Series: Lee Savino
Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
I trail behind her. Even though I’ve slept a lot these past few days, I feel foggy. I need some cold brew before I can match even half of Daisy’s energy.
The cafe office is tiny. I try to keep the place neat, but there’s always stacks of paperwork, payment stubs and tax forms and glossy brochures from our suppliers overloading the desk. Daisy takes the chair behind the desk and motions me to sit in the only remaining one.
“This is a long time coming.” Daisy starts clearing papers, stacking them into piles. I should stop her–she just mixed some employee W-2s with our quarterly tax filing. She actually seems nervous. “I should’ve done it years ago. I should’ve…well, never mind. If anything, the past few days have been a wake up call.”
I frown, trying to figure out what she’s talking about. My brain can’t keep up with this conversation.
She lays a leather bound folio between us. “This is for you.”
I make no move to take it. “What is it?”
“My last will and testament. You’re my beneficiary, of course–”
I’m shaking my head. “No, we don’t need to talk about this.”
“Maisy, we do. When I realized you were gone.” Her voice catches, and her eyes take on a haunted look, “well, I realized just how much I’ve been taking for granted. How much I lean on you. No,” –she holds up a hand– “listen to me. I’m ninety-two. I don’t have time to beat around the bush.” She flips open the folio and hands me something. It’s her mortgage statement.
“I just found out that you’ve been making extra payments on the mortgage. You didn’t have to do that, Maisy.”
“I wanted to help,” I say.
“I don’t know how I got so lucky to have a granddaughter like you,” Daisy says.
I tear up.
“What I really want to do right now is this.” Daisy hands me a piece of paper.
I skim it but can’t comprehend the legalese. Daisy Day Cafe owner split. And my full name, Daisy May Bennett.
“As of today, you are a co-owner of the cafe. Fifty-fifty. Now, I know you work here a lot more than me, but I’m willing to sign off on anything you want to do…” She keeps talking, but I can’t hear her.
I set the paper down. I’m breathing hard. “You’re not dying.”
“I hope not. But we never know how long we have. And the one thing I promised when you were gone–” her voice wavers again—“was to make sure you knew how important you are to me. To this town.”
I look from her to the paper and back down again. I don’t know what to think. A few minutes ago, I was thinking of escaping town forever.
“Maisy, I know you’re going through it. And I know it’s hard. I just want you to know…you are everything to me. I want you to know that I wouldn’t still be alive if it weren’t for you. You keep me young. You give me purpose. You light up my life.”
Tears spring into my eyes. “Thank you. I’m so grateful you became my guardian after–”
Daisy cuts me off. “I should’ve taken guardianship of you sooner. Before your mom died.” Her voice clogs, and her eyes swim. “I knew she and your dad were using, but I wasn’t sure how bad it was.”
I reach across the desk and pick up her thin, papery hand. “You couldn't have known.” Poor Daisy. I know she’ll never get over losing her only daughter to drugs. Losing my mom was rough, but I was so young. And I had Daisy.
Oh. I guess she’s telling me she feels the same way.
“If you’d had a normal life, you would’ve moved out after high school. I know you stayed in Bad Bear because of me.” Daisy chokes up again.
I rise to my feet and make my way around the desk to her. She stands, so we can hug. She’s smaller than me, yes, but so strong. It’s a relief to be in her arms and have her here for me to hug. I’ll never take this for granted, I tell myself. Never. For a moment we just hold each other.
“Well.” Daisy lets me go and dabs at her eyes. I’ve rarely seen her cry. She’s like a soldier, stoically forging on, but doing that for decades comes at a cost. “That’s that. Half the cafe is yours. And if you want to take off and leave, well, we’ll hire some people and eventually be able to send you owner’s profits to wherever you go–”
“I’m not leaving,” I say. “I’m staying.” As soon as I say it, I know it’s true. I’m still a wreck, I still have a broken heart, but I love Bad Bear. And I have big plans for the cafe.
“Okay, good. Whatever you want to do.”
“Actually, there are some things I’d like to do for the cafe. I want to expand. I even made a business plan…” I trail off as I realize something.