Pam nodded. None of this was new information. She also knew that Filia was married and that her husband worked as a gardener. They had a ten-year-old daughter. Both of them had a high school education, but they planned to send their daughter to college. It was the American dream in living color.
“The first thing the bank is going to ask for is a business plan,” Pam told her. “Do you know what that is?”
Filia nodded slowly. “I created one the first time I came here. I can put together an updated one for the new business.”
Pam opened the folder and pulled out several sheets of paper. “Wonderful. The bank will want to know that you can cover your bills, including payroll, and pay back the loan. Once you have the basics taken care of, they’ll look at whether or not they consider you a good risk.”
There was also the possibility of a low-interest loan from MWF, but Pam wasn’t going to mention that just yet. First she wanted to see if Filia was committed to do the work necessary to even apply for a bank loan. Not everyone was. But she had a feeling that the woman in front of her was going to be someone willing to do the work to get herself where she wanted to be.
Filia took the paperwork and looked it over. She smiled. “This is much more clear than the books from the library. Thank you.”
“I’m glad.” Pam handed over a business card. “This is my contact information. Why don’t you take a week or so to get the first draft of the plan together? Once you have that, we’ll meet again and I’ll go over it with you.”
She would take as much time as necessary to get it bank-ready. Once Filia showed she was willing to do what had to be done, Pam would be with her all the way.
“Thank you for your help.” Filia clutched the paperwork tightly. “I’m going to make this happen. You’ll see.”
“I’m excited to work with you.”
“I feel the same way.” Filia smiled. “When my day spa opens, you can have the first facial.”
Pam laughed. “I can’t wait.”
Chapter Four
“Do you think he’s warm enough?” Jen asked her mother as she pushed the stroller along the boardwalk. It was sixty-eight degrees, which wasn’t cold, but they were at the beach and there was a cool breeze off the ocean. She had on a light hoodie, but her mom was only in three-quarter sleeves.
“He’s fine.”
“I don’t know.”
Jen hesitated, then decided they were close enough to the carousel that she could wait to check on Jack. It wasn’t as if he was crying or anything.
There weren’t a lot of people hanging out at the Pacific Ocean Park, otherwise known as the POP. A few mothers out with their young children. A handful of businesspeople taking a late lunch. Most everyone else was busy with their lives. Midday walks at the beach were a luxury—one she should be grateful for.
Jen had read an article that said a spirit of gratitude could help with anxiety. At this point she was ready to try nearly anything. She was exhausted from checking on Jack a dozen times a night. Not that he woke up—she was the one springing out of bed to make sure the reason there was no noise from the baby monitor wasn’t that he’d stopped breathing.
She was tired of the vague feeling of impending disaster—a sensation that frequently blossomed into a full-blown panic attack. She hated the sense of being unable to catch her breath or knowing she was spiraling out of control and that in a very short period of time, she was going to lose it completely. So if gratitude would help, she was all-in.
Lulu trotted along at Pam’s side. The little dog had on a T-shirt that proclaimed her Queen of Everything. In Lulu’s case, that was probably true.
“You gave her a bath this week, right?” Jen asked, knowing Jack would want to play with the dog after he rode the carousel.
“I did because she gets a bath every week. You need to stop asking me that.” Pam’s tone was annoyed.
“I’m just checking.”
“Monitoring. You’re monitoring.” Her mother shook her head. “I can’t wait for you to have another baby.”
A second child? Jen felt her chest tighten. “Why would you say that?” How on earth could she manage? She was barely hanging on with Jack. There weren’t enough hours in the day. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t worry twice as much. She would explode—or maybe just shrivel up like an old, dead bug.
“You wouldn’t have time to ask if I’d bathed Lulu.” Her mother offered a sympathetic smile. “You need to get out of your head more, Jen. Everything’s fine. You’re suffering for nothing.”
“That’s harsh.”
“I don’t mean it to be. I wish you could believe me.”
About Jack, Jen thought resentfully. That was what her mother meant. Pam wished Jen would stop worrying about her son not talking. Like that was going to happen. There was something wrong with Jack and everyone’s lack of belief didn’t change the truth.
“You worried, too,” she said, knowing she sounded resentful. “All the time. Dad was forever calling you on it.”
Her mother smiled. “I did worry, but you take things too far.”
“I don’t.”
“If you say so. On another topic, I saw Zoe a couple of days ago.”
The unexpected statement had Jen blinking at her mother. “My friend Zoe?”
“That’s the one. She came to a class at Mischief in Motion, and then we had lunch. She’s so sweet. I can’t believe she locked herself in the attic. That had to be terrifying.”
“What are you talking about?” Jen asked.
“Zoe accidently got stuck in her attic. The door’s sticky and slammed shut. I would have freaked out, that’s for sure. She didn’t tell you?”
“Um, no, she didn’t mention it.”
Jen wanted to ask when this had happened and why she didn’t know about it. Except she knew the answer to the second question. She didn’t know because she and Zoe weren’t talking very much anymore. Certainly not on the phone. They rarely went out together. Zoe still dropped by most Thursdays, but her last visit hadn’t gone very well.
Guilt pressed down on her. Yet one more thing she was supposed to fix. Just not today, she told herself.
“So, Mom, where are you and your girlfriends going next?” she asked brightly, hoping for a change of topic.
“We’re doing a long weekend in Phoenix in a few weeks, then my cruise in June.”
A Million Little Things (Mischief Bay, #3)
Susan Mallery's books
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