Chapter 19

Lillie

I was shaking as I pushed open the door to my room at the Ramada. Why didn’t he stop me? I could feel the tears building in the limo and knew I had to get away from him while I was still holding back. He didn’t even argue with me. Didn’t see me inside. Why not?

I looked at the diamond bracelet on my wrist and tried to feel warmth from him—but the diamonds were cold and impenetrable. Just like Chris. Why had I gone with him? I knew why. I was in love with him, and had been since the evening we spent at the restaurant and he’d told me about his childhood. He was relatable, smart, professional, handsome…the list went on and on. But, he was also cold and calculating when he felt someone getting too close to him. I hated that part of him. If I couldn’t get close to him, it made all the intimacy we’d shared a sham. I pulled off the bracelet and slid it into my purse. I suddenly felt dirty.

I showered and went through the clothes in my suitcases. I hung up the things from Paris and left my Chicago clothes in the suitcase. They represented separate lives, separate Lillies. The question was, which one would I be in the future?

A hot shower only helped to warm my cold limbs. It was after midnight. Christmas and all the sparkling lights in romantic cities was over. Even my little, temporary pretend family was gone. Marga had gone home to her mom, Chris had gone home to his family—his business.

I wanted to talk to Mama and Papa, but it was very late there, and I wouldn’t wake them. I’d called them from Paris and wished them Merry Christmas. I could hear envy in Mama’s voice and suspicion in Papa’s. I was no longer his little girl. I was a grown woman and off to a kind of lousy start, if I had to say so myself.

I settled into the bed with its sterile sheets and uniform-like accommodations. It lacked the charm of the cities I’d just left. But, this was my life and I was being indulgent to even be in a Ramada. I really couldn’t afford it for long. Tomorrow, I look for a job, I resolved.

The next morning I pulled on Chicago clothes and ran across the street to the convenient store for a tall coffee, Hostess cinnamon roll and a Chicago Tribune. I sat cross-legged on the bed and felt the loneliness consume me. Nibbling slowly, I tried to pretend I was with Chris in Paris and all was well. I leafed through the paper, catching up on the news and finally, with a sigh, turned to the classifieds. I wanted more than anything to resurrect the bakery, but that took money and I had none. I eyeballed my purse, knowing that extremely expensive bracelet lay inside. Can I bring myself to hock it? I asked. I knew I couldn’t. It was all I had left of Chris.

I called a taxi and had it drive me by the old house. I’d left my car at a neighbor’s and needed to retrieve it. The house was still empty. It looked forlorn and abandoned; pretty much the same way I felt. I began to cry and indulged myself all the way back to the Ramada.

Okay, get your shit together, I told myself. I opened the closet and began laying out outfits that would be suitable for job hunting. I selected a navy suit with a boxy, double-breasted jacket. I had some not-so-scuffed navy shoes I could pair with it and if I took time with my hair, maybe the interviewer would be drawn to focus on my face and not my heels.

I pulled out a pen and circled several jobs. It was the week between Christmas and New Year’s – a poor time to look for a new job since most of the executive-level people were on vacation. There was one place I knew was open and I needed the money. I put in a call to the temp agency and let them know I was available. “You’re kidding,” responded the sour-faced girl I’d met the first time. “We figured you’d be off the market.”

“Well, you figured wrong and I need a job, so please, refer me, will you?”

“Okay, we’ll let you know if anyone wants to interview you,” was her standard line.

So, this is what heartbreak feels like. I flipped on the television and there was a holiday movie on. She was a princess and he, the poor boy who was trying to make good so he could get her attention. Yeah, right, I said to myself. I was really in a sour mood.

I never even noticed when the sun set; I’d pulled the thermal black-out drapes closed and skipped dinner. There was no dinner for the depressed.

The next morning, I drove past the bakery lot. I could see some papers posted on one of the columns that remained. Curious, I got out and went to retrieve them. There were notices from the county that the building had been condemned and was to be auctioned for non-payment of property taxes. What?

I got into my car and called Papa. He answered, and his voice sounded tired. “Papa?”

“Oh, my Lillie, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Papa, this is important. The county put a notice on the building. It says they’re going to auction if off for non-payment of property taxes. Papa, can this be true?”

There was a long, drawn-out sigh at the other end. “Yes, it’s true. I had to cut the corners.” It had become his standard response.

“Papa! You can’t cut that corner. If it hadn’t burned down, they would have taken the business away from us and you couldn’t have stopped them unless you paid those taxes! How much is owed?”

“Oh, I’m not sure any more. With penalties and interest, maybe about a hundred thousand?”

“Dollars? Papa, are you serious?”

“Well, I had to cut…”

“Yeah, I know, those corners. I can’t believe this. And to think I was going to try and rebuild the business to surprise you. I’m living in a motel with no money and no job. There’s no way I can salvage it now.” I was heartbroken, and it fit in so well with the depression I was nurturing.

“I’m sorry, Lilly. I did the best I could.”

I fell apart then. I knew it was hard for him to admit that and he wasn’t able to help me. He’d let me down, Mama down and himself down. But he was my father and I owed him my understanding and love.

“It’s okay, Papa. I’ll make out.”

“I thought you were in Europe? How can you take such a vacation when you have no money?”

In a sense, he was right. I should have stayed home and found a job, dealt with my own problems and not ignored them and left to the playground of the rich. If anything, it only pointed out the fact that I had nothing.

“Papa, the money is in the account – from the house. Do you want me to bail out the building, so we can get some money from it?”

“No, no, Lillie. Just let it go. Flemming’s Bakery belongs to the past. Leave the house money in the bank. Take some out if you need to, until you get on your feet. Mama and I need it, too. It’s expensive here. More than what I’d planned.”

I nodded and in that moment, I realized what a lousy businessman my father had been. I didn’t want to admit it, but he made bad decisions and it cost us, big time. I vowed to be better at it – to build and protect my investment. It was time to start over.

“Papa, I have to go now. Tell Mama I love her. The house money is in the bank,” I repeated and disconnected.