situation. She insisted on taking me out to lunch after class and listened while I sobbed out my heartache over a pile of extra-spicy buffalo chicken wings. It was the longest I’d ever seen her sit without saying anything.
“I’m sorry,” I sniffed, blowing my nose into a paper napkin then adding it to the tear-soaked pile next to my plate. “People are going to think I’ve lost my mind, crying in public like this.”
“No such thing,” Mary Dell assured me. “It’s just the wings—all that hot sauce is making your eyes tear up. Here, drink some more Dr. Pepper. The sugar’ll do you good.”
From that day forward, Mary Dell was by my side. She called me every day and made up all kinds of excuses to get me out of the house, insisting that she and Howard needed dates for lunch, fabric shopping, shoe shopping, and quilt shows. And when I came back from Connecticut and announced my plans, Mary Dell was my cheerleader, telling me that I was absolutely up to it, helping me begin working on my business plan, brainstorming and daydreaming about the kinds of fabric I should stock, even helping load the boxes into my car for my trip north.
I was excited and nervous when we said good-bye in the driveway, but Mary Dell gave me confidence, saying, “You’re going to be a real big success! This is going to be your lucky year. I’m sure of it!”
“Really? Why?”
“Because you’re due, Baby Girl!”
At the time, I’d found some logic in her argument, so I drove to Connecticut and a new life, certain that my fortunes were about to change. But that was six months before. Recently, my confidence had begun to wane. Waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of running water and stumbling downstairs to discover four inches of wet ruining the freshly painted walls and the carpeting that had been installed just the day before hadn’t helped matters.
The night before, I’d been so busy running around trying to find the water shut-off valve and bailing that I really didn’t stop and consider the magnitude of this setback. But now, lying back on the sofa with my eyes closed, listening to the steady drip of the coffeemaker, I realized that leak was going to seriously delay my opening.
“Again!” I groaned aloud and clutched a sofa pillow to my stomach, then called out to the ceiling, “Why? Why does everything have to happen to me? Couldn’t you cut me some slack, just this once?”
“Sorry? Are you talking to me?” the plumber asked, standing with one foot in the door, not quite committed to entering my apartment. I sat up and tossed the pillow aside.
“No, I was talking to God. Actually, I was just complaining to God, but don’t worry about it. He’s used to it.”
The plumber nodded slowly and stared at me, trying to decide if I was joking or not.
“So,” I asked, “what’s the damage?”
He smiled, clearly relieved to be on more familiar ground. “Well, it could be worse—a lot worse. There’s only one leak. It’s a big one, but it won’t be that hard to fix. I can get started on it today, probably finish tomorrow or the day after. Considering the age of the building, the pipes are in pretty good shape. You shouldn’t have any more trouble once this is fixed.”
“How much is it going to cost?”
“Not too bad. Maybe fifteen hundred depending on time and materials. Definitely no more than seventeen fifty,” he declared and then, seeing the look on my face, quickly added, “but don’t worry! I’m sure you can bill the landlord for it. You don’t own the building, do you?”
“No, I’m leasing. I signed a two-year lease with the stipulation that I wouldn’t have to pay anything for the first six months while I did the remodeling. At the time, I thought I was so clever. I was sure I’d have my doors open in three months.” I rolled my eyes at the memory of my own naïveté.
“But first there was a holdup on the closing of my house in Texas, so I didn’t have the money to
“I’m sorry,” I sniffed, blowing my nose into a paper napkin then adding it to the tear-soaked pile next to my plate. “People are going to think I’ve lost my mind, crying in public like this.”
“No such thing,” Mary Dell assured me. “It’s just the wings—all that hot sauce is making your eyes tear up. Here, drink some more Dr. Pepper. The sugar’ll do you good.”
From that day forward, Mary Dell was by my side. She called me every day and made up all kinds of excuses to get me out of the house, insisting that she and Howard needed dates for lunch, fabric shopping, shoe shopping, and quilt shows. And when I came back from Connecticut and announced my plans, Mary Dell was my cheerleader, telling me that I was absolutely up to it, helping me begin working on my business plan, brainstorming and daydreaming about the kinds of fabric I should stock, even helping load the boxes into my car for my trip north.
I was excited and nervous when we said good-bye in the driveway, but Mary Dell gave me confidence, saying, “You’re going to be a real big success! This is going to be your lucky year. I’m sure of it!”
“Really? Why?”
“Because you’re due, Baby Girl!”
At the time, I’d found some logic in her argument, so I drove to Connecticut and a new life, certain that my fortunes were about to change. But that was six months before. Recently, my confidence had begun to wane. Waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of running water and stumbling downstairs to discover four inches of wet ruining the freshly painted walls and the carpeting that had been installed just the day before hadn’t helped matters.
The night before, I’d been so busy running around trying to find the water shut-off valve and bailing that I really didn’t stop and consider the magnitude of this setback. But now, lying back on the sofa with my eyes closed, listening to the steady drip of the coffeemaker, I realized that leak was going to seriously delay my opening.
“Again!” I groaned aloud and clutched a sofa pillow to my stomach, then called out to the ceiling, “Why? Why does everything have to happen to me? Couldn’t you cut me some slack, just this once?”
“Sorry? Are you talking to me?” the plumber asked, standing with one foot in the door, not quite committed to entering my apartment. I sat up and tossed the pillow aside.
“No, I was talking to God. Actually, I was just complaining to God, but don’t worry about it. He’s used to it.”
The plumber nodded slowly and stared at me, trying to decide if I was joking or not.
“So,” I asked, “what’s the damage?”
He smiled, clearly relieved to be on more familiar ground. “Well, it could be worse—a lot worse. There’s only one leak. It’s a big one, but it won’t be that hard to fix. I can get started on it today, probably finish tomorrow or the day after. Considering the age of the building, the pipes are in pretty good shape. You shouldn’t have any more trouble once this is fixed.”
“How much is it going to cost?”
“Not too bad. Maybe fifteen hundred depending on time and materials. Definitely no more than seventeen fifty,” he declared and then, seeing the look on my face, quickly added, “but don’t worry! I’m sure you can bill the landlord for it. You don’t own the building, do you?”
“No, I’m leasing. I signed a two-year lease with the stipulation that I wouldn’t have to pay anything for the first six months while I did the remodeling. At the time, I thought I was so clever. I was sure I’d have my doors open in three months.” I rolled my eyes at the memory of my own naïveté.
“But first there was a holdup on the closing of my house in Texas, so I didn’t have the money to
Similar Books
