77. Marnie

The funeral was hard on all of us. I didn’t know Maddox very well at all, but I cannot stop thinking about him. About his mother.

I’ve been on the other end of that equation and it’s hell on earth.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about my dad. Feeling guilty about being so far away. But if it’s possible to find a silver lining, it’s in the gift of perspective. Time is short. It’s precious.

I’m not going to waste another day. It’s time to turn the page. I’m ready for the next chapter.

Carl Steiner has an office in Clark. It’s three doors down from Glenna Henry’s floral shop. I can’t help but wonder how she’s doing.

The worst part of the funeral isn’t the funeral itself. It’s the days that follow.

The lonely days when your family goes home, and you are left alone with nothing but your thoughts for company.

“Marnie?”

I look up, shaking the cobwebs from my head. “Sorry, Carl. Say that again?”

Carl leans forward, planting his fingertips on a stack of paper. A ring, thick and gold, glitters on his finger. There’s a red stone in the middle. It’s clearly a championship ring of some sort. Judging by his thick middle, the wide set of his shoulders, he’s got linebacker written all over him. Must be a football ring.

He taps the pile again. “I said, I got the paperwork all drawn up. You just need to sign.”

I look at the papers he’s sliding across the desk. “Thanks again for drawing these up for me, Carl.”

“You bet, Darlin’.”

He scrubs a thick hand across his jaw. “You’re sure this is what you want to do?”

I look at the deed of sale and nod. My heart thumps painfully in my chest. “Yes.”

He nods, his chair creaking as he leans back. “Well, if you’re sure.”

My pen scrapes against the paper. “I’m not sure of anything, Carl. I’m just following my gut.”

He nods. “Sometimes, you just got to make decisions and deal with the aftermath.”

I flip the next page and find the little sticky note pointing at a blank line.

Marnie Black.

I sign my name and hope for the best. This is a leap of faith. A hail Mary.

He clears his throat. “So, what is the plan? If you don’t mind me asking?”

The next page has three spots to sign. “You remember that bakery I had?”

“Momo’s?”

A small grin tugs at my lips. “Mimi’s. That’s what Uncle Gus used to call my mom. Mimi.”

He grunts. “Didn’t know that.”

“I started the bakery with her in mind. I baked all types of cakes, but I specialized in recipes for people with dietary restrictions. My mom developed celiac disease, but she had the biggest sweet tooth. I wanted to make things she could enjoy.”

I pause, looking out the window. “And it did okay, you know? People seemed to like it. I liked making people happy. Putting my heart into it.” I grin at him. “But you probably don’t need the backstory.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye. “Honey, I live for the backstory.”

I laugh at that. “Well, anyway. That bakery was the dream. I poured my heart and soul into it. When the fire destroyed the bakery, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to do it all over.”

He studies my face. “You’ve found the energy to start up again?”

I nod. “I’m ready to get going again. The bakery sat for too long. I need to get back to it.”

I sign the last paper and hand the messy stack back to Carl. He taps the edges on the desktop, straightening the pile. “What’s Dusty going to think about all this?”

I glance back out the window with a ghost of a smile. “I hope he’s proud of me.”