair next to my desk, counting the dozen or so forms that I need Daryl to look over and sign to make the sale official. Thinking back to the letter from Top Spot, I realize I don’t actually have the insurance information. I should probably know the policy and where to pay and what it covers and…
I take another deep breath, willing the stampede of worries to subside. Some days, I feel confident and filled with pride at how hard I’ve worked to prove myself trustworthy to the Fosters.
Other days, like today, I feel entirely overwhelmed, and I start doubting that I have what it takes to continue the legacy the Fosters built. I can handle inventory, stocking, and customers, but liability insurance? Taxes? Employee payroll? There’s so much more going on behind the scenes than I planned for.
I dial Marsha’s number, not sure if she’s going to pick up. The two lovebirds are doing a West Coast tour, starting in Seattle and ending in Southern California.
“Lily! How are you, dear?”
I smile at her warm greeting. My heart clenches up tightly in my chest, and I realize I’ve missed them immensely. Over the years working for the Fosters, they’ve become my de facto grandparents, especially after my grandmother, who raised me, passed away five years ago. It was shortly after my eighteenth birthday, and I’ve had a hole in my heart ever since.
I wish my older brother, Hayden, had stuck around a bit longer after the funeral, but his bereavement leave from the military was only for two weeks. Even though he’s out of themilitary now, Hayden rarely comes back to Hope Mountain. He’s busy doing contract work as a bodyguard. I understand. I do. But that doesn’t mean I’m not lonely.
“Lily? You still there?” Marsha’s voice pulls me out of my sad, spiraling thoughts.
“Yes, sorry,” I rush to say. “I’m plugging along over here,” I tell her. “Are you enjoying the West Coast?”
“Very much so. Oh–hey there! Sir?” I can tell Marsha has pulled the phone away from her ear so she can talk to someone else. I hear her muffled voice, joined by Daryl a few seconds later. “Yes, another mimosa for me. My husband here will have a Bloody Mary.” I grin at their morning drink orders, but I know it means she’s going to be distracted. “Sorry, hun. Where were we?”
“I know you guys are out right now, but I was hoping you could look into something once you get back to your hotel. Can you forward me the insurance information for the store? I’m sure you have statements that have been emailed recently, which would give me the policy number.”
“Daryl, do you know about the insurance?” she asks her husband. “No, the insurance for Between the Covers.” They share a back-and-forth, then Marsha speaks to me again. “We can cover whatever you need until we get that information to you. I’m sorry we left you with a bit of a paperwork mess, but we’ll help you sort out the details when we get back next month. How does that sound?”
We might not have a store to insure by the time you get here.
I don’t tell her that, of course. “Sure,” I say with far more enthusiasm and patience than I feel at the moment. “There’s no emergency; I was just trying to get my ducks in a row.”
