Part 6
He’d known that, of course. He always knew when leave ended. But he stood with one hand on the tailgate longer than the task required, looking toward the bakery entrance.
Inside, Nora was comparing paint samples. The roof repair was finished. The electrician had scheduled the remaining work, the oven parts were coming, and Nora had rejected Grant’s preferred refrigerator because the shelving wouldn’t suit her trays.
On a board beside the office, she’d begun writing delivery dates.
Flint waited for Grant to close the truck.
“Right,” Grant said.
He carried the box inside and started putting things in order.
By midafternoon, every contractor’s number was in a folder. Part numbers were written beside equipment photographs. He made sure Nora had copies of the estimates, checked that the supplier contacts were in her phone, and labeled the hardware still needed for unfinished jobs.
He stopped saying what they could do next week.
Nora caught him explaining the shelf fasteners for a second time.
“I know which ones you used.”
“Just so you have it.”
“I had it this morning.”
He closed the little box in his hands.
Owen was washing paintbrushes in the back. Flint slept in the front office, one ear responding to the sound of a passing car.
“You go Thursday,” Nora said.
“Yes.”
She waited, but he offered nothing else. After a moment, she took her cloth back to the counter.
Grant arrived late the next morning. Nora was on a short stepladder, marking places in the wall that needed filling. He brought in another small box of supplies.
She didn’t ask why he’d been delayed. He didn’t volunteer an explanation.
For nearly an hour they worked to the sound of the scraper, the occasional rattle of a tool, and the refrigerator technician finishing his work near the kitchen.
When Nora went outside to answer a supplier’s call, Grant returned to the truck for a tape measure. He had the passenger door open when she came around the front.
His duffel was behind the seat, packed and zipped.
She looked at it, then walked past him into the bakery.
Grant stood with the tape measure in his hand.
He always packed early. He checked documents, accounted for gear, made sure nothing would be left for the last minute. He’d done it the previous evening without thinking about how it would look from a sidewalk.
He followed her inside.
Nora was at the prep counter, reading an invoice she’d already approved.
“You don’t have to make yourself disappear first,” she said.
Grant set down the tape measure.
“I’m not disappearing.”
“You’ve been leaving instructions instead of talking to me.”
“I want you to have what you need.”
“I do.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you acting as though Thursday will be easier if there’s less of you here by Wednesday?”
He looked toward the office. Flint had lifted his head but remained on his mat.
Nora laid the invoice down.
“I know your job. I knew it when I sat at your table. You’re not surprising me by having to go back.”
“I’m trying not to make promises I can’t keep.”
“I haven’t asked for any.”
He rested his hands against the edge of the counter.
She waited until he looked at her.
“The first time, you decided what my not answering meant. I decided what your leaving meant. We lost fourteen years between those two decisions.”
The technician dropped something in the next room and apologized to nobody in particular. Neither Nora nor Grant turned.
“If you need to leave, leave,” she said. “But you don’t get to decide how I feel about it.”
Grant looked down at the tape measure.
He had meant to make things orderly. A clean handoff, no loose ends, no dependence he couldn’t honor. He knew how to do that.
“I thought it would help,” he said.
“Who?”
He almost answered. Then he pushed the tape measure a few inches away.
“Me, probably.”
Nora unfolded her arms.
“I’m good at finishing things before I go,” he said.
“We’re not finished.”
He looked at her.
“No,” he said. “We’re not.”
He began to explain what she couldn’t count on: regular calls, reliable dates, knowing where he was.
Nora lifted one hand.
“Grant. I’m not asking for a presentation.”
His mouth moved despite himself.
“What are you asking?”
“Let me answer for myself.”
He held her gaze.
“I can do that.”
She picked up the invoice and put it where it belonged.
A little later, they disagreed about paint. Nora said one sample was too cold. Grant said he could barely distinguish it from the other two. She informed him that this was not a contribution.
That evening, he sat outside his rented place near the lake with the truck engine off. Flint occupied the back seat, occasionally raising his head when light moved across the windshield.
Grant checked his leave balance, then the schedule information available to him.
He had unused days. The upcoming calendar allowed some room, though approval would mean other people accommodating the request. He disliked creating avoidable work for them.
He read through it once more.
Then he requested seven additional days for personal matters.
After submitting it, he put the phone in the console and sat for a while.
Flint sighed.
“Very helpful,” Grant told him.
Nora still knew nothing about the request when they set out for Salmon the next morning; Grant was waiting for an answer. They took separate vehicles so she could collect Owen later. At the bakery, they reviewed the electrician’s revised estimate and made room for the new refrigerator.
Nora ordered it herself.
Then she called the flour supplier. Grant could hear the representative pressing for a larger first delivery. He stayed on his side of the room, fitting a loose section of trim while Nora explained exactly what she could store and when she’d be ready for more.
She ended the call with the smaller order and a delivery schedule tied to a confirmed opening date.
Grant went back to the trim.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
He read the approval twice. Seven days.
Nora looked over from where she was writing measurements on the wall.
“Bad news?”
“No.”
She nodded and went back to her pencil marks.
At closing, she pulled the door shut and held out her hand for the keys. Grant passed them over.
“What time are you starting tomorrow?” she asked.
“Here?”
“No. Your drive.”
Grant looked down the empty sidewalk before answering.
“I’m leaving next Thursday…”
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