pulling away. Nothing matched. Rick sat down and slid the reorder sheet from the inbox.
For the next thirty minutes, he called each of the vendors on the list. It was a humiliating experience. Half the vendors turned him down. All for the same reason. “I’m sorry. We can’t send you any new inventory until we receive payment for orders already received.”
“How much do you need before you can process the order?” he’d asked. He wrote the various amounts down on a separate sheet of paper, then totaled it up.
Just over eight hundred dollars.
Didn’t seem like much at first. Pocket change back in Charlotte. Rick searched around and found the store’s checkbook. He flipped to the last check stub to see how much money they had in the bank. He couldn’t believe it; there was no balance. He turned back through pages of stubs to find the last time a balance had been recorded. Over three weeks ago. And there were all kinds of handwritten notes scribbled in the margin, arrows drawn here and there, referencing one check number or another. Several times, balances had been crossed out and new figures written in above them.
He reached for Art’s bookkeeping journal and opened it, hoping it might shed some light. It was even worse. Looking at it more closely, he knew one thing for sure: Art routinely operated with a negative balance. There was almost as much red ink as black, and the last eight balance entries were red.
The whole thing was a mess.
He looked up from the desk. This office was a dump. The store was a dump. Art’s books were trash. This was no way to run a business. Rick hated to add to his mom’s stress, but he needed to call her and make her aware of this, get her permission to sort this all out.
It was that bad.
20
Leanne was almost getting used to the new routine. Wake up stiff and sore, both back and hips. Glance at Art, then his numbers. Fold up the sheets and blanket, put the chair-bed back together. Glance at Art, then his numbers. Brush down the parts of her hair that stuck out the worst, try not to look at her face in the mirror while doing so. Look back at Art through the mirror. Brush her teeth. Walk over and kiss Art on the forehead. Carry her bag, robe, and towel to the room they provided nearby for a shower. And as quickly as possible, try to make herself presentable in case Art woke up.
After the morning routine, she’d come back to sit, pray, and read for most of the day. Every so often, look up at Art and pray some more. Oh yes, eat hospital food three times a day. Breakfast this morning had been a poached egg, dry toast, and a banana. For lunch: macaroni and cheese, vanilla pudding. It wasn’t so bad, not like everyone says. More than anything, she missed her coffee. They had coffee here, but it was awful. Art always said hers was the best.
She looked up at Art, checked his numbers again. His vital signs had remained stable today, and that was a good thing. Dr. Halper seemed pleased. He’d been in just after lunch and said the swelling in Art’s brain was decreasing some. Another day or two and he felt Art might be strong enough to move to Shands.
This was the only upside in Leanne’s life at the moment.
She felt so lonely. Mostly for Art. The desire to talk with him gnawed inside her like hunger pangs. She also missed Andrea and little Amy, especially now; Amy was so delightful to be with at Christmastime. And Leanne missed all the customers who filled her days with so much conversation and adventure.
She was glad for one thing: the Lord did seem close to her, even closer than usual. But she could only grab a few precious moments alone here and there. The hospital staff was treating her so well, but with these big glass partitions, it felt like living in an aquarium.
Something caught her eye. She looked up; a nurse waved at her through the glass. She made a hand signal suggesting she had a phone call. Leanne looked at Art then set her book on the chair and hurried to
For the next thirty minutes, he called each of the vendors on the list. It was a humiliating experience. Half the vendors turned him down. All for the same reason. “I’m sorry. We can’t send you any new inventory until we receive payment for orders already received.”
“How much do you need before you can process the order?” he’d asked. He wrote the various amounts down on a separate sheet of paper, then totaled it up.
Just over eight hundred dollars.
Didn’t seem like much at first. Pocket change back in Charlotte. Rick searched around and found the store’s checkbook. He flipped to the last check stub to see how much money they had in the bank. He couldn’t believe it; there was no balance. He turned back through pages of stubs to find the last time a balance had been recorded. Over three weeks ago. And there were all kinds of handwritten notes scribbled in the margin, arrows drawn here and there, referencing one check number or another. Several times, balances had been crossed out and new figures written in above them.
He reached for Art’s bookkeeping journal and opened it, hoping it might shed some light. It was even worse. Looking at it more closely, he knew one thing for sure: Art routinely operated with a negative balance. There was almost as much red ink as black, and the last eight balance entries were red.
The whole thing was a mess.
He looked up from the desk. This office was a dump. The store was a dump. Art’s books were trash. This was no way to run a business. Rick hated to add to his mom’s stress, but he needed to call her and make her aware of this, get her permission to sort this all out.
It was that bad.
20
Leanne was almost getting used to the new routine. Wake up stiff and sore, both back and hips. Glance at Art, then his numbers. Fold up the sheets and blanket, put the chair-bed back together. Glance at Art, then his numbers. Brush down the parts of her hair that stuck out the worst, try not to look at her face in the mirror while doing so. Look back at Art through the mirror. Brush her teeth. Walk over and kiss Art on the forehead. Carry her bag, robe, and towel to the room they provided nearby for a shower. And as quickly as possible, try to make herself presentable in case Art woke up.
After the morning routine, she’d come back to sit, pray, and read for most of the day. Every so often, look up at Art and pray some more. Oh yes, eat hospital food three times a day. Breakfast this morning had been a poached egg, dry toast, and a banana. For lunch: macaroni and cheese, vanilla pudding. It wasn’t so bad, not like everyone says. More than anything, she missed her coffee. They had coffee here, but it was awful. Art always said hers was the best.
She looked up at Art, checked his numbers again. His vital signs had remained stable today, and that was a good thing. Dr. Halper seemed pleased. He’d been in just after lunch and said the swelling in Art’s brain was decreasing some. Another day or two and he felt Art might be strong enough to move to Shands.
This was the only upside in Leanne’s life at the moment.
She felt so lonely. Mostly for Art. The desire to talk with him gnawed inside her like hunger pangs. She also missed Andrea and little Amy, especially now; Amy was so delightful to be with at Christmastime. And Leanne missed all the customers who filled her days with so much conversation and adventure.
She was glad for one thing: the Lord did seem close to her, even closer than usual. But she could only grab a few precious moments alone here and there. The hospital staff was treating her so well, but with these big glass partitions, it felt like living in an aquarium.
Something caught her eye. She looked up; a nurse waved at her through the glass. She made a hand signal suggesting she had a phone call. Leanne looked at Art then set her book on the chair and hurried to
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