The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(52)
“Chicken and dumplings.” She patted his cheek.
“I’ll change quickly.” He started for the stairs, then stopped, remembering Emmy bringing home a student directory on the first day of school. “Ma, where do we keep the school directory?”
“We?” She raised her brows satirically.
“Ha ha.” He winked. “I know you put it someplace ‘organized,’ which means I’ll never find it.”
She gave a little puff of exasperation, then pointed to the cabinets behind him. “It’s in the drawer with the phone books.”
“Phone books? No one uses those anymore.” He opened the drawer, shaking his head. The thin school booklet distributed by the PTA lay on top of the yellow pages. He flipped through it and saw the names, addresses, emails, and phone numbers of all the families at the grade school.
“I do . . . and apparently now so do you.”
“Fair enough. Thanks.” Ryan climbed the stairs and peeked in Emmy’s room before he changed. “Hey, sweetheart, how was school today?”
She looked up from her book. “Okay.”
“What’d you do at recess?” That had always been his favorite part of the school day—when he, Ben, Logan, and others would hit the fields with a soccer ball or football and run off all the pent-up energy.
Emmy held up her book. “I read this.”
Reading at recess? That sure wouldn’t make it easier to find new friends. “Must be a great book.”
“It’s okay.” She shrugged.
Now wasn’t the time for a discussion about her social skills—or lack thereof. He needed to do some fact-finding first. He kissed her head and said, “Why don’t you go down and help Memaw set the table. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”
“Okay.” She slid off her bed and strolled by.
Chronic apathy was not in keeping with the Emmy Quinn he’d known for the past nine years. That Emmy Quinn embraced just about everything with marked enthusiasm. Steffi was right. He had to meddle.
He went to his room, shed the suit, and logged into the PowerSchool portal to find Mrs. Leckie’s email address and put it in his contacts this time. After he fired off a quick note, he sighed. How was it possible that Steffi Lockwood cared more about Emmy’s current state of mind than her own mother did? Yet Val was Emmy’s mother, and one way or another, he had to figure out how they could work together to give their daughter everything she needed. Even if that meant he’d have to choke on swallowed pride.
Chapter Eleven
“I got Gretta down to three twenty-five. The cottage is a deal at that price because of its lot. Materials might run about fifty grand, and I’ll do as much labor on my own as possible. When I’m finished renovating it, we’ll list it at four forty-nine.” Steffi shoved the spreadsheet across the dining table toward Claire. She then gripped her thighs beneath the table to stop her knees from bouncing.
“That sounds a little high. Plus, we can’t raid all our reserves for the down payment. I need money to place orders.” Claire tapped her pencil eraser mindlessly, her eyes glazing over in the face of the budget. “Our original goal for the year was to rent a storefront so I could have a showroom and carry some inventory. If we dump funds into this project, it’ll put off that lease for who knows how long. Not to mention, your plan is a giant risk.”
Claire pushed the papers away without studying them in detail. She sat back, arms crossed, closed off to the discussion. Risk-taking hadn’t been her strong suit since her injury.
Steffi wasn’t about to let that gunman steal her future, too. She’d spent nights awake since learning that the Weber place would be sold, and hours of time investigating it and coming up with a realistic budget.
She laid both hands on the table and leaned forward, crowding Claire. “Commercial leasing options require a multiyear commitment and personal guarantees, so they’re risky, too. Rental space comes along all the time, but this house is unique. A once-in-a-lifetime chance.”
“We can’t make money appear from the sky.” Claire raised her hands heavenward. “It’s not personal.”
It was personal to Steffi. Gretta’s decision to sell whispered in her ear like a message from God. Like maybe the mugging and Ryan’s divorce had a higher purpose than just sending them both home to cross paths and revisit old dreams. Perhaps they could actually rebuild them . . .
Owning that house, even for a little while, would be a start. The mere thought of it spiked her adrenaline. And if Ryan ended up living there—even without her—at least she would have helped repair some of the damage she’d done. She needed that . . . probably more than he did. “What if I took twenty-five grand from our business, combined it with twenty-five of my own money . . .”
Claire widened her eyes. “You’re asking for trouble. Besides, that’s just the down payment. You still need money for the reno.”
“I can find an investor.” Steffi hadn’t mentioned Molly’s offer yet, hoping to convince Claire to go all in. A partnership would be too complicated, but maybe Molly could make a short-term loan—just until the house flipped.
“Say you get the money,” Claire mused. “That’s a full-time project. What happens to our other projects like the Hightop Road house in the meantime? And what if, when you’re done, there isn’t a buyer at four fifty? It’s only two bedrooms. Hardly ideal.”