Walter nods.
“Is there anything they need?” Mildred asks. Much like everyone else in Hudson they are right there willing to offer a hand.
“Right now, I think they are good, but thank you so much for offering.”
We share a little more conversation about the day, the weather, and what project Mr. Frampton had planned at home. Mrs. Frampton, I’ll admit, looks a little worried as her husband carries on about piping and such. I want to laugh, because about eighty percent of the home projects that people attempt coming through here backfire and they come rushing back for more supplies. Mainly supplies to fix something else they accidentally broke along the way.
Grabbing the receipts and binder from Maggie, I walk back to my office and sit down at the desk.
Working at the store had always been the plan.
Starting here when I wasn’t even old enough to legally work, I learned everything it took to operate the store. I’d planned to one day take over fully, but never was it going to be due to my father’s health.
They’d planned a retirement full of travels and lazy Tuesdays.
Now it’s oncology appointments and hours of pumping toxins into his body in hopes of remission.
Getting lost in bookkeeping I find myself wondering why we’ve never hired a bookkeeper. Hours and hours of logging and registering the ins and the outs, sending them off to our accountant, we could use the help.
I toss the week’s binder on the file cabinet and lean back in the chair, closing my eyes. I don’t realize how tired I am until I am jerked away by the sound of a phone ringing. Kicking my foot out I smack my knee on the edge of the desk.
“Fuck.” The pain shoots through my thigh and I shove myself back standing to shake off the lingering ache.
Irritable and knowing that I wouldn’t be the best company, I choose to ignore the call, walking off my mood. Pacing the room, I let my mind race. Today is a bad day for Dad. Hearing my mother cry has always been his weakness, so she holds back her tears. Until she is alone, or as she was this morning, pretending to hang laundry on the line.
I’ve made it a point to stop in every morning on my way to work. Just to see if there is anything that needs to be done, or simply to say hello and sit with them for a while. But this morning, I found her off to the side of the house, leaning back with her eyes closed. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her body trembling as she did all she could to cry quietly.
I must say much like my father, I hate to see her sad.
It was like my heart split in two and all I could offer her was comfort. Holding her, allowing her to fall apart, giving her the time and peace to do so without one single word spoken.
And it’s lingered with me all day.
Taking a few deep breaths I pause with my hands on my hips and my eyes closed. Needing my own moment of peace to rein in my feelings. Once I feel like I can hold myself together I grab my phone and wake it, looking at the missed call.
Marshall’s name is at the top, with a text message as well for me to call him when I can.
He’s works for the longtime veterinarian. Doc Miller is knocking on the door of eighty as he’s refused for years to admit it was time to retire. After Marshall’s ex-wife decided to cheat on him then run off in the middle of the night with the man that is as old as her own father, Marshall moved to Hudson. Leaving thebigger city life behind he was able to convince Doc Miller to merge his practice with him.
Now Doc only works a few days a week, a few hours a day, and Marshall is the full-time veterinarian.
It was great to have him back home where he belonged with the rest of us in Hudson. It took him a bit to let go of the anger that life experience left him with, but he’s now the Marshall we all know and love.
He picks up on the second ring and instead of saying hello, he rolls right into what he’d called for.
“Damn door handle came right off in my hand. There I stood in the middle of the office, holding one half while the rest lie on the floor.” He chuckles. “The bathroom, Finn, there is no handle on the bathroom.”
“So you need a door handle?” I smile, feeling a little less irritated as I picture him taking a piss while watching the door for intruders.
“Please tell me you have one in stock.” His mood sounds almost as chipper as my own.
“I’ll send Troy out with one.”
He thanks me and I end the call, emerging from my office for the first time in hours. Grabbing it from the shelf, I have Maggie make a ticket and charge it to Marshall’s account.
“I’m gonna go deliver this myself,” I tell her, thinking that maybe a nice walk will change my mood.
CHAPTER TWELVE
