Page 65 of Rebuilding Friendship Inn

Tessa

Alice

Kelli

AJ

Laurel

In fact, everything on the list was actually an everyone. People.

“Maybe I do like people,” Clara whispered. At the very least, she didn’t want to have to do everything herself anymore.

She switched out the notebook for her ledger. She knew these numbers by heart, though she certainly wasn’t a math major. She needed thousands just to finish what she’d started, and that didn’t include anything new, like commercial appliances, landscaping, the parking lot, or staff.

Clara actually felt like throwing up at trying to hire and pay the staff necessary to run this place.

Her throat narrowed, and she was sure any sane person would’ve called Jennifer Golden weeks ago and said they’d sign anything she wanted in exchange for the money.

She stared at the ledger, leafing through the pages where she’d left herself notes. She didn’t read them; the blue ink lines blurred as her mind wandered.

With a snap, she shut the book and got to her feet. “I’m not taking the investor.” Her voice echoed in the nearly empty room—it wasn’t at all the post CEO’s office she imagined for the woman who ran Friendship Inn.

No, she’d have curtains on the windows. Clara didn’t.

She’d have a deep, dark brown leather couch in the corner, with a wet bar directly beside it. Clara looked to the corner where she’d envisioned the couch, and all she saw was dirty sheetrock she’d had to pull apart to fix a leaking pipe. She hadn’t fixed it yet, because honestly, a four-foot section in this back room that no one would see wasn’t at the top of her list. It never would be if she continued here.

“I don’t want to continue here.”

She sat back down and opened her laptop. Instead of going into her monster-long to-do list for the day, she clicked open an Internet browser, and she searched for real estate agents in her area.

She scribbled down a few names, closed the computer, and picked up her phone. A moment of hesitation had her almost giddy with excitement. With just a couple of calls, she could be free of everything.

Her finger hovered above the screen, and then she dialed.

Clara lookedup as footsteps came down the hall. She knew her husband’s gait, and she got up to meet him when he came inside. He lifted a brown paper sack and said, “Ryan’s waiting.”

She rounded the desk and took the bag from him. After stretching up to kiss him, she asked, “Do you think he’ll wait while we do a few things?”

“What things?” He held her onto her hips, and Clara wanted to smile at him. She couldn’t; not yet.

“I’ve been researching real estate agents,” she said. “But I think we should call my mom and talk to her. She’ll know the best in the cove for this anyway, and I don’t know… I want to talk to her about it.”

“I think he’ll wait for us to make a phone call.”

Clara did smile then, and Scott added, “I’ll text him,” while she turned to go back to her desk. She sat down and pulled out the salad her husband had brought for her. It wasn’t exactly breakfast food, but it was about mid-morning, and she’d only had coffee before leaving the house.

She tapped to call her mother, then opened the salad while the line rang.

“Good morning, dear,” her mother said, her voice so calm and so soothing.

“Mom,” Clara said. She snapped off the top of the ranch dressing and poured it over her salad. “Listen…” She suddenly didn’t have the words. Growing up, her father had drilled into her and Reuben tonever, ever quit. Always go down with a fight.

In the end, he’d gone down. Everyone died. Everyone would go down, no matter how hard they fought.

The enormity of Clara’s situation rolled over her again, and she tried to breathe, but couldn’t.

“Kristen,” Scott said, and Clara looked at him. He gave her an encouraging smile. “The inn is too much for us. We’d like to list it for sale, and you know all the best real estate agents in the cove.”

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