Can't Let You Go (25 page)

“I’m sorry.” Reaching out my hand, I caressed his stubbled cheek one final time. “It’s just not enough.”

“I
’m as nervous
as the day I first took the stage at Circus Circus.”

Maxine sat in the backseat of Loretta’s minivan and powdered her nose for the third time. “What do you think that judge will say?”

A light mist peppered our vehicle as we drove to Mills Creek, the county seat and home of the dreaded courthouse. I traced a finger across the window, chasing the path of a raindrop caught in the wind. Conversation had been flying around me for a good half hour, but I hadn’t caught a word. My eyes stung from crying in sporadic fits all night, and all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep for a thousand days.

Maxine nudged me with her bony elbow. “I said, what do you think the judge will have to say?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Would you like to borrow some lipstick?” Maxine dug into her trendy leather bag and offered one of her favorites.

“No.” I hadn’t bothered with makeup this morning, and my eyelids were as swollen and fluffy as one of Loretta’s omelets. Eyeliner would’ve been impossible to apply, eye shadow had been more effort than I could expend, and mascara would’ve just been something smeared on my pillow when I returned to my bed.

Maxine patted my knee and rested her head on my shoulder. I sat to her right, squeezed in between her and Dana Lou Tanner, who was taking up more than her fair share of seat space, while Betty McAnally of Betty’s Hair Salon, rode shotgun. Behind our van, Mr. and Mrs. Foster drove in the pink Cadillac Seville she’d won thirty years ago selling makeup. Mr. Gleason and three other townsfolk rode in his dusty Ford pickup, with Mr. Henry and Mrs. Virgie Higgins bringing up the rear. We were a caravan of misfits, each of our vehicles stocked with an abundant supply of Loretta’s coffee, fear, and anger.

Unable to face an empty, lonely house last night after dropping Charlie off at his home, I’d gone to Maxine’s. She’d taken one look at me standing beneath her porch light and hugged me ’til my body warmed and the jagged sobs had abated.

She’d put on a pot of coffee, and we sat at her kitchen bar talking until I was all wrung out. Then we’d adjourned to her living room, huddled together on the couch beneath one blanket and binge watched some
Golden Girls.
Maxine had fallen asleep four episodes in, but I had stayed awake, alternately crying and trying in vain to get some rest.

Because I knew I needed it for this day. I needed to be sharp, on my guard, with a fully functional brain.

I was definitely on my guard, but the other things weren’t even in the realm of possibility.

“You’re going to be okay,” Maxine whispered. “It’s not over ’til it’s over.”

How wrong she was. Charlie and I were beyond done.

And I wasn’t too sure about the fate of the Valiant as well. And if there was no Valiant, what in the world was I going to do about a job?

“Sure you don’t want my lipstick? It’s called
Revenge Red
.”

“No, thank you.” But if she had any
Boys Are Stupid
or
Not Enough Ice Cream To Fix This
, then I’d paint it all over my face.

With a shrug of defeat, Maxine retrieved her mirror and applied another coat herself. “Well.” She shut her compact with a snap. “I didn’t want to put this out there, but these are desperate times. If things go south, I am not above seducing that judge with my feminine wiles.” She pushed up her girls and sniffed. “Let’s be honest, I just have a way with men. I don’t question it; it just is.”

Loretta caught my eye in the rearview. “Aren’t we lucky to have you and your hooters in our arsenal.”

“If I had a dollar for every time I heard that.” Maxine straightened the scarf around her neck.

“Ladies, if we don’t get good news today, I don’t know how much longer I can hold out,” Loretta said. “A year’s worth of attorney fees is really hurting us. My Milton retired last year, and he’s begging me to take the deal and enjoy our golden years together. Buy that RV and travel. See the grandkids whenever we want instead of being tied to the diner.”

“This is crazy talk,” Maxine said. “We must keep plodding on. My Millie will be crushed if she loses her theater. Not to mention Katie here.” Maxine patted my hand. “Of course she’ll be going to New York soon to make a name for herself and getting so famous she becomes snooty and uppity and too good to talk to us and gets one of those passies like Beyonce.”

“Posse,” I said.

Maxine snorted. “Well, I can see the uppity’s already hit. Dana Lou, what about you? You’re hanging in there, right?”

Dana Lou considered her answer for the duration of the country song quietly seeping from Loretta’s speakers. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “The legal fees are starting to scare me. I lay awake so many nights.” Loretta nodded her black head in agreement. “I just worry about winning the case, but losing everything I have over the cost of the fight. And like you said, Loretta, maybe it’s time to retire.”

“You’re fifty-five,” Maxine said. “You’re young, like me. That’s too soon to hit the rocking chair.”

“I don’t want a rocking chair,” Dana Lou said. “But do you know because of my bakery, Max and I have only had two vacations our whole married life? And one of those was to go pick up new cash registers in Dallas. I could sleep in on a Saturday morning.”

“Not get coiled as a rattle snake every quarter when it’s time to pay taxes,” Loretta added.

“Oh, yeah,” Betty said dreamily. “Not worry about how we’re gonna pay for health insurance for employees or who’s gonna cover when someone doesn’t show up.”

“Now, stop it,” Maxine said. “There are wonderful reasons to fight this and keep your businesses. In Between needs you.”

“There are reasons,” Loretta said. “But they’re getting dimmer by the day.”

“But if you guys sell out, then that will just leave us,” I said. I was on a derailing roller coaster, my stomach turning over and over with nothing to hold on to and control slipping away. We couldn’t do battle Thrifty Co. alone.

“No matter what happens, we’ve fought the good fight.” Loretta flicked on her blinker then turned to the street leading to the county courthouse. “It’s in God’s hands. We just have to trust that we’ve done all we can do.” She whipped the van into a parking spot, and everyone unbuckled like we were reporting to the front lines of combat.

“Why don’t we say a little prayer?” Dana Lou suggested.

So right there in Loretta’s Chevy minivan, with the air conditioning blasting full speed and George Strait crooning about Amarillo, Loretta prayed.

“ . . . and give us the grace to know when to let go and the wisdom to accept the right choice. Amen.”

I nodded. “Amen.”

“Amen,” said Betty.

“Ladies”—Maxine undid the top two buttons on her blouse, revealing cleavage and a cross—“Lock and load.”

*

Like a deer
looking up seconds before the trigger was pulled, I felt Charlie’s gaze on me before I spotted him in the room. Surely one day that sensory awareness of his presence would fade.

We filed into the courthouse, only to be directed to a room three doors down from the courtroom. The building had been erected sometime in the early 1900s, and it appeared as if this room had seen few renovations since. Faded wood paneling lined the walls, and the little circle tiles beneath our feet were in sad need of grout.

Our new attorney David Stephens greeted us, and our group surrounded him like a football team in need of the coach’s pep talk.

“Good day to you all,” Stephens said. He wasn’t already sweating, cursing, or consulting some college textbook, so he was already better than the previous lawyer. He again walked us through what to expect, his voice kind and reassuring. I hoped we were more than just dollar signs and free burgers at the diner.

“Please come in.” Judge Hollister, foregoing the robe for khakis and a polo, gestured to three mahogany tables forming a u-shape. “Do sit down.”

Charlie intercepted me as I walked toward our table. “Katie.” He seemed to struggle with what to say. I kind of struggled not to bloody his nose.

Seeing him and getting that fresh reminder that he worked for Thrifty Co. was like holding a can of AquaNet to the flames of my ire. The enemy employed Charlie. And Charlie had chosen his company over me.

“No matter what happens today, I want you to know I’m sorry. For whatever the rest of this process brings. . .I’m sorry.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak.

So I simply looked away.

“Let’s all take a seat, shall we?” The judge gestured to the metal chairs that looked like they’d just been dragged off the lawn of the county fair—the silver, fold-up variety used for events when you weren’t really trying to impress. Like now. “I’d like to introduce the three gentlemen on the special commission.” He fired off their names, and two of the men gave polite smiles, while the third couldn’t seem to make eye contact. “Now per the state law, these three have no dog in this fight, but do own land in the county. They’ve reviewed the case, reviewed the offers, and they are ready to present their decision. Their decision is legal and binding, but of course, you can appeal.” He spoke to our table of In Betweenites. “If you do appeal, this goes to a jury trial.”

Beside me Betty groaned and Loretta just shook her head. While the judge continued to talk, Charlie and his boss consulted with their legal team. Our lawyer seemed to have his wits and then some, but he wasn’t a team. Thrifty Co. came with a group of attorneys in dark suits that reminded me of the mafia. Everything about them was fancy, from their tailored attire to their polished leather shoes. They spoke in hushed tones and occasionally stole glances our way. If they were trying to intimidate, they were doing a fabulous job.

“I’ll just get out of the way and let the special commissioners get to the business at hand.” The judge threw up his hand in a kind wave, then walked out the door.

Maxine stared toward the door, her face scrunched into a frown. “He didn’t even look my way.”

“You’re thirty years older than him,” I whispered.

She looked at her chest. “Not all of me is.”

The man introduced as Mr. Spellman stood up. “Thank you for coming. We know this is a difficult situation, and we don’t want to drag this out any more than it already has been. We have spent many hours studying the documentation, and we feel confident we have made the best decision for your town.”

Maxine reached beneath the table and slipped her hand into mine.

“We believe the town of In Between has proven the addition of Thrifty Co. on the requested property will benefit your community economically and progressively and find in their favor.”

Our table exploded into gasps and protests, and the man paused to let the shock settle in. We were going to court. It was the last thing I wanted. And I didn’t even know if the other businesses would continue in the lawsuit.

“We understand the first offers for buyouts were declined,” said Mr. Spellman. “Citizens of In Between, do you still stand by that decision?”

“Yes,” I said. “We do not accept their offer.”

“Thrifty Co., do you have anything to add?”

Charlie’s boss Mr. McKeever stood and addressed our table. He wore a fitted pin-stripe suit, a smile meant to calm, and teeth too white and straight to be real. “We’d like to submit a final offer to you folks.”

“We’re not interested,” I said.

Loretta planted her elbows on the table and leaned in. “What kind of offer?”

McKeever lifted his chin in a curt nod, and Charlie stood.

“I’d be glad to explain that.” Charlie smoothed his tie and approached our table. It hurt to look at him. “We have a settlement we think will be much more to your liking.” Charlie handed each member a manila folder, and when he got to me, our eyes met . . . locked . . . held.

How could you do this?
I wanted to ask. My heart was somewhere on the floor, and he and his cronies were walking all over it.

“Oh, my,” said Mrs. Gleason.

Beside her Mr. Henry gave a low whistle.