Wishing for Wonderful (Serendipity #3)(9)

“Oh no,” Lindsay said. “Don’t tell me they’re raising the rent again.”

Walker shook his head. “Worse.”

“Worse?” Using her fingernail, she pried open the flap and began to read. “They’re kidding, right?”

Walker shook his head again. “Afraid not. Everybody in the building got the same letter. Ain’t nobody happy.”

“But is this even legal? How can they just decide to go condo without any input from the residents? Without a vote of some sort?”

“They own the building, so I guess they can do as they see fit.”

“It isn’t fair,” Lindsay said with a moan. “I don’t have this kind of money.”

“Few do,” Walker echoed soulfully. “Very few.” He was thinking of his daughter, Emily.





Upstairs in her apartment, Lindsay reread the letter three times. Each time the words remained the same. No renewal of the lease, blah, blah, blah, condominium conversion to be effective December 1, 2011, blah, blah, blah, the purchase cost for your apartment (3A) is $265,000, blah, blah, blah. The deadline date for declaration of intent to purchase is November 1, 2011.

“I can’t believe this,” she said and flopped down on the sofa.

A covering of gloom settled on Lindsay’s shoulders as she sat there counting up her losses. First Phillip; now the apartment. She imagined herself at the bottom of a well with no way to climb out. Buying the apartment was out of the question. She had barely enough money to plunk down a security deposit and pay for a mover.

With a swell of sorrow rising in her throat, she telephoned Amanda and tearfully reread the letter.

“I know, it stinks,” Amanda sympathized. “Chris got one too.”

“Chris?”

“Christopher Roberts. He lives in your building.”

“That’s the Chris you’ve been dating?”

“Remember I met him the night you broke up with Phillip? I asked if you’d mind…”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. I just didn’t realize he was the Chris you’ve been dating.”

“It’s three months today. We’re going to Antonio’s to celebrate.”

“Antonio’s,” Lindsay repeated. “Nice place.” There was a note of melancholy in her voice, but apparently Amanda didn’t hear it because she chattered on and on about how wonderful Chris was.

When Lindsay hung up the telephone, she sat there for almost ten minutes trying to recall exactly what Christopher looked like. They’d had four dates, nice dates. She remembered the way he’d held her arm as they crossed the street, how he’d brought flowers on their second date, how at the restaurant he’d waited until she was seated before he sat. Slowly it dawned on her that Christopher was most likely a man with principles. How sad, she thought, that she hadn’t understood the importance of principles back then.

A picture of Christopher finally came to mind, and she compared it to the image she’d been carrying around. Luckily there were certain differences. He was a tad on the short side, and although his hair was light brown it was definitely too long. And there was that thing about wearing loafers with no socks; her father would never do that. With a sigh of relief Lindsay let go of the tension that had been building. For a moment she thought she’d met her ideal man and somehow failed to recognize him.

Anyway, she reasoned, Christopher wasn’t Christopher anymore. He was now Chris. Amanda’s Chris.

~

I warned you this was going to happen, and it’s only the start of things to come. I’ve already explained I can’t override Life Management events. That department has the last word on almost everything. They decide who wins and who loses, who stays and who goes. Unfortunately, a number of their decisions have fouled up my best matches. One flick of a finger from Life Management, and a person’s life changes forever. It saddens me, but I can’t stop it from happening. All I can do is help people pick up the broken pieces and fall in love again.

~

On Tuesday morning Lindsay went right back to what had become her routine: pick up a latte at Starbucks and walk to the Big Book Barn. Only now she didn’t even glance at the faces of the males she passed; she was too focused on the thought of finding an affordable apartment. She was in the midst of tallying the price of new window shades when she pushed through the glass door and saw Sara McClusky dabbing her eyes with an already soaked tissue.

Lindsay bypassed the counter and walked over to Sara. “What’s wrong?”

Instead of answering the question, Sara pulled another tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. Then she started sobbing again. When Lindsay repeated the question for the third time, Sara waggled a finger toward Howard, the store manager.

“Ask him,” she said, sniffling.

“I will,” Lindsay answered and turned toward the counter where Howard stood. He had the look of a man who’d downed a glass of sour milk, but that didn’t stop Lindsay. “What’s wrong with Sara?”

Howard crooked the right side of his mouth. It was the same expression he used when customers came to him complaining that a book cost less at some other store.

“It’s not just Sara, it’s everybody,” he grunted. “Pennington is closing the store.”

“Closing the store? Why?”