Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“They will have to wait for the full investigation to be done in order to tell me if I’m covered or not.”
“What?” I gasp, never thinking it would not be covered. That’s why you have insurance.
“The fact that it was arson, they have to rule out that I wasn’t the one who did it.” I slap my hand on the table. “It’ll be fine.” She tries to hide the fear and her worries. “I’ll take another mortgage out on the house, and I do have some savings.”
“Mom, that is crazy.” I shake my head. “You are going to be working until you’re eighty to pay it off. Is it worth it?”
“How can you ask me that?” she questions, as if I broke her heart. “Besides you, that bakery is the best damn thing I ever did. I had a reason to get up in the morning. I love going to work.”
I’m about to say something else when there is a soft knock on the door. Before either of us can get up and get it, the door opens, and Oliver comes in. He’s been here every single night since Mom has been home. He doesn’t spend the night, but he comes over and sits with her. “Hi, guys,” he says, his voice chipper as he puts down his helmet on the chair by the door. “What’s with the sad faces?”
“Nothing,” my mother quickly denies. “What are you doing here?”
“Was in the neighborhood,” he answers, and I take a bite of my food trying not to laugh in his face.
“Did you eat?” My mother, even though her voice was annoyed not five seconds ago, has not lost her manners. “Let me get you a plate.”
“I got it,” he assures her, walking to her and bending to kiss her cheek. “You sit and relax.”
I watch him walk over to the stove and grab himself a plate, filling it up before walking over and pulling out his chair. Before he sits down, he goes over to the fridge and opens it, grabbing himself a bottle of beer. I look over at my mother, knowing she hates beer. She has always hated beer, and I’ve never seen her stock beer in the fridge before. Ever. “This smells good,” Oliver praises, sitting beside my mother. “So what’s got you all so gloomy?” he asks before he takes a bite of his food.
“We’re discussing how we are going to work out rebuilding the bakery if the insurance doesn’t cover it.”
Oliver’s eyes slide to my mother’s. “It’s fine,” she hisses out, “it’s not for you to worry about.”
“When do they start the rebuild?” Oliver asks, and I know he’s definitely not looking at my mother for the answers.
“Monday,” I relay. “I’m meeting with them tomorrow morning to go over some drawings.”
“Let me know, and I’ll get you a check,” he states, and we both gasp.
“No.” My mother slaps the table.
“It’ll be a loan,” Oliver explains, leaning back in his chair, “and when you get the money, you can pay me back. Everyone wins.” He and my mother go into a staredown, but I see him trying to hide his smirk.
“I was thinking,” I say softly, and they end their staredown to look back at me, “while we go through the rebuild”—I move the food around on my plate—“about maybe getting a food truck to tide us over.” I look at Oliver first and then my mother. “We can serve coffee and cake out of it. And then make donuts here in the morning. Like we used to do at the beginning before you had a shop.”
“I don’t know.” My mother hesitates.
“That’s a great idea,” Oliver praises. “People sure are missing the donuts since last week. I heard at least five nurses complaining about it.” He takes a pull of his beer.
“That’s another added expense,” my mother points out.
“All we need is an old van, and we can, I don’t know, fix it up for cheap. Put in a couple of coffee makers. I don’t know, maybe even serve some sandwiches, or you had a recipe for bagels.”
“I don’t know,” my mother says, not sure.
“I love that idea.” Oliver takes my side. “You can park outside the hospital, and you’ll be sold out in minutes.” I smile at him. “I’ll make a few calls and see if I know anyone with a van.”
“I know someone who might have a van,” my mother admits, and I know exactly who she is talking about.
“I’ll wait for Oliver.” I push away from the table. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go to bed.”
“It’s seven,” my mother points out.
“And I’ve been up since like five.” I put my plate in the sink. “Leave the dishes. I’ll wash them in the morning.” I turn and walk over to kiss my mother on the cheek. “Will you leave them?”