Page 70 of Conquered

It only rings once before a cheerful voice answers. “Chessie Valley Homes by the Lake, this is Edna. How can I help you?”

“Hi,” I say, my voice steady, determined. “I was wondering if it’s possible to make payments toward a resident’s monthly fees—anonymously, if that’s okay. Maybe call it a discount they’ve earned or something, so they don’t get suspicious. Would that work?”

The line goes quiet, and for a second, I wonder if I’ve lost Edna. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Edna replies, her voice a little choked. “Yes, I’m here. And yes, that’s absolutely possible. What a thoughtful gesture.”

“It’s for Henry,” I say. “Henry Monroe.”

“Oh, Mr. Monroe? That’s wonderful. He’s such a kind man. Thank you.”

“I’d like to pay a thousand a month recurring for him.”

“Oh dear, that is so generous. Thank you so much.”

We finalize the details, and I hang up feeling lighter than I have all day. The thought that I might have eased even a fraction of Henry’s burden fills me with quiet satisfaction. My day passes with a smile plastered to my face.

When I enter the marina office building, Greg, my best friend and the marina’s marketing director, leans his head out of his office. “What if,” he says, “we added trivia nights or karaoke nights and hosted them in the lodge starting in April or May?”

I stop walking and lean against the doorway to his office. “I think that sounds fun. Do we know anyone who could emcee something like that?”

Greg swivels in his chair, his pen tapping rhythmically against his desk. “There are a few businesses that go around to different places. I’m sure if we made it a regular thing, we could get a good deal.”

“Alright, sounds good to me. I’ve really got to get someone in to help manage the marina shop, though.” I step inside and sink into one of the chairs across from his desk. “Where are we on applicants?” The faint hum of Greg’s computer fan fills the room, mingling with the muted sound of voices from the marina shop.

Greg's office is almost the same as mine—same desk, chairs and setup, just without the meeting table—but you can tell he is married. Holly, his wife, has her little touches all over the office. Framed photos of them, a plant by his window, they all show she cares. It makes my office look dull and a bit pathetic in comparison.

Greg types on his keyboard, his brow furrowed. “No one else has applied since that last guy from Middle Tennessee State University. But you didn’t want him . . .”

“Because he wouldn’t be able to work full-time.” I run a hand through my hair, sighing. “I just don’t understand how we can’t find someone who isn’t a college kid to take this job. It’s decent benefits and good pay.”

“I know, man. In the meantime, we can keep switching off and on shifts. Of course, your mom has offered to come back and help.”

“You know I can’t have her do that. She wants to enjoy her retirement, and I don’t want them to think I can’t handle the marina myself. You know?”

“Yeah, I get it. The right person will come along. We just have to be patient. It’s not like you’re going to just run into the perfect person out of the blue.”

“No kidding. Wouldn’t that be great?” I stand and stretch, the chair squeaking as I push it back. “I’m going to head to my office. I’ve got to try and make a dent in the paperwork that’s been piling up.”

Greg chuckles. “Good luck with that.”

A Few Months Later . . .

Chapter 2

Jenny

“What do you mean I can’t get a loan?” I say, frustration simmering in my voice as I face some finance guy in a crumpled suit. His tie is slightly askew, and he peers down his long, pointed nose at me, his glasses sliding down to the edge.

“It means, Miss Monroe, that you don’t have any collateral, so we can’t in good conscience loan you that sum of money,” Mr. Finance Guy says, his tone dripping with condescension. He adjusts the papers in front of him, the faint rustle of them sounding overly loud in the sterile, overly bright office. “You said it yourself; you don’t have a full-time job. How could we expect you to repay the loan?”

“My grandparents had their home loan through you all for over thirty years,” I say, my voice straining. I will not cry in front of Mr. Finance Guy. “You know we’re good for the money.”

“Ah, yes,” he replies with a smug smile that makes my stomach twist. “It’s unfortunate that you sold the home. We could have taken out equity from the property to loan you the money.”

“But we had to sell it,” I say, the words spilling out quickly. My fingers curl into fists at my sides. “We need the money from the house to cover Grandma’s medical bills and Grandpa’s care center costs.”

“I’m sorry, but my answer stands,” he says curtly, not sounding sorry at all as he closes the file with an air of finality. The swish of the paper echoes ominously. “If your circumstances change, though, we’d be happy to reconsider.”