TWENTY-FIVE

She is da bomb.

Leelo

It’s a little less awkward this time when I walk into the kitchen to find Patti behind the stove.

Especially when she shoots me an almost apologetic smile.

“Hope you don’t mind,” she says, clearly conceding control to me. Something I’m grateful for.

“Not at all,” I reply with surprising honesty. “I’m starving.” Bacon is sizzling in a large skillet and Patti expertly flips blueberry pancakes on the griddle. “Maybe I can return the favour some day,” I add, and she casts a curious glance over her shoulder. “Stop by the motel, and I’ll cook you breakfast one morning.”

The motel. Shit. My restaurant. Jesus—my fucking kitchen.

I sink down in a kitchen chair at the table, a heavy weight landing on my shoulders. If not for Matt walking up behind me, leaning over my shoulder, and kissing my cheek good morning, I might actually have burst out crying at the sympathetic smile Patti sends my way.

“Bill mentioned he’d call as soon as his guys have all they need from your place,” Patti says, forcing through that awkward moment. “I have a bulk-sized box of garbage bags, buckets, mops and cleaning materials in the back of my car. We’ll get that place back in decent shape in no time.”

“Okay. Plans,” Roar says, sitting down beside me with a pen and pad. “Bill just called, he’ll meet us at the motel in thirty minutes to take pictures for your insurance and note down anything missing. So eat up.” He turns to Matt, who sets down a plate Patti just handed him, piled high with pancakes, in the middle of the table. “We’re measuring windows. Today every broken pane gets replaced. As will every lock, including the ones for the units.” He scribbles on his pad and looks at me. “You and Patti take detailed notes of everything inside that is beyond repair, take pictures and then toss it. I’m having a bin brought in later this morning.”

“Travis doesn’t open until after church, you know that right?” Patti says to Roar, while she pours me a coffee.

“He will today. Bill already called him first thing this morning.”

And just like that the floodgates open.

Tears are streaming down my face as I listen to Roar and Patti organize the cleanup. With every word I hear, a little of the heavy load is lifted off my shoulders. Myself, I haven’t done anything but worry and yet around me people are jumping into action. I never had to ask, they just do what is needed.

It’s overwhelming. The past few days have slowly eaten at my resolve, but the way this community steps up to support someone they barely know is humbling. So I cry, because I don’t know what else to do.

“Awww, Mom,” Matt, who notices, mumbles as he comes around the table and crouches beside my chair, wrapping his arms around me. I gratefully bury my face in his shoulder as I let it all hang out.

It’s cathartic. Cleansing.

But it really sucks when the sniffles subside and you realize you’ve just made a spectacle of yourself in public, and you’re going to have to show your tear-streaked face and red nose. I’d rather keep my head buried in Matt’s shirt.

“Mom,” he nudges, trying to untangle himself from the desperate hold I have on him by now. “Let go, Mom. My shirt is soaked.”

I keep my eyes closed as I feel myself plucked away from my son, turned and hidden in another chest—another shirt.

“Dresser in my bedroom. Second drawer. Grab a clean shirt and bring a few more down,” I hear Roar say to Matt. “We’ll all probably need one by the time she’s done.”

“Hey!” I protest, planting a fist in his stomach as I rear up.

I instantly know I’m had when I see his teasing grin.

“There you are.”

“I hate you,” I pout.

“Nah. You don’t,” he drawls arrogantly.

I cautiously look around but I can’t see Patti. Roar notices.

“She had some calls to make,” he explains.

I know it’s a lie and it says volumes about the kind of person Patti really is, and when she walks in moments later, with a wet washcloth she hands to me without any fuss, it almost has me back in tears.

“Oh hell no.” Roar puts his hands on either side of my face and forces me to look at him. “That’s done now,” he orders, pissing me off and at the same time drying my tears, which is exactly what he’s aiming for.

Smug bastard.

-

I watch Bill drive off with a memory card full of date-stamped pictures of the carnage inside and a list of missing things with exactly one item on it; my laptop.

Everyone seemed to be looking at me, waiting for another meltdown when I first walked inside. But as I took in the full extent of the devastation left behind, I got angry instead. I kicked at broken furniture while cursing up a blue streak, making up swear words on the spot that had Patti snickering and Matt in stitches. The only weak moment was when I couldn’t find my old laptop. Like everything else, it could be replaced, but not the folders of digital images of the kids growing up, or the file with pages and pages of entries I made over the past three years while I was pulling myself up by the bootstraps. A document I often flip through when I need a reminder of how far I’ve come.

The thought of those items in anyone else’s hands makes me cringe, but the fear they might be lost forever cuts deep.

“He’ll find it,” Roar says behind me, dropping his arm around my shoulders.

He’s referring to Bill, who promised to obtain a search warrant this morning, as soon as he has a chance to interview Kyle Thompson. He apparently still refused to talk without a lawyer and now they’re waiting for Ian McTavish to get out of church.

“Let’s get this place cleaned up,” I say resolutely, turning my head so I can kiss the top of his hand that is resting on my shoulder.

I already feel a bit better, having had a chance to change into my own clothes, and I manage a smile for Roar before I head inside, in search of Patti.

I’ve barely started on my living room, when I hear Patti call out a, “Oh hey!” from the restaurant kitchen. I follow the sound of voices and find four more women, varying in age from about thirty to substantially older than me.

“Hi,” the eldest of the four walks toward me with her hand stretched out. “You must be Sam’s niece. I’m a little embarrassed I haven’t had the chance to come say hello yet, but I didn’t want to intrude while you were still getting the place together. I’m Deena Filmore, Patti’s mother? Sam was a dear friend.”

I see the resemblance, as I take her hand and smile.

“Nice to meet you, Deena.”

“This is my youngest daughter, Natalie,” she says, introducing me to the youngest member, blonde like her sister. “And I think you’ve met Nancy Prescott? Bill’s wife?”

“Of course,” I confirm, turning to the woman I knew looked familiar. “Good to see you again, Nancy.”

Finally I turn to the fourth woman, and am surprised to find her a lot older than she initially looked.

“They were leaving me at home,” she says, her English slightly accented and her tone insulted. “But I jump in the back seat. I am Zhao Lin, but you may call me Lin. I live next to the Filmore house. Noisy.” The small oriental woman makes me smile, and I reach out to take her hand in mine, surprised to find her grip much stronger than her stature would imply.

“Pleased to meet you, Lin.”

“Now,” she says, clapping her hands sharply. “We clean, yes?”

“Never mind her,” Patti whispers in my ear. “She’s moody, she complains a lot, but underneath that nasty attitude lives a heart of gold. And just so you know, she may not act it, but she adores us.”

A loud snort comes from the older woman on the other side of the kitchen, who clearly has superior hearing. “That what you think,” she snaps at Patti, before her eyes shoot to me and she throws me a wink. I can’t stop the giggle that bubbles up.

I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but I do know that I’m laughing more than I ever thought I would, all afternoon, working side by side with these women I didn’t even know before today.

And the best part? Every time Roar would walk by, or our paths would cross, he would grab me by the scruff of the neck and plant a hard kiss on my lips.

Not once do I feel victimized—instead I wonder how the fuck I ever got this lucky.

Roar

“Last one, kid,” I tell Matt, handing him the new lock for unit eight.

We’ve been working steadily all afternoon.

You could’ve knocked me down with a feather when Mrs. Zhao stepped out of Deena’s car. Like oil and water, those two. Years of quibbling over a cherry tree dividing their properties will do that. I’ve always suspected Mrs. Zhao had too much fun riling up her neighbour, but I’ve never said that out loud.

As expected, despite her diminutive stature, Mrs. Zhao took charge of the cleanup like a general. Not even Leelo’s input was acceptable, even though this is her place. The old woman simply doesn’t care. I get such a kick out of her.

I purposely avoided calling Charlie, because I didn’t want to upset her, but with Patti’s troops here, she’s certain to get wind of what happened soon enough, and then I’m sure she’ll rip a strip off me for keeping it from her. Can’t win for trying.

Travis showed up earlier with sheets of plywood and helped us board up the broken windows. I thought Leelo was going to pass out when she saw him wielding a hammer. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the right glass in stock, so we had to order it in from Sault Ste. Marie, and it likely won’t get here until tomorrow afternoon.

The boards will at least hold animals at bay.

It looks like Leelo and the kid will be spending another night at the lodge. Not that I’m complaining.

The sound of a horn has me swing my head around, only to meet my mother’s furious eyes through the windshield of her antique Hyundai Pony.

Well, shit.

“Give me a sec,” I tell Matt and walk up to the car, pulling the driver’s side door open. “Hey, Charlie.”

She doesn’t even look at me, just gets out of the car, marches right past me, with only a kind hello for Matt. I’m clearly in the doghouse, and I wonder whose ass I have to kick for filling her in. I follow behind her as she heads into the restaurant, where the five women are tossing broken furniture in the wheelbarrow. We’ve made a makeshift pile of trash in the parking lot, until the dumpster is delivered, which could be any time.

“You!” Mrs. Zhao hisses when she spots my mother.

With senses sharpened from an entire afternoon between a harping Deena Filmore and Zhao Lin, Leelo immediately jumps in when she hears the tone. I stay back and watch as she puts an arm around Charlie and kisses her cheek.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve all of you, but I appreciate every one of you.”

Charlie hugs Leelo back while Mrs. Zhao looks on. The old lady smiles sweetly at my girl, but there is no mistaking the tip of her sharp tongue sticking out at my mother, right before she turns back to what she was doing, leaving everyone to wonder if they saw it right.

“I came to offer you the use of my cottage until you’ve got this place back in order,” my mother offers Leelo with a sneaky, saccharine smile in my direction. The wench. She’s upset and she’s smart, so she’s making me feel her displeasure. She knows she’s sabotaging my plans and is taking great pleasure at bringing her point home.

“All right, Charlie,” I intervene. “Let’s talk, you and me, okay?”

“Oh? You want to talk now?”

Leelo is looking over my mother’s shoulder, pressing her lips together to keep from bursting out laughing. She’s missed nothing.

“Please,” I plead, trying to ignore the curious eyes of every woman in here. Clearly my mother chooses her audience well, since even Mrs. Zhao glances at me with disapproval.

I’ll never get it. Women can be mean-spirited creatures amongst themselves, but cross one of them and the rest will be quick to form a lynch mob, no questions asked.

“I was going to call you,” I start feebly, once I have her outside and out of earshot.

“Was that before or after you decided to call in the help of everyone else?” she snipes.

“I fucked up, Charlie,” I admit, feeling guilty for upsetting her.

“Language.”

“Fine, I messed up. For the record, I didn’t call anyone—Patti did. I didn’t know they were coming until they got here. By that time, I figured you’d already be piss...I mean angry. Who told you?”

“Bill Prescott came by, asking about Kyle. Wanting to know whether I’ve had any troubles with him at the cottage, seeing as he’s my neighbour.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Of course,” she huffs, insulted that I’m questioning her.

“Listen,” I coax gently. “I’m sorry if I upset you. It’s the opposite of what I wanted. I know you adore Leelo and would be concerned, so I figured if we could get things under control here first, it would be less of a worry.”

“You thought wrong,” she answers, her head still turned away, so I turn her around and wrap her in my arms, dropping my cheek to the top of her head.

“So noted, Mom.” I rarely ever use that term, except when it’s very important she hears me.

And she hears me.

Leaning back, she scans my face with squinty eyes. “I know you didn’t mean to, but you have to remember, I was rolling with the punches long before you were even a sparkle in your father’s eye. I would’ve worried—heck, I will worry—but that’s my prerogative. I worry for the people I care about. I can handle it. I’m made of sterner stuff. However, what brings me to my knees is being left out of the loop because my son doesn’t trust my ability to cope.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Talk about getting cut off at the ankles and left bleeding. I can’t remember the last time I was made to feel like the rotting slop at the bottom of the lake. Only she can. And maybe Leelo.

“So noted,” I repeat. “Love you, Charlie,” I add for good measure, and it earns me a little pat on the cheek like when I was ten years old.

“I know, my boy. And I you.” She smiles, turns, and starts walking toward her car.

“Where are you going?”

“Into town,” she says as she opens her door. “It’s clear no one has thought about food. Someone has to.”

I snicker at the triumphant gleam in her eyes.

“Food?” Matt sticks his head out of the door of unit eight, clearly finely attuned to that word.

“Absolutely,” Charlie says. “Anything in particular you’d like?”

“I’d kill for a pizza,” the kid says with a broad smile.

“Done. And without any need for bloodshed.” She gets behind the wheel and immediately rolls down the window—by hand—and calls out. “Oh and, Matt? Why don’t you stay at my cottage for a bit,” she says, tossing him a bundle of keys that he deftly catches. “Best way to decide if something is the right fit is to try it on for size, right?”

With a jaunty wave at a slack-jawed Matt, and a sneaky wink in my direction, my mother—clearly a force to be reckoned with—spins the wheels of her old heap of a car on the gravel, before speeding recklessly toward the road.

I shake my head after her.

“Your mom is da bomb,” Matt announces, grinning ear to ear.

You have no idea, kid.