“First of all, I don’t think you should keep referring to her as ‘that old lady,’ and second, after she rejected me she hung up on me.”
To her consternation Brad started to laugh. “Suddenly I like her a lot more. Turns out your Mrs. Shipman’s got pluck.”
“Well, she’s not mine anymore. It makes no sense. I hope she’s alright.”
It occurred to Leah that the only two people she still knew in town, two of the nicest in fact, had suddenly distancedthemselves from her. Was it possible there was more wrong with her life than she’d thought?
It was late in the day when she finally took a lunch break. Her phone had been turned off, and she realized when she turned it back on that she had two missed calls. Leah’s stomach flip-flopped when she saw the notifications: Greg had called twice.
It had been a while since she’d thought of him, and she took that as a good sign. His voicemail did not elaborate, just asked her to return his call. She figured she might as well get it over with.
Greg picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Leah. What’s up?”
“You asked me to call,” she reminded him.
“Right. Yes.” Greg sounded off. All their communications had been awkward since the breakup, but today it was more pronounced. “There’s something I want to share with you. Before you hear it from someone else.”
For better or worse, their Boston friends had remained with him when she left, so Leah wasn’t sure who Greg thought she’d hear something from. “Shoot,” she said.
“So, I know how this might look since we broke up not that long ago…”
“Just spit it out, please.”
“Rebekah and I are seeing each other again. In fact, she may be moving in.”
Leah inhaled sharply. It was exactly what she’d felt in her bones and feared in her heart leading up to the breakup. To hear it out loud confirmed all her suspicions of the past, giving riseto the ghosts who’d haunted her since. Perhaps it shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. A lot.
“I see,” she managed to say. She closed the door to her office and sank into her chair. Why was Greg telling her this? He was an idiot, but he wasn’t cruel.
“I want you to know that it wasn’t something we planned. I had no designs on Rebekah when you and I were still together, I swear. It just sort of happened, afterward.”
Leah had heard enough. “Greg, why are you even calling me about this?”
There was a pause. “Because you still have furniture here, and Rebekah wants to bring her own stuff. I wanted to give you a chance to have it, before I donate it to Goodwill.”
Leah’s mind tumbled back to what furniture he could be referring to. She’d taken everything that was hers.
“The slipcovered sofa,” Greg said gently.
“You have got to be kidding me.” To be fair, they’d bought it together, but Leah was the one who had convinced him it would look good in their apartment. It had been good to sink into at the end of a long day. She’d almost fought him for it when she left. But Greg reminded her she had no way to lug it back to the Cape nor the space at her dad’s cottage, so she’d reluctantly left it behind.
“Rebekah doesn’t like the color,” he said sheepishly.
“Unbelievable.” Leah stood up from her desk chair and paced the narrow office space. “You wanted to hang on to that couch. Now you want me to—what?—come back to Boston to retrieve it, somehow, because yournew oldgirlfriend doesn’t like thatshade of white?” Hearing Greg’s voice and learning that he and Rebekah were moving in together—the very thing she’d suspected all this time—was a gut-wrenching blow. But the sofa was welcome absurdity. “Goodbye, Greg.” She’d barely ended the call and was still fuming, when Lucy knocked on the door. “You’ve got a visitor.” Leah groaned.
She followed Lucy back out to the storefront, only it wasn’t Luke back to work on the cubbies. Mrs. Shipman stood at the register, both hands on the counter like she was holding on for dear life. Her color was pallid, and as Leah rushed up to her, she could see her forehead was a sheen of perspiration.
“Mrs. Shipman! Are you okay?”
Eudora turned, eyes heavy, but smiling. A little color returned to her cheeks. “Yes, don’t mind me. It’s hot out. And it was a long walk.” Her little dog growled softly. “Alfred makes us stop at every mailbox.”
From the looks of her it was more than a warm day and a long walk. “I think you should sit.” Leah helped her to one of the chairs and sent Lucy for a glass of cold lemonade. Leah knelt beside her, wondering if she should call an ambulance. Trying to remember the steps for CPR. God, she did not want to have to do CPR. “Are you sure you’re alright? I’m wondering if you need medical attention.”
“No, no.” Mrs. Shipman reached for her hand and lowered her voice. “It’s just a little panic attack,” she admitted quietly. “It’s silly, really. Makes my daughter, Caroline, worry, too. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Leah said, hoping to sound reassuring. It was hard to imagine Mrs. Shipman, whowas such a strong and reassuring counsel to so many, suffered panic attacks. “It’s not silly at all.”
Lucy returned with a glass of lemonade. “We had a tea party today,” she told Mrs. Shipman. “So there’s tons of leftover lemonade. Don’t worry, the weird red floaty things are strawberries.”
