It's a Fabulous Life, page 23
“Can’t say I’m the most deserving person,” Bailey said.
“You’ll see. If you haven’t started seeing it already.”
The dog park, George Family Homes …
They passed another house with a Potter Real Estate sign in the yard. And there was one across the street. “There are a lot of houses for sale,” she noted.
“Who would want to live here?” Clara said.
“Tons of people. Watch my phone light up after Winter Wonderfest.”
“The phone you don’t have. And a festival this town doesn’t have.”
Bailey patted her coat pockets. “Yeah, about that. When we’re done with this, give me my phone back.”
“I don’t have it.” Clara displayed the ends of her stole. “You’re completely free of any attachments.”
Bailey raised an eyebrow at her. “This is getting old, Clara.”
The fabulous queen simply chuckled.
She almost walked past Mom’s house. No lights outside. No wreath on the door. Just a tabletop tree flickering in the gaps between the vertical blinds. The house itself looked dingy and unkempt. One of the shutters was missing. The driveway had a huge crack running down its length. Still, what a relief to be here. To finally get some answers.
“Brace yourself,” Clara said. “This is not the childhood home you remember.”
Of course it was. This was home base for the George family.
Bailey trotted across the unshoveled walk to the front porch. She tried the door, but it was locked.
“Mom?” she called, knocking loudly. “Mom, it’s me.”
No answer. Crap, what if she wasn’t home?
She tried the doorbell, which didn’t seem to be working. Then knocked again. The foyer light went on. Thank God. The shadow of movement danced behind the peephole.
“Mom, it’s me,” she said. “Come on. Open up.”
A dim light went on beside the entrance. The door opened a tiny bit. “You must be lost,” Mom said. “This isn’t the right house.”
“Seriously?” Bailey moved to push the door open. No, better not. Everyone was acting so strange. She didn’t want to freak her mother out. “Donna George. You live here.”
The door opened another fraction of an inch. Mom peered at her with deep wrinkles around suspicious eyes. Her hair hung gray and stringy. Did she stop going to the salon? “Are you from another collection agency?” she said. She sounded so tired.
“No,” Bailey said. “I’m trying to figure out what’s going on. Everything’s messed up around town.”
“You’re one of Potter’s lackeys.” Mom pointed a finger emphatically. “Trying to scrape up the scraps.”
“Mom, no.”
“Why are you calling me Mom?”
“I saw Uncle Bill, and he didn’t recognize me, but I figured you would know your own daughter.”
“Who’s Uncle Bill?”
“He was at a vape shop, which was totally wrong—”
“You’re one of those druggies hanging out at Smokey’s.” Mom started to close the door. “Don’t you try to rob me, druggie!”
Bailey shoved her boot in the doorway. “Mom—Donna. I’m not a druggie, or a bill collector. I’m family.”
“You’re no family of mine.”
Her insides churned from hurt, from disbelief. How could her mother act like this? Something was very, very wrong.
She could tell Mom was getting scared, so she said, “Fine, I’ll leave you alone. Just let me get Lulu.”
“Who?”
“Where’s Lulu?” She looked over Mom’s shoulder. “Lulu! Come here, Lulu Bear. Where’s my girl?”
Mom’s eyes ballooned. “What are you doing? Who’s Lulu?”
“Who’s yelling out there?” a familiar voice said. Hannah.
Her sister yanked the door open. Bailey’s stomach clenched even tighter. Hannah’s hair was up in a messy ponytail. Her stained sweatshirt and drab sweatpants were two things she’d never be caught dead in.
“Yes?” she said in a clipped tone.
“Hannah, it’s me.” Bailey longed to reach out, to hug both of them and make this go away.
“Me who?”
If their mother didn’t recognize her, no way Hannah would. “Bailey. I’m Bailey George. I grew up here with you.”
“Wrong house, weirdo.” Hannah leaned against the door. “We’re the only ones who live here.”
“You live here?” Bailey said. “Not in Syracuse with Reuben and your dogs?”
“The only Reuben I know is the sandwich at Nick’s.” Hannah shared a look with Mom. “Look, if you’re a collector or a drugged-out robber, we don’t have anything worth taking. The house is in foreclosure.”
“But that’s not supposed to happen,” Bailey said.
“That’s what happens when you can’t afford to pay the mortgage,” her sister said.
Mom choked out a mirthless laugh. “Potter can’t wait to get her hooks into it. You tell her I hope she rots in Lanford Creek.”
“Greedy old wench,” Hannah grumbled.
Cobwebs dangled off the usually pristine foyer ceiling light. The floral wallpaper Mom had replaced forever ago hung on the walls, faded and peeling in one section.
This was all Bailey’s fault. “I’m so sorry,” she told them.
“That’s life,” Hannah said with a shrug. “Happy holidays, weirdo.”
She slammed the door in Bailey’s face. The click of the deadbolt sounded. Then the porch light went out.
Uncle Bill didn’t know her. Her mother and sister didn’t know her.
What was going on?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Bailey plodded down the driveway in a daze. Clara waited patiently for her, but she couldn’t speak a single word. She was so profoundly sad. The grief she’d seen in her mother’s eyes. The wear and tear on Hannah.
“Didn’t go well, huh?” Clara said.
“It was awful,” Bailey whispered. “What happened to them?”
“Donna had to take a leave of absence when Jim George passed. Then the school eliminated her art teacher position. Hannah couldn’t afford to go to college. They’ve had to make do with what local jobs can be had.”
“If Hannah didn’t go to college, she didn’t start a business doing what she loves. And she never met her husband.”
Clara shook her head. “No, sweetie.”
“And Mom.” Bailey began to pace. “She’s supposed to be comfortable and happy. That was one of the reasons I took over George Family Homes. So she wouldn’t lose the house.”
“Things have been difficult.”
“Come on, Clara. This isn’t fair. I never wanted anything to happen to them. They should be doing okay. They’re strong, resilient women.”
“Sometimes life gets overwhelming,” Clara said. “They simply couldn’t handle everything.”
Bailey stopped pacing in front of her. “This is a really mean trick.”
“It’s no trick. It’s just the way it is.”
Thoughts whirled through her mind. Everything she’d done at the office, fighting off Felicity, working hard for the people she cared about. It hadn’t been a chore. She’d done it out of love and a desire to give them as much as they gave her.
“I need a drink,” she said.
“I’m up for that,” Clara said, then muttered, “Oh hush, Gabi. One appletini.”
She continued arguing with “Gabi” as they walked along the sidewalk. There were consequences for the choices Bailey had made. Some bad, like being stuck in Lanford Falls. But that had been the focus for too long. One bad thing. And it wasn’t even bad. What about all the good things? Mom and Hannah thriving, and Uncle Bill too. The dog park …
Where was Lulu, anyway?
No Bailey, no Lulu.
Her heart cracked wide open, sending a surge of blood through her veins. What had happened to Lulu? And Rosie? And Maria?
“What’s Maria doing?” Bailey blurted out.
Clara’s mouth froze in an O. “Uhh …”
“You know what?” Bailey held up a hand. “Don’t tell me. She won’t know who I am, and I can’t take another hit.”
Seeing beautiful Maria without a big smile would do her in. Then again, she’d left Maria earlier with tears in her eyes.
I’m such a fool.
She wanted Maria in her life. Wanted to return to normalcy so she could whisk her away to Mistletoe Grove and show her just how much she liked her. Hopefully, this nightmare would end soon. She had to apologize to Maria. Do a lot more than cook her spaghetti, like take her out for dinner to …
To where? The best restaurants in town didn’t exist anymore.
Her heart, already split in two, crumbled to tiny pieces. This whole week with Maria had been the best surprise—the best gift—Bailey had received since their first kiss.
A kiss that maybe never happened now.
She picked up speed to get to Main Street. The usual friendly glow didn’t emanate from that direction.
When they hit the shopping district, more neon signs beckoned patrons into several bars. At least there were options on where to get said drink.
“You know what strikes me odd?” Clara said. “It’s so quiet. There’s no foot traffic.”
She was right. Most businesses were closed up for the night. “Things should be open,” Bailey said. “During Winter Wonderfest weekend, they stay open late for the influx of tourists.”
“Bailey, you know there’s no Winter Wonderfest. The last time the town had it was—”
“Eleven years ago,” she finished.
“Twelve,” Clara said.
“Right. Twelve.” Bailey had taken it over after the poorly planned festival that nearly ruined its reputation.
“There wasn’t enough interest to keep it going. The town has grown more gloomy every year.” Clara touched her fingers to her chest. “What a shame.”
A lone car drove up Main Street. Its headlights reflected off a large garage door.
Hold on. That should’ve been Yvette’s flower shop. Above the garage were modern condos with, from what Bailey could tell, vaulted ceilings.
The oldest buildings in town had been replaced with condos. Just like Felicity Potter wanted.
Because Bailey wasn’t around to stop her.
“You got your condos, Felicity,” she murmured.
“What’s that?” Clara said.
“This used to be family-owned stores. They were here for generations. And a well-known gallery that showcased local artists. What are they doing now? What’s my friend Yvette doing?”
“The same thing everyone else is. Surviving as best as she can.”
“But not thriving.”
“Unfortunately not.”
Those poor families. Their employees. All the artists. She had to walk away from the ugly metal-and-glass structure. It was totally out of place in the middle of the charming downtown.
Caffeinated Corner didn’t sit on the corner, and there was no Pride flag. It was a pawn shop with tacky yellow signage Kurt would hate. Oh no. Did Kurt work there? That would suck. He’d hate it.
She plastered herself against one of the windows. The scruffy man behind the counter gave her a dirty look. Okay, not Kurt. Maybe he was okay.
The village green was dark, other than a buzzing streetlight illuminating the entrance. Bailey went over to it anyway, needing definitive proof.
From what she could see, the green was little more than two park benches and a gravel path. It looked like someone had built a snowman that got kicked over.
“That’s annoying.” She pointed it out to Clara. “Some kid made a snowman to bring a little joy to this place, and it got destroyed.”
“Winter Wonderfest could have brought so much joy,” Clara said. “Think about all those couples who didn’t share a kiss under the mistletoe. Or get engaged.”
Anger spread through Bailey’s chest. “Okay, I get the point. I suck for not being here.”
Clara rubbed her back. “This isn’t to make you feel bad. It’s to show you all the good you did. And what Lanford Falls looks like without you in it.”
“It looks like shit.”
“It does. There’s a wide, Bailey-sized hole.”
“But … this isn’t fair,” Bailey said. “My friends and family shouldn’t have to suffer so I can get what I want.”
“And what is it you want?” Clara crossed her arms.
“Freedom. The chance to try new things.”
“You have that now.”
“Not like this. I don’t want it like this.”
Clara took a step closer. “Things were pretty good with you around. Not just for them. For you as well.”
“I had my dog,” Bailey said. “And my family.”
“You had friends.” Clara looked down Main Street. “All the people you’re worrying about. Friends who gave you free coffee, and trivia nights, and who gladly stepped in to help when you needed them.”
“Yeah, but …”
“But …?”
Groaning, Bailey said, “I’ve never gotten to live anywhere else. Do anything else.”
“Let me ask you something.” Clara settled her hands on her hips. “Since you can finally do whatever you want, what do you want to do first? More than anything?”
I want to go home. “Well, I suppose I can’t go anywhere without a wallet or keys or a phone.”
She waved that off. “I can get you where you want to go. Where to?”
Home. Speaking of, who lived in her house? Ugh, it was probably abandoned and filled with rogue squirrels.
“I’d like to get a drink. Do you have any cash?” Bailey gestured at Clara’s ample round bosom. “Some bills stuck in there?”
“Not without a gig.”
“Fine. Let’s just go to Martin’s. If he recognizes me, he’ll know I’m good for it. If not, he’ll kick us out.” Martin’s didn’t serve booze, but they had pancakes and syrup. Essential sugar and carbs.
As they crossed the street, she was glad to see Gruber’s still there. At least her two summers of employment hadn’t altered the course of its history.
She caught sight of Mr. Gruber sweeping the floor. He looked as sad and dreary as the rest of the normally cheerful store. Did he still charm his customers with colorful stories, or had those gone away with everything else?
By habit, she looked outside Martin’s for the placard menu. It wasn’t there. The door said Nick’s Bar & Grill.
“Nick’s?” Bailey said.
“It’s a little different than what you remember,” Clara said.
Loud classic rock greeted them inside. It still had the old diner décor, only the counter had been replaced with a bar. At least she could get a drink now.
She searched for familiar faces. Where was Marty? Where were the patrons? Instead of packed tables, a smattering of lone people sat here and there.
Miss Josephine sat in a booth against the windows. She looked so small, like the red vinyl might swallow her whole. She spooned some soup with a shaky hand.
“Can I get you something?” a man said from behind the bar.
It took her a second to recognize Kurt. His tight black T-shirt didn’t hug sculpted muscles, and his ever-present smile was faint, forced. “Hey, Kurt,” she said anyway.
“Uh, okay.” He gave her the confused look that had become all too familiar. “You two can sit wherever you want. Domestic beer is half-price tonight.”
“You’re a bartender? You said you’d never do that again after working through college.”
“Did we go to school together?” Kurt asked, tossing a hand towel over his shoulder.
“You could say that.”
“Well, y’know, the tips are good. One of the better jobs in town.” He glanced at Clara. “You can sit down.”
Clara shuffled to one of the barstools. “Thank you. My feet are dying.”
Bailey sat beside her. She couldn’t stop staring at Kurt. At the food prep area behind him. At the smoke wafting from the grill in the kitchen. “What happened to Martin’s?”
“The guy who owned it had financial problems. I guess he sold it to cover his debts.”
“So Nick the night manager bought it?”
“Potter Enterprises owns the building. He leases the restaurant.” Kurt leaned against the bar. “You need to order something. If Nick sees you just sitting here, I’ll get an earful.”
“Appletini, please,” Clara said, then muttered to herself, “Just one, Gabi.”
Kurt smiled, a glimpse of his old, familiar self. “This is a beer and liquor kind of place.”
Bailey tried to shake the fog from her head. “Felicity Potter owns the town, Marty’s God knows where, and you’re working at a bar that doesn’t serve appletinis. I bet you’re not married to Arnie, either.”
His mouth set in a grim line. “You know my ex-boyfriend?”
“I know both of you.”
“If you’re friends with Arnie, you are not welcome here.”
“What do you mean?” Bailey asked, genuinely at a loss.
Kurt snagged the towel and wrung it in his hands. “Mister hotshot deputy sheriff ran off with our yoga instructor. He broke my heart and closed the only yoga studio for miles.”
“Aw, Kurt, I’m sorry,” Bailey said. “I … didn’t know.”
She’d clearly made him uncomfortable. Maybe it would be best to leave. Plus, the white man in a trucker hat at the end of the bar was sneering at Clara. This version of Lanford Falls didn’t seem as welcoming as the old one. It for sure wasn’t a haven for artistic types.
The door to the kitchen swung open. Nick came out in a well-worn and stained white apron. “Ho ho ho,” he said, holding a platter. “Santa’s come early, kids.”
He used metal tongs to toss bright orange hot wings on each diner’s plate. He plopped two beside Miss Josephine’s soup bowl. “Oh, no thank you,” she said. “I can’t eat those with my dentures.”
“Take ’em out and suck on the bones. It’s Christmas.” He offered one to the guy at the bar. Then he approached Bailey and Clara. “Compliments of the chef.”
“What are you doing?” Bailey asked him.
“I’m giving out wings.”
“If only it were that easy,” Clara grumble-muttered.
