There was a new coach in town.
* * *
I was pushingthrough the door of the inn when I saw Darlene. She had a stack of six bakery boxes in her hand, all tied together with string. Perfect.
“Now Darlene, I didn’t order any of that.”
My dad was behind the front desk. Standing on his crutches instead of sitting and already getting in my way.
“Dad! You need to be sitting down. That was our deal if you were still going to work behind the desk.”
He grumbled, but then carefully moved to take a seat on the chair I’d set up for him.
“Kristen!” Darlene greeted me. Darlene was a middle-aged woman wearing a heavy coat and a practical wool hat on her head. She had a genuine smile and a good head for numbers. We’d gotten along almost immediately upon meeting. “Oh good, you’re here. I’ve got everything we talked about and I threw in some experimental recipes for free. The only caveat is that you have to tell me what works and what doesn’t.”
“Excellent. I really appreciate you making this happen so quickly.”
She nodded. “No problem. Just call tonight with your order and I’ll make sure it will be here by ten.”
I placed the boxes on the front desk and beamed.
Darlene left and I turned to face my dad. His expression was mutinous.
None of this was going to be easy. He was my dad, after all.
“What’s all this?” he asked, waving at the boxes.
“Baked goods. The Kringle Inn always has baked goods available.”
He made a noise. “Yes, but that was your mother’s doing. She liked to make things for the customers.”
“Yes. Because she knew the customers, liked them. Dad, please tell me you can’t be oblivious to the reality that for the first time in years we’re only half filled for Christmas.”
He folded his hands over his round belly and frowned.
“I’m old, I’m not senile!” he barked at me.
I rushed around the front desk and got on my knees beside his chair. I took his hand with the skin so pale I could see the color of his veins, and squeezed.
“Dad, I know you’re not senile. But you have to admit the Kringle Inn is in trouble.”
“Trouble is relative.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. That was such a dad thing to say. Nothing was serious. Nothing was dangerous. Nothing was real trouble.
Until it was.
I knew who I’d inherited my propensity for denial from.
“No, Dad. This is actual trouble. The numbers do not lie.”
“You’re always fussing about the numbers. We’re doing fine.”
“You’re not doing fine, you’re bleeding money and if we don’t turn it around our options are going to narrow.”
He did that thing where he tilted his head and looked at me over the rim of his bifocals. It always managed to make me feel like I was a ten-year-old girl.
“Don’t you use that fancy business speak with me, little lady. Options are going to narrow. What nonsense.”
