Slightly Off Balance

by Kaylie Hunter

  The sign on the front door was made out of cardboard and read: The Bakery. That’s it. I didn’t think it needed further explanation. At the end of the week, Samantha and I split the profits, but she handed me back another hundred dollars to cover the electricity. I put her hundred and a hundred of my own share into a Mason jar for when the utility bill came. I figured it would be at least six weeks working from home until the store was ready to reopen. Until then, we’d continue baking.

  Today was the day I was meeting Grandpa and Tucker to go over the books. I had talked to Colby on the phone twice a day, and he assured me he was happy and things were going well. I was eager to see it for myself, though. I knew firsthand that Grandpa could be a big pill to swallow.

  Walking up to the porch, I heard a car pulling into the drive and was surprised to see it was Samantha.

  “Something wrong?” I called out.

  “Something’s been wrong for years,” she laughed, jogging up the stairs. “I need to speak to your grandpa and my great-uncle. And you need to hear it.”

  “Well, this doesn’t sound good,” I said as we walked through the front door. “Hello?” I called out.

  “Hey, Tweedle,” Colby called, running down the stairs to greet me. “What took you so long? Vince and Tucker are cranky today.”

  “In the den, Tweedle,” Tucker yelled.

  “Samantha’s with me. She says she needs a word with the two of you,” I said, entering the office with my arm around Colby and Samantha on my heels.

  “I hear it’s a day of full disclosure,” she said, slapping a thick file on the desk. “I thought you two better start with this.”

  “Now, Samantha,” Grandpa huffed. “We planned on discussing the estate today. There’s no need to go over anything else.”

  Colby looked at Grandpa and shook his head. “Vince, what did you do this time?”

  “You old fool,” Tucker said, glaring at Grandpa. “You can’t keep playing puppet master.”

  I got the clear impression that whatever everyone was talking about had to do with me, so I grabbed the file and opened it.

  “Don’t concern yourself with all that, dear,” Grandpa said, trying to take the file away.

  Colby pushed his hand away and leaned over my shoulder to read it at the same time.

  “You're rich,” Colby said.

  “It’s a trust account, payable to me,” I said as I flipped through the papers. “The bakery is mine? What is this? What’s with all this money in this bank account?”

  “You’re Grandpa bought the bakery when you were still in high school,” Samantha said. “He doubled my salary as long as I pretended to be the owner, and he threatened to fire me if I ever told you the truth. Until this week, I was worried what I’d do if I didn’t have a paycheck.”

  “Why the secrecy?” I asked Grandpa.

  “The wrong kind of men would have seduced you for your money,” Grandpa shrugged. “I thought it best to wait until you settled down with someone who was worth your attention.”

  Colby laughed. “He was worried that you’d be swindled by some gold digger.”

  “Really? That’s how naïve you think I am?” I said, throwing the file at him. “I guess it makes sense. I’ve been manipulated by my rich grandpa all these years.”

  I paced back and forth, hands on hips. I tried to rationalize the information. On one hand—he was old. On the other—I was pissed. When would everyone learn that I could stand on my own two feet?

  “Is this why you never gave me a decent raise?” I asked Samantha.

  We both knew that I could dance circles around her in the kitchen. But we worked well together, and she was better with the customers.

  “I wasn’t allowed. He wanted you working paycheck to paycheck.”

  “I’m done,” I said to Grandpa, holding my hands up and shaking my head. “I refuse to be a pawn in your game.”

  “Now, just hear me out,” Grandpa sputtered.

  “No. You hear me. You are my grandpa, and I love you. I will be here for you if you need me. But you stay out of my personal life. No more interference. If I even hear a whisper that you are up to your old tricks, then I’ll stop visiting you completely. And you can take the money from the bakery and shove it. I don’t want it. And I don’t want the bakery. You should sell the building.”

  I walked out of the office, through the living room, through the foyer and out the door. Getting into my car, I hit the gas and stones flew everywhere as I peeled out.

  “Alpha idiots!” I yelled, hitting the steering wheel with my palm.

  When I got to Main Street, I pulled over to calm down. I was too angry to drive. Looking around to distract my thoughts, I realized I was parked in front of the old Michaelson building. A century before, it was the founding family’s home. It had been remodeled several times for various business purposes, but each had failed. For the past few years, it had remained vacant.

  I grinned up at the large building. I had an idea, but I’d need some help to make it happen. I texted Aunt Carol and Samantha to meet me at The Bar. I knew Tansey was already working.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I called out when I entered, “I’m selling my car. Spread the word.”

  “How much?” Eric Mickers asked, from one of the booths along the wall.

  “Rod? How much is it worth?”

  “About seven,” he whispered.

  “Seven thousand,” I called out. “First one to hand me a valid check gets the car.”

  “Let me run home and get my checkbook,” Eric said, jumping up and jogging out the door.

  “What the hell, Tweedle? What are you going to drive?” Rod asked.

  “I’m not,” I shrugged. “I will be walking for a while.”

  “From The Bar, back to town?” Aunt Carol asked.

  “I actually didn’t plan on selling it this quickly. You’re going to need to give me a lift.”

  Samantha arrived and walked tentatively up to me.

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  “Thank God. I was so worried. I hated lying to you. You have to know that.”

  “I know.”

  I yelled at Tansey to join us when she could spare a break but asked Aunt Carol and Samantha to meet me at the back table. I handed my car keys to Rod. “Can you get the keys to Eric when he comes back and gather anything personal out of the car for me?”

  “Sure,” he nodded, taking the keys. “Tweedle, is everything okay?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I think finally it will be.”

  I marched to the back table and leaned in to tell Samantha and Aunt Carol my plan. They both started squealing and clapping and soon, Tansey couldn’t take it any longer and stopped to get the CliffsNotes of what was going on.

  “Hell yes,” she said. “What brought all this on?”

  “I realized that Uncle Mike, Reel, and Grandpa are never going to let me be free until I prove to them that I can stand on my own two feet,” I shrugged. “It’s time to prove it to them.”

  Tansey smiled brightly and jogged off to the bar. She returned a few minutes later with four shots. “To standing on our own two feet,” she toasted.

  I looked nervously at my shot, unsure whether I should drink it.

  “Your shot is only root beer,” she whispered.

  “You know me so well,” I said before downing it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I sold everything I could think of other than my bed and kitchen supplies. Samantha and I baked ten hours a day for six weeks in my rental, including taking catering orders in four counties. I didn’t spend a dime more than I had to on anything. At the end of the six weeks, Aunt Carol met me at the bank, and we walked in together for our appointment. I was nervous. My hands were sweating as I tried wiping them discreetly on the side of my skirt.

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” Aunt Carol asked, trying to calm me.

  “They could say no,” I whispered. “I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to get aw
ay with selling baked goods out of my house once the landlord realizes we aren’t relocating back to the store.”

  “Then we’ll come up with another plan,” Aunt Carol shrugged.

  We sat in the guest chairs and waited for Mr. Palmer. I had known Mr. Palmer my entire life, but had never sat down across a desk from him.

  “Ladies, please come in. I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Mr. Palmer said, gesturing for us to enter his office.

  “You go ahead, dear,” Aunt Carol said, picking up a magazine.

  “But,” I stammered.

  “Go,” she ordered.

  “Shit,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “What was that?” Mr. Palmer asked as he closed the door.

  “Sorry, just an itty-bitty sneeze. Allergy season and all,” I smiled, taking a tissue from the box on the corner of his desk.

  It couldn’t be a good sign that he had tissue on the corner of his desk. How many people left this office crying? Was I going to be one of them?

  “Well, bless you then,” Mr. Palmer said. “Please have a seat. You were vague when you called to set the appointment. What can I help you with today?”

  “I’m interested in buying a building for business purposes, but I need to find out what type of loan I could be approved for before I speak with the building owner.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Palmer said. “Are you considering buying the bakery? I’m afraid it just sold. Someone’s turning it into another antique store.”

  “I’m planning on opening a bakery, but not at that location. The building I’m interested in will require some minor renovations to bring it up to code, but the structure is sound. And I’m being vague because I don’t want my grandpa to know what I’m planning. I’m afraid I’ll have to require confidentiality before I speak any further on the matter.”

  I slid a nondisclosure agreement across the desk to Mr. Palmer.

  “Well, this is a first for me,” Mr. Palmer laughed, reading and signing the document.

  He slid the document back to me and I handed him my business plan. He leaned back in his chair and read the documents. Forty minutes passed, and he hadn’t made as much as a facial twitch. Finally, he set the folder down and looked up. I had my hands so tightly twisted together that my fingers ached as I waited for him to say something, anything.

  And then he smiled.

  I felt the breath I was holding whoosh out of me.

  “Two immediate thoughts,” he grinned. “The new owner of the former bakery was in yesterday. He asked whether I knew anyone who would be interested in buying the kitchen appliances and tables. They want them out by this weekend.”

  “Good to know.”

  “The second is that your estimate for the purchase of the building seems high. Not high enough that we wouldn’t lend the money, but maybe higher than what the seller would take.”

  “I’ve done a lot of research on the building and the owner. I’m hoping to get the price down about 30 percent. Most of the figures in the proposal were on the high side, just so I could prove to myself that it was doable.”

  “I think 30 percent would be pushing your luck,” he laughed. “But get out there. See what you come up with. I’ll get started on the loan paperwork.”

  “You’ll give me the loan?” I laughed.

  “Easiest decision I’ve had to make in years,” he grinned, standing to shake my hand.

  I walked out of the office and tried to keep a straight face, but I couldn’t fool Aunt Carol.

  “Come along, dear. Let’s go talk to the realtor,” Aunt Carol said.

  Two hours later, I returned to the bank with a copy of a signed purchase agreement. I signed the official application for the loan and paid the application fee.

  “I can’t believe you got it for that price,” Mr. Palmer laughed.

  “According to my research, they were eager to sell.”

  “Next time I go house shopping, I’m taking you with me.”

  “Is there anything else? I need to go talk to some people about buying some used commercial ovens.”

  “We’re set. I’ll call the realtor and set up the closing. We should have the title work and inspections done in about two weeks.”

  “Sounds good. The owner gave me permission to start working on the property right away.”

  “You’ll be able to move the ovens and tables before this weekend then?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Mr. Palmer was right. The new owners of the old bakery practically gave away the kitchen equipment. I paid eighteen hundred dollars for about twelve thousand dollars’ worth of appliances. And they threw in all the bowls and other cookware for free. The only catch was, they wanted it all moved immediately.

  I texted everyone in my phone’s contact list and started hauling boxes down the street. By the time I returned for a second load, friends and family started arriving to pitch in and help. Folks in town noticed what was happening, and they pitched in too. Rod showed up with dollies, and the owner of the hardware store lent us two more. Colby showed up in town covered in sweat from riding his bike. He eagerly ditched the bike to take the box out of my hands. He was a good kid, through and through.

  All the way down Main Street, to the other end, was a line of people either carrying a box or pushing a dolly to the old Michaelson building. And after everything was moved, they stayed to help me clean the place.

  “Big strong, Rod,” I said, squeezing his bicep and his ego.

  “What do you need, Tweedle?” he grinned.

  “I was hoping you could pull the carpet in the foyer, dining room, and living room. Then I was hoping you could haul it to the dump for me.”

  “You sure? It looks to be in good shape,” he said, walking around.

  “Oh, I’m sure,” I said, walking over to pull back a large section in the corner I knew was already loose. Of course, I knew this because last week I was the one who had pulled it loose.

  “Holy crap,” Rod said, grinning down at the flooring underneath. “That real wood or that fake stuff?”

  “That’s real wood planks, baby.”

  “I need manual labor out here!” Rod yelled.

  A good half-dozen men joined Rod, and the carpet disappeared out the door.

  “Have you been upstairs yet?” Tansey squealed, flying around the corner.

  “You mean, do I know that your future living room has solid windows on two walls?” I asked, jumping up and down, clapping, in my best valley-girl cheerleading impression. “Yes, I do! Aren’t you over the moon?”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you. I know you should get first pick, but—”

  Dropping the act, I laughed, holding up my hand to stop her. “But you’re an artist. I knew when I saw the living room that it was your apartment. Besides, I like the other side better.”

  “The other side is just a mess of offices,” Tansey said, wrinkling her nose.

  “For a few months,” I said. “After we get the new bakery set up, I will start remodeling my side.”

  “I’ll help.”

  “Damn straight you will. But first, I need you to figure out what paint colors to use downstairs.”

  I briefly described where display counters, tables and chairs would be. The kitchen I’d handle myself, but I trusted Tansey to make the rest flow and look elegant.

  “Do you want a mural or any particular patterns?”

  “No, basic walls with accent lighting every six or seven feet.”

  “Really? Why?” she said, looking around the large room.

  “For your paintings, silly.”

  “But I thought the big room in the back was going to be the gallery.”

  “It is, but we want people to see some of your paintings out here so they take the time to walk into the gallery.”

  I could hear Tansey still squealing ten minutes later as I was lying under the kitchen sink, wielding a wrench. I couldn’t get the stupid P-trap to budge.

  “My turn,” Uncle Mike holle
red from above me. “Go on, get out of there.”

  I slid out from under the sink and looked at him.

  “If you can let the whole town carry supplies, you can let me fix the sink. I promise I won’t take over or interfere with your business. But we’re still family, kiddo.”

  I jumped up and hugged him.

  “I’m proud of you, Tweedle.”

  “Thank you. Now fix the damn drain for me.”

  “You got it,” he said, relieving me of my borrowed wrench. “You hear we finally got Randall Marlian in handcuffs?”

  “I heard. Did he confess?”

  Uncle Mike snorted and reached out for the bucket I held in my hand. He slipped it under the pipe and leaned out of the way before loosening the pipe that spilled stinky grey water into the bucket. “He lawyered up. Hasn’t said a word. But we have enough evidence on him for drugging your grandpa and stealing from the estate. He’ll be locked up for a few years.”

  “They keeping him up in Cooper City?”

  “Until the trial,” Uncle Mike nodded. “Seems his father, Morgan, is paying for the attorney but refused to help bond him out. Guess daddy wasn’t too happy to hear what his son was up to.”

  “With daddy’s reputation, figured it would be a proud father-son moment.”

  “I remember Morgan from years back. Evil, yes, but smart. He’s probably pissed that his son was so sloppy about covering his tracks.”

  “What about him trying to kill me? How’s that fit in?”

  “No idea,” Uncle Mike said as he stood and cleaned off the wrench with an old shop rag. “The way I figure it, Randall must have worried that you’d figure out what was happening before he stole enough to disappear.”

  I tossed a rag under the sink after pulling the stinky bucket out. I dumped the bucket off the back porch. When I returned, Uncle Mike was still standing there.

  “Say what you feel you need to say,” I sighed.

  “Your grandpa has always been an ass, and you’ve loved him, anyway. He doesn’t have many more years left. Best if you forgive him sooner rather than later.” He grabbed the new plumbing parts and slid back under the sink. “And Reel is still in town. Might want to cut him some slack too. Saw him sitting on the park bench across the street not ten minutes ago.”