I'm Married To Your Rival Now

CHAPTER 003

The bell above the door rang at seven.

I didn't even have to look up. I knew the sound, the old man, and the box of screws he never needed.

"Come on, Frank," I whispered. He stamped snow off his boots onto my mat. "Cold enough for a polar bear," I said.

"Cold enough for a polar bear," I said. "Nothing.

Just a friendly face." Just a friendly face." He rubbed his hands together by the heater. "My wife's sister is visiting. " I think I'm dying."

I laughed. Then buy something. "Then buy something. Make it look like you're leaving the house." Good idea.

"Good idea. Give me a pack of those little nails."

"The little ones or the very little ones?"

"Whichever ones are cheaper."

I grabbed a box and rang him up. Two dollars and forty cents. He counted out the coins slowly, one at a time.

"How's the wedding coming?" he asked. "Five days," I said.

"Five days," I said. My chest filled with that warm, silly feeling. "My girl is calm. I'm the one who can't sleep." That's how it goes.

"That's how it goes. The father is always a mess." He tipped his cap. He left. Tell Olivia I said Congratulations."

"Nothing."

He left. The bell rang again, and the shop went quiet.

I turned the radio up. Two guys on the sports channel were yelling about a hockey game. I didn't care about hockey, but I liked the noise. When Anna was alive, she hummed while she swept the floor. After she died, I bought the radio to fill the emptiness.

I walked to the front door to flip the sign. That's when I saw the mail on the floor.

The mailman always slides it through the slot. I bent down slowly. My knees popped like old firewood.

" "Nothing. Bills, a catalog, a flyer for pizza.

And one thick white envelope.

I picked it up and read the corner. Whitmore Capital Loan Servicing.

My stomach turned.

I stood there holding it for a long minute. My thumb rubbed the edge of the paper like it might burn me.

Whitmore. Daniel's family.

That couldn't be right. My loan was with First Queens Savings. Three days. I'd signed the papers with a pen on a clipboard, in a chair with a wobbly leg, while Denise told me everything would be fine.

That was eleven years ago. The same month Anna passed.

I went behind the counter and sat on the stool. The envelope sat in front of me like a bomb.

"Come on, Frank," I whispered. "It's just paper."

I tore it open.

Dear Mr. Bennett, the letter said. We are pleased to inform you that your mortgage has been acquired by Whitmore Capital.

Pleased. I almost laughed at that word.

I read on. My eyes jumped to page three. There was one paragraph in tiny print. I read it twice, then a third time with my finger moving under the words.

It said the whole loan could be called due at any time, with thirty days' notice. All of it. Every cent.

All of it was a lot.

I did the math in my head. I'm not a fancy numbers person like Olivia, but I know my own debts. After Anna got sick, I took out a bigger loan to pay for the hospital. Cancer isn't cheap, and neither is a good funeral. Eleven years later, I still owed more than I could scrape together at once.

"Thirty days," I said out loud. My voice sounded thin.

I looked around the shop. Nine. That's all. The worn wooden floor. A handwritten sign above the counter read, "If we don't have it, you don't need it."

I'd built this place with my own hands. My daughter did her homework at that counter when she was seven. Anna used to keep a jar of lollipops by the register for the neighborhood kids.

Now some stranger in a glass tower could shut it all down with one signature.

"Don't be dramatic," I told myself. "They bought a bunch of loans. That's all. It doesn't mean anything."

Banks don't send letters with page three clauses to men who pay on time.

Somebody wanted me to see that clause.

I folded the letter into thirds and pushed it deep into my shirt pocket. It felt heavier than paper.

The phone rang.

I jumped like a teenager caught sneaking out. I picked it up. I picked it up."

"

Her voice made my whole body soften. That's all.

That's all. "Hey."" Frank's Hardware." I stood in my kitchen, holding two napkins, unsure which one was more ivory. Do you think that's a real thing? Ivory versus cream?

"I think a napkin is a napkin," I said."

"

"I'm serious. Nobody cries at weddings because of napkins."

"I'm so glad. It was a tired laugh, but real. "You're no help.""I never said I was," I replied."

I leaned back against the shelf and closed my eyes. Hearing her voice was like drinking warm water after a long walk.

"How's the store?" she asked. "Are you busy?"

My mouth opened before I could stop it.

"Booming," I said. "I sold nine hammers yesterday. Nine. Can you believe it?"

Nine. That's all."

"I'm serious. "Everybody wants to build something."

I heard myself laughing. It sounded fake, even to me.

"That's great, Dad," she said. "I'm so glad. You work so hard.""

"Ah, you know me," I said. "I like to keep busy."

"Hey. She went quiet for a moment. "Hey. Are you eating? Real food, not just crackers from the bag?" Of course, I'm eating," I said.""

"What did you have for breakfast?"

I looked at the empty coffee mug. "

"A little bit of eggs," I replied.""

"I'm coming over this weekend, and I'm making you a proper dinner," she said." You don't need to do that," I said. "You've got a wedding to plan."

"Booming," I said. "You're thin," I said. "I hear it in your voice."

My throat constricted. Sometimes that girl scared me. She could spot a lie from three miles away, yet swallowed the sweetest ones whole.

"Olivia," I said.

"Yeah?"

I wanted to tell her. The words were stuck behind my teeth like a bad tooth. Honey, the Whitmores own my loan. Honey, I'm scared.

But then I pictured her face. I pictured her packing up the green dress, calling off the wedding out of pride and fear, walking into the cold with her chin held high.

She'd do it. She's her mother's daughter.

"Dad? You there?"

"I'm here," I said. "I just wanted to say I'm proud of you."

"Aw. Why now?"

"No reason. Old men can say things."

"You're not old."

"Tell that to my knees."

She laughed, and that sound almost patched me up for the day.

"Okay, I have to go to work," she said. "Love you."

"Love you more."

"Not possible."

She hung up. I sat there with the phone against my ear for a long time, listening to the dial tone like it was music.

Then I put the phone down and tried to stand.

The room tilted.

It was a lie. It wasn't dramatic – slow, like the floor was a boat and someone had stepped on one end. A dull ache bloomed in my chest, spreading to my left arm.

"Oh, no," I muttered. "Not now."

I grabbed the counter with both hands. They were shaking. My heartbeat was off, fluttering like a bird in a paper bag.

I slid down onto the nail keg and put my head between my knees, like Anna used to tell me to do when I got dizzy.

"Breathe, Frank," I whispered. "In. Out. In. Out."

The ache pulsed once, twice. Sweat ran down my back, even though the shop was freezing.

Slowly, it began to fade.

I stayed there for what felt like an hour. It was probably two minutes. When I finally sat up, my face was wet and my shirt stuck to my skin.

"Okay," I said to the empty shop. "Okay. That's enough of that."

The radio guys were still arguing about hockey like nothing had happened. That's how the world is. It never stops for you.

I pulled the letter out of my pocket, took one last look, and unlocked the cash drawer. I put the paper under the tray, beneath the stacks of ones and fives, and locked it again.

"Out of sight," I said. "Out of mind."

It was a lie. I knew it was a lie. But sometimes a lie is just a way to hold a door shut for one more day.

I walked to the front window to flip the sign and take a breath of cold air. The street was gray and wet. A bus rumbled by, sending slush onto the sidewalk. Across the road, a black car sat at the curb with its engine running.

I wanted to tell her. It wasn't parked like it belonged there – low and still, like a cat watching a mousehole.

The windows were tinted dark. But as I stared, one slid down a few inches.

I saw pale, folded hands in a leather glove.

And around the owner's neck, a long string of pearls, glowing against the shadows.

My blood went cold.

I had only met her a handful of times. I'd only met her a handful of times, but I'd know that smile anywhere, even from across the street.

What was Eleanor Whitmore doing outside my hardware store?