The Sweetness of Forgetting (7)

It was a storm I could have weathered if not for the financial impact of the divorce. But now I’m hanging on for dear life, and Matt knows it; all my loans are with his bank.

“Listen, there’s one option I can think of for you,” Matt says. He takes a long sip of his wine and leans forward. “There are a few investors I work with in New York. They’re always looking for small businesses to . . . help out. I can call in a favor.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. I’m not sure I like the idea of having strangers invest in what has always been a family business. Nor do I like the thought of Matt calling in favors on my behalf. But I’m also aware that the alternative may be losing the bakery altogether. “How would that work, exactly?”

“They’d basically buy you out,” he says. “So they’d assume the loan with the bank. You’d get a cash payout, enough to pay off some of the bills you’re facing right now. And you’d stay on to manage the bakery and run the day-to-day operations. If they go for it.”

I stare at him. “You’re telling me that my only option is to entirely sell my family’s bakery to some stranger?”

Matt shrugs. “I know it’s not ideal. But it would solve your financial problems in the short term. And with some luck, I could persuade them to let you stay on as the bakery’s manager.”

“But it’s my family’s bakery,” I say in a small voice, aware that I’m repeating myself.

Matt looks away. “Hope, I don’t know what else to tell you. This is pretty much your last option unless you have a half million dollars lying around. And with the debt you’re in, it’s not like you can just pick up and start over in another location.”

I can’t formulate words. After a moment, Matt jumps back in and adds, “Look, these are good people. I’ve known them for a while. They’ll do right by you. At least you won’t wind up closed.”

I feel like Matt has just dropped a grenade in my lap, pulled the pin, and then offered to clean up the carnage, all with a smile on his face. “I need to think about this,” I say dully.

“Hope,” Matt says. He pushes his wineglass aside and reaches across the table. He folds his hands around my much smaller ones in a gesture I know is supposed to tell me I’m safe. “We’ll figure it out, okay? I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” I mumble. He looks wounded, and I feel terrible, so I don’t pull my hands away. I know he’s just trying to be a nice guy. The thing is, it feels like charity. And I don’t need charity. I may sink or I may swim, but I’d at least like to do it on my own.

Before either of us can say anything else, I hear my phone ringing from inside my purse. Embarrassed, I pull my hands away and grab for it. I hadn’t meant to leave the ringer on. I can see the ma?tre d’ glaring at me from across the restaurant as I answer.

“Mom?” It’s Annie, and she sounds upset.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” I ask, already half standing up, ready to go to her rescue, wherever she is.

“Where are you?”

“I’m out at dinner, Annie,” I say. I avoid mentioning Matt, lest she think it’s a date. “Where are you? Aren’t you at your dad’s?”

“Dad had to go meet a client,” she mumbles. “So he dropped me back at your house. And the dishwasher is, like, totally broken.”

I close my eyes. I’d filled it with detergent and turned it on a half hour before Matt got there, assuming that the cycle would be nearly over by the time I left. “What happened?”

“I didn’t do it,” Annie says quickly. “But there’s, like, water all over the floor. I mean like lots of inches. Like a flood or something.”

My heart drops. A pipe must have burst. I can’t even imagine how much it will cost to fix, or how much damage has been done to my old hardwood floors. “Okay,” I say in an even tone. “Thanks for letting me know, honey. I’ll be right home.”

“But how can I stop the water?” she asks. “It’s, like, still totally flowing. The whole house is going to be flooded.”

I realize I have no idea how to shut off the water to the kitchen. “Let me try to figure it out, okay? I’ll call you back. I’m on my way home.”

“Whatever,” Annie says, and hangs up on me.

I tell Matt what happened, and he sighs and summons the waiter to ask for our meals to be boxed up.

“I’m sorry,” I say as we hurry outside to the car five minutes later. “My life is one disaster after another lately.”

Matt just shakes his head. “Things happen,” he says tightly. It’s not until we’re driving back toward my house that he speaks again. “You can’t put this business thing off, Hope,” he says. “Or it’s all going to go away. Everything your family’s worked for.”

I don’t reply, both because I know he’s right and because I can’t deal with it right now. Instead, I ask him whether he knows how to turn off the water supply to the kitchen, but he says he doesn’t, so we ride in silence the remainder of the way home.

“Whose Jeep is that?” Matt asks as he pulls up in front of my house. “There’s no room for me to park in your driveway.”