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Second Chances in Lavender Bay (The Lavender Bay Chronicles #3) 6. Chapter Five 9%
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6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

A ngie hung up the phone, her hands shaking. Her doctor, Beverly Acker, had called to let her know something suspicious had shown up on her mammogram.

“Like a tumor? Like cancer?” Angie asked.

“That needs to be determined. The report is inconclusive. I’m going to book you in for a biopsy as soon as possible.” Dr. Acker paused. “As difficult as this is, I’ll ask you to try and relax and not stress out about it too much until we have the biopsy results.”

Easier said than done.

After that phone call, things happened rapidly. The breast biopsy was scheduled and a few days before, the nurse called her to touch base. As the nurse went over the instructions on the phone, Angie wondered whether she could return straight to work afterward. But something the nurse said caught her off guard.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Angie asked.

“I said that due to the anesthetic, you’re not allowed to drive for twenty-four hours. Whoever is picking you up will need to come into the clinic and sign you out.”

Angie protested. “I should be fine to drive.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s the policy. No driver, no biopsy.”

All sorts of swear words floated across Angie’s mind. “All right, I’ll get someone to pick me up.”

“Great, we’ll see you Monday morning.”

Once she hung up, she bit her lip, mentally going through her list of people who could provide a ride back and forth, of whom there were plenty. But she hadn’t told anyone about her impending biopsy. Not even her sisters or her cousins, and especially not her mother. She couldn’t. They’d only worry and if it turned out to be nothing, then they’d have been anxious for nothing. She didn’t want her employees to know either. There was only one person she could call: her best friend, Debbie Melvin. Her call went to voicemail and Angie left a message, stating she needed a favor.

Twenty minutes later, Debbie appeared at her office door, wearing a chocolate-brown long-sleeved thermal top, jeans, and big gold hoop earrings. Before she said anything, she opened the back door wide, and then focused her attention on Angie.

“I was at the drugstore picking up my meds when I got your message, so I thought I’d pop by,” Debbie said.

She remained in the doorway. Angie did not invite her to sit down. Her friend had a thing about rooms with no windows, one of her many quirks.

Debbie Melvin was unlike any person Angie had ever met or would ever meet.

Their first encounter was in the second-grade lunchroom. Debbie had been a transfer student, arriving in February. She was freckled with carrot-colored hair and missing her front teeth. She’d been alone at the lunch table, Angie had sat with her, and they’d been together ever since. Debbie had always been the kind of person Angie could depend on.

She was still freckled, and almost always wore her carrot-orange hair piled into a messy bun on top of her head. Her teeth had come in straight and perfect, one of the few things that had gone right in her life.

Angie had a lot of acquaintances and not many close friends. There were her sisters and her cousins and Debbie, and that was enough for her.

Debbie spotted the bag of cat food on the floor next to the door. “What’s this?”

As if on cue, there was a meow from the open back door.

Debbie leaned her head back and must have spotted the stray cat because she said, “Aw, poor kitty.” Angie’s friend had a large soft spot for animals, especially strays, and had provided a home over the years to a few. It was as if the word was out among the stray cat community: there was a house over on Peach Street that would house and feed you and your soul.

“He started coming around and, well, I was roped in to feeding him,” Angie said.

Debbie smiled. “Bless your heart, Angie.”

“How’ve you been?”

“Good. Nothing new. You rang?”

Angie lowered her voice so as not to be overheard and told her friend about the dodgy mammogram and the need for a biopsy. She finished with, “So I need a ride. And most importantly, I don’t want anyone to know, especially my mother and sisters. There’s no sense in getting them all worked up.”

Her friend nodded. “Remit understood and accepted,” Debbie said solemnly.

Angie had to suppress a grin at her friend’s funny choice of words.

“When and what time?” Debbie asked.

Angie gave her the details, and Debbie nodded. She had a memory like a steel trap. They spoke of general things for a few more minutes before Debbie left.

The following Sunday—the day before her scheduled biopsy—Angie took a few hours off in the morning to go to her mother’s house for brunch. Louise had invited everyone to discuss the holiday plans for the year, which included Thanksgiving and Christmas. This year, Thanksgiving would be held at Louise’s house and Christmas at her sister Gail’s. As Angie hadn’t seen anyone in her family for a while, she figured she’d go, promising to bring pastries and donuts. She had no business taking time off, especially when weekends were so busy at the café. But if she didn’t, she’d be assigned to bring or do something she didn’t like.

The house on Heather Lane was full of happy memories. They’d all grown up there, and there’d been a time when her grandparents had also lived with them. Just thinking about her grandparents always brought a smile to her face. But now her mother lived there by herself as Angie’s father had died years ago. That was a pain that never went away. She wondered how her mother had felt about the transition, going from a house full of three generations and a total of eight people under one roof, to living alone. But her mother never complained, always made the best of it. Sometimes, Angie wondered where she came from.

It was a damp, rainy day, and Angie had bundled up in jeans and a heavy oversized sweater. The house was full by the time she arrived with two boxes of baked goods in her hand. There was the commingled smell of freshly brewed coffee and the pumpkin-scented candle burning on the counter. Her sisters Maureen and Nadine were there, moving around the kitchen, setting dishes on the table. Aunt Gail was there with her daughters Esther and Suzanne. The holidays were a big deal to Louise and Gail. They’d always planned the two dinners by the end of October.

“Well, well, look who’s here!” Louise said, wearing oven mitts and carrying a pan of bacon, egg, and cheese strata over to the old farmhouse table that had been bought when DeeDee was born and the family had grown to eight.

“Hi, Mom,” Angie said, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. Louise shifted the hot pan away from Angie to accept her kiss.

Nadine stood at the coffeemaker, spooning coffee into the paper filter. Maureen removed bacon from a frying pan and placed it on a paper-towel covered plate. Esther used a slotted spoon to stir a compote of fruit salad as her sister, Suzanne, walked around the table with a carton of orange juice, filling all the small glasses on the table.

Hugs went all around and then all at once, everything that was needed for Sunday brunch was on the table. Everyone sat, with Gail next to Louise at the head of the table.

They began to help themselves. Nadine asked Angie, “What’s new? I haven’t talked to you in a while.”

“Nothing,” Angie lied.

“How are things going with Melissa?” her mother asked, dishing out the strata as plates were passed down to her end of the table. She then passed the plate to Gail, who dished out a helping of her blueberry French toast bake. When the plate was passed back to Angie, she helped herself to two pieces of extra-crispy bacon. She looked at her plate for a moment, thinking there’d be no need to eat for the rest of the day.

In an earlier phone conversation, she’d relayed Melissa’s request to her mother, whose immediate response had been, “Let her do what she wants!”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“What’s there to think about?” her mother asked, forking off a piece of French toast bake and popping it into her mouth.

“Mmm,” Gail said thoughtfully. “She’s an invaluable employee, I wouldn’t want to lose her.” Obviously, Louise had discussed the situation with her sister.

“Exactly,” Maureen said, biting off a piece of bacon. Apparently, the whole family had been briefed.

“We forgot the cream for the coffee,” Nadine said. She stood and retrieved a carton of half and half from the refrigerator.

Angie’s cousin Suzanne spoke up, her voice soft. “It’s hard to give up control.” She cast a sympathetic smile in Angie’s direction.

Angie would not concede. “Possibly.”

“Did you apply for the food truck permit?” Esther asked.

“I did.” Angie said.

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “When are you going to find time to run a food truck?”

“It’s only for the summer months,” Angie replied, sipping from her juice glass.

“And there are only so many hours in the day,” her mother said. “You can’t do it all, honey.”

Angie laughed. “I’m going to try.” She pulled out her phone and dashed off a text to Melissa to make sure everything was all right at the café, ignoring her mother’s scowl. The rule on Heather Lane was no phones at the table. Hurriedly, she shoved it back into her pocket. She looked up and everyone had gone quiet. Unusually so. Her gaze traveled around the table. Seven women and no one had anything to say. Rare.

“What?” she asked. It was as if they all knew a secret and were withholding it from her.

Finally, her mother spoke up. “Do you want the truth, or do you want us to tell you what you want to hear?”

Angie blinked. What does that mean? “The truth, of course.”

Louise exchanged a glance with her sister.

Gail piped in. “You need to delegate more. You’re doing too much, and you micromanage everything, including your employees. If they’re good employees, you need to trust them to do their job without you looking over their shoulders.”

“Let Melissa explore her creative side,” Maureen chimed in.

Angie felt her cheeks burn. Her aunt had no employees at her antique shop other than a retired sniffer bloodhound, but she refrained from pointing that out. And Maureen, an interior designer, had no one working for her either, for that matter. Everyone else had their heads down, staring at the brunch items on their plates. Even the usually outspoken Esther did not look at her. Angie sat back, folding her arms across her chest.

“All right. What else?” Angie asked.

“I’d like to say something,” Nadine said, raising her hand. Angie rolled her eyes; it wasn’t a classroom.

“Go for it.” It looked like it was going to be a no-holds-barred session.

“I realize I haven’t been back in Lavender Bay a long time but from what I’ve seen, Melissa seems more than capable of running the whole café if she needed to. Maybe you could start out small. Have her make one or two things.”

“Give her a sense of purpose,” said someone else.

“That isn’t the problem,” Angie said. “The problem is we’ve got a great variety of products already.”

“You can’t let her come up with one new item?” Maureen asked.

“ I make all the pastries at Coffee Girl.”

Everyone went quiet again. The only sound was the scrape of cutlery against plates, and spoons stirring inside of coffee mugs.

“Angie,” her mother asked with a pointed look. Why did Angie feel like she was eight years old and being scolded for something she’d done?

Esther leaned forward past Suzanne, who was sitting next to her. “Can you sit down and talk to her and listen to her ideas? And maybe offer her a pay raise.” She sat back and announced, “But then that’s just my two cents.”

“I’m not a bad boss,” Angie said defensively.

There was a chorus of “No, no, of course not” and “We know that.” But Angie wasn’t convinced.

“I think you should back off the café and have a life,” Suzanne said bravely.

Angie protested, “But I love the café, it’s my baby.”

“No one is saying you have to work part time, but my darling girl, you have no personal life,” Louise said.

“I don’t need one.” Angie realized as she said this how lame it sounded. Everyone stared at her before returning to their brunch. Sighing, she said, “I’ll take everything said here under consideration.”

Gail’s smile was broad as she lifted a bejeweled hand and waved her fork around. “That’s all we ask, honey. Just think about things.”

Angie nodded. “Will do.”

Louise took her spoon and tapped it against her mug. “All right, who’s bringing what for Thanksgiving?”

Despite the change of conversation, Angie remained unsettled.

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