The Last of the Moon Girls(84)
Gratitude?
Lizzy sat with the word a moment, stung by the transactional sentiment behind it, and by his condescending use of her last name. “You didn’t give me anything, Luc,” she said finally. “I earned that promotion, and you know it. Not because I was your girlfriend for six months, but because I worked my tail off. And because I’m good at what I do. According to HR, I have six weeks of vacation saved, plus ten days of sick leave. Which means I still have three-plus weeks left. Pay me for them. Don’t pay me for them. However you want to handle it. But I can’t leave here right now.”
She didn’t wait for a response before ending the call. Her hands shook as she stared at the blank screen. Had she just quit her job? Before she could examine the question further, the phone went off again. She expected to see Luc’s number pop up, but the call was local.
“Hey, it’s Chuck Bundy.” His tone was overly bright, and vaguely annoying. “I know we’re scheduled for tomorrow, but I’m wondering if we should maybe slow things down a little. I’ve been crunching the numbers, looking at what else is on the market, and my gut’s telling me we should wait.”
Lizzy felt her stomach drop. “Wait for what? We’ve been playing tag for weeks.”
“I know, and I’m sorry about that. It’s just that given the history of the farm and, well . . . the talk lately, maybe now isn’t the best time.”
“This is about the article in this morning’s Chronicle, isn’t it?”
“Ms. Moon.” There was a pause, the flick of a lighter, a breath being pulled in, then let out. “I told you what we were up against the first time we spoke. There’s already a glut of rural properties on the market, and let’s face it, it was going to be hard enough to find a buyer when all we were dealing with was the Gilman girls, but throw in an arsonist and church ladies talking about ghosts, and we’ve moved into radioactive territory. I know you’re in a bind, and that this isn’t what you want to hear, but I have to be honest. We’re moving too fast.”
Moving too fast?
This was starting to feel like a breakup call, a fresh spin on the it’s-not-you-it’s-me line. “You’re backing out?”
“Technically, there’s nothing to back out of. We haven’t drawn up a listing agreement yet, and frankly, I don’t think we should right now. I’d be happy to refer you to someone else if you’re determined to go ahead, but fifteen years in the business tells me it would be a mistake. If you list now, it’s going to sit, and the longer it sits, the less it’ll be worth. The prudent thing to do is let the dust settle, and take another look in six months, maybe a year.”
Six months? She didn’t have six months. And she certainly didn’t have a year.
“Right,” Lizzy said numbly, as she ended the call. “I’ll let the dust settle.”
Rhanna was standing over a stoneware bowl, pouring honey into a measuring cup, when Lizzy entered the shop. She had tuned Althea’s old radio to the oldies station and was crooning along to “Monday, Monday,” her gauzy skirt swishing around her ankles as she swayed to the music.
Lizzy stood quietly, watching her work. Evvie was right. She had been busy, and astonishingly productive. In less than two weeks, the shelves had filled with tonics, massage oils, and salt scrubs, each hand-labeled and finished with a raffia bow.
“This is amazing,” Lizzy said softly, spinning in a slow circle.
Rhanna started, clearly surprised to find she had company. She reached for a towel to wipe her hands, then turned down the radio. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. I’m playing with a new oatmeal soak. It’s a tweaked version of one I found in Althea’s book. I’m going for something warm and spicy for fall—or maybe Halloween. We could call it A Wicked Good Soak. What do you think?”
Lizzy mustered a smile. She’d never seen Rhanna this enthused about anything. But she was forgetting that by Halloween none of them would be here.
Rhanna pointed to the wire racks where Louise Ryerson’s soap sat curing. “The bars came out perfectly. Maybe we should make another batch. Apparently, the word is out.”
“The word?”
“That the Moons are back in business. Evvie’s been fending off customers left and right.”
“We’re not, though. You understand that, right? That this is just temporary?”
Rhanna wilted a little, then narrowed her eyes on Lizzy. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“I had a call from my Realtor.”
“And?”
“He’s not my Realtor anymore.”
“Why?”
“There was another article about the fire in this morning’s paper and it’s apparently left Mr. Bundy squeamish. Radioactive was the term he used. He says if I list now, it’ll just sit and lose value. He says I should wait.”
“How long?”
“Six months to a year is what he said.”
“A year?” Hope flickered in Rhanna’s eyes. “What are you going to do?”
Lizzy lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Get a second opinion, I guess. And hope the bank will give me enough money to tide me over.”
Rhanna startled Lizzy by briefly laying a hand on her shoulder, the first time she’d initiated any kind of contact in years. “I’m sorry you’ve had to carry the whole load around here, but I want to start helping. There’s a guy I used to see back in the day—Billy Church. His family has this big real estate office in Somersworth, and he owes me a favor. Or maybe I owe him. I’m kind of fuzzy on the details. But I bet I can track him down. As for money, Evvie and I have been talking, and I think we’ve found a way to help out.”