Читать книгу Redemption at Mirabelle - Helen Brenna - Страница 11

MARIN WOKE AT THE CRACK of dawn her first morning on Mirabelle and glanced at the clock. By this time back in Manhattan she’d have already read the Wall Street Journal while working out on her elliptical, showered and dressed, eaten breakfast, had three cups of coffee and caught up on email, phone messages and the up-to-the-minute financial news on CNBC.

How many times over the years had she intently watched those news reports waiting for changes in the Federal Reserve’s monetary policy? Then there were statistics on new home sales and jobless claims, along with the CPI, PPI and GDP. Any minute now the unemployment figures from last month were due to be released and every person on Wall Street was anticipating their next move in the financial markets.

Not your concern any longer, Mar.

She snuggled under the covers, closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. Instantly, the memory of how Adam Harding had looked in the moonlight last night flashed through her mind and her body came fully awake. Had she really been so frank with him as to suggest he was in denial? Yes, but then hadn’t he suggested she was nothing more than a drama queen? The man had balls, she’d give him that. After shifting from one side to the other, flopping onto her back and then onto her stomach, she realized more sleep was simply not on her horizon.

She hopped out of bed and grabbed her cell phone to find Colin had already called twice this morning. Too bad. After shutting off her phone, she went downstairs to find her mother already up and sipping a cup of coffee in the kitchen, the patio door open to the sounds of chirping birds. “Morning, Mom.”

“Good morning.” She glanced at Marin. “Sleep well?”

“Actually, very.” Marin poured herself a cup of coffee and noticed the sun rising over Lake Superior. A thin strip of hazy clouds obstructed an otherwise clear sky and in the distance she could just make out the shape of some kind of huge cargo ship heading, no doubt, to the port of Duluth.

“Isn’t the view stunning?” her mother murmured.

“Yeah.” Marin took a sip of coffee. Curious about those unemployment figures, she reached to turn on the small TV on the kitchen counter.

“Don’t you dare turn that on.”

“Why not?”

“The last thing I want to hear over the sweet chirping of chickadees and cardinals is the drone of CNBC.” Marin laughed.

“Sit down and relax.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Marin—”

“I’m going to work out.” Figuring there wasn’t a gym on Mirabelle, she put on her running gear. A glass of water and a yogurt later and she was outside stretching in preparation for a run. It was a gorgeous morning. Crisp, cool and she simply could not get over how clean the air smelled. She was bent down touching the sidewalk with her fingertips when the front door of the Harding house opened and Adam came outside.

Dressed in khakis and striped polo shirt, he looked cool and composed. Except for the fact that his still damp hair hung haphazardly over his forehead. “Morning,” he said, a travel mug in one hand and a roll of what looked like some kind of building designs under his arm.

“Hi.”

“You run every day?”

“No, I have an elliptical at home and a gym membership. Running’s my stopgap.”

He smiled and headed toward the street. “Do a few sit-ups for me, okay?”

From what she could tell, the man got enough of a work-out on the job. Sit-ups didn’t appear to be the least bit necessary. “Will do,” she said, in any case, as she headed toward the street. “Who’s taking care of your kids?”

“My assistant, Phyllis. For now, anyway.” He hit the boardwalk at about the same time as did she. “Hey, and about last night,” he said. “Sorry about what I said. I had no right to make light of what you’re going through.”

“No worries. Besides, I’m the one who should apologize. I was pretty blunt back at you.”

“You live your life. I’ll live mine.” His cell phone rang. “I have to answer this. Have a good run.” Without taking his eyes off her, he answered the call.

As she took off down the canopied residential street, a breeze came toward her bringing along with it the scent of a man’s spicy aftershave. Damn, but that man smelled good. Was it wrong for her to want to turn around and bury her face in his neck? She almost stopped and turned, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he just might still be watching her.

“WHY HAVEN’T YOU STARTED doing anything yet?”

“Where are all these crews you promised us?”

“Start construction already, would ya?”

Adam sat at a table at the front of a large room in the community center, letting the islanders spill their guts for several long and drawn-out minutes. Several members of Mirabelle’s city council were sitting alongside him, trying to keep the audience calm. On Adam’s right were Carl Andersen, mayor and owner of the Rock Pointe Lodge, the largest resort on the island, and Garrett Taylor, the island police chief. Sarah Taylor, Garrett’s sister-in-law and island wedding planner, and Marty Rousseau, manager of the Mirabelle Island Inn, were off to the left.

Carl, Marty and, to a lesser degree, Sarah, had been on board with Adam and his company from the initial phone call Carl had put in to Adam’s company asking for a bid. Garrett, on the other hand, was still skeptical about working with one general contractor.

While Adam would’ve preferred not holding these meetings at all, he’d learned the hard way over the years that he could either face everyone at once at a time of his own choosing, or he could deal with them one at a time over the phone. Day in and day out.

Questions came at Adam like rifle fire, but he was used to this kind of reaction, at least initially. It had been the same in each and every community he’d rebuilt, especially at the beginning of every job. Everyone in this filled-to-capacity room was worried. Everyone was impatient. Everyone wanted his or her house repaired, street fixed or business up and running first. They wanted their lives back as quickly as possible and it was hard to fault any of them for being human.

“All right. All right.” Adam finally stood and held up both hands. He connected eye-to-eye with as many individuals in the room as possible. His gaze caught with Missy Abel’s and he found himself unaccountably searching for her sister, Marin. As he recalled her fresh, energetic appearance in running gear at the start of this very long and drawn out day, he forgot what he’d been saying, and everyone in the room stared at him expectantly.

Oh, right. Questions.

“One person at a time, so I can hear you,” he continued. “I will answer questions until every person in this room is completely satisfied. I promise.”

Hands flew into the air.

Adam made it a point to memorize as many names as he could prior to starting every job. If there was one thing that helped people in these situations feel better, it was being treated like a person as opposed to a number. He pointed first at an older man in the front row who owned buildings on Main Street that had gotten hit head-on in the storm. “Ron Setterberg, correct?”

The man nodded. “How long before you’ll know if my buildings are structurally sound?”

Adam felt Garrett glance sideways at him. The worse the structural damage, the longer repairs would take, and Ron’s buildings had suffered some of the heaviest damage from the storm. Garrett’s wife, Erica, owned Duffy’s Pub, the most popular bar and restaurant on the island which also happened to have been located in the hardest hit of Ron’s buildings.

“I have a crew of experts making assessments as we speak,” Adam said. “They have assured me they will have their findings on every single building impacted by the tornado ready for me by the end of the week—”

“But what’s your gut feel?” Garrett blurted out.

Adam turned to the man sitting next to him. “I’m sorry, Chief Taylor, but I don’t guess when it comes to ensuring people’s safety. I deal strictly with facts. By the time we’re finished here, I will personally guarantee you that every building will be one hundred percent safe to be open for business.”

Adam held Garrett’s gaze. He’d never been stared down by a police chief, and Garrett Taylor was one intimidating man.

“How will you communicate these findings?” Ron asked.

He caught Missy’s gaze again. Marin apparently wasn’t here. He took a deep breath and continued. “My admin team has already set up a Mirabelle website which is noted in the pamphlet of information you were given when you walked into the room. This site will be updated at the end of every day with any notices or changes in project status. The experts’ findings will be posted on this website as soon as we have them.”

He’d learned the hard way on his first job that a website was the only way to minimize the chances of getting woken up at ungodly hours with anxious phone calls. So he’d hired a communications specialist to update the website and field calls who was based at the home office outside of St. Louis, along with his accounting staff.

“You can call me directly, if you prefer,” Adam went on. “But you’ll likely get my voice mail given the amount of time I spend on the jobsite. I do return every single call, but it might take a few days. You’re more likely to get the information you need in the timeliest manner from the website. The website knows what I know.”

Ron nodded, as did several others in the audience.

Adam pointed to a middle-aged woman in the third row looking as if she was going to bite his head off. Another thing he’d learned? It didn’t do any good to try and stall the disgruntled. “Delores, you have a question?”

“I own the—”

“Bayside Café with the reputation for the best cheeseburgers in Wisconsin,” he said giving her a slight smile. “Yes, Mrs. Kowalski, I know.”

With that acknowledgment, a little of the heat had gone out of her gaze. “Well, I’m losing more than just tourist business right now. I’m missing local business and I could be servicing your construction crews, as well. Why can’t the Bayside get repaired right away? We didn’t have that much damage.”

“That’s a good point. Your café is scheduled to be one of the first businesses completely up and running. I guarantee that.” But it still wouldn’t happen fast enough for her. Nothing ever happened fast enough for people whose livelihood had been destroyed. “The priorities as stated in our bid will be…first businesses crucial to the day to day lives of the island residents. The businesses that are geared toward tourism will be lower priorities given this is the off-season—”

“But what about our fall Apple Festival?” someone called out from the audience. “That’s a big weekend.”

“And the snowmobilers?”

“Not to mention the skiers and snowshoers?”

Heads bobbed up and down in agreement, and Adam could’ve sworn he heard Garrett growl beside him.

“I understand everyone’s concerns.” He looked around the room. “Believe it or not, I’ve studied your hotel occupancy reports. I know which weekends are the busiest. My crews and I will do our best to have as many businesses up and running by the Apple Festival, but our agreement for full functionality was Christmas.”

That met with murmurs of disgruntled acceptance.

“Remember, folks, our biggest enemy in this process is going to be the weather,” he said, glancing out over the entire group. “Our goal is to repair all exterior structural damage, such as roofs, windows and doors, and outside walls well before the first snowfall. Then we can concentrate on interior repair.”

He pointed to an older woman in the front row. Mrs. Miller. Before she opened her mouth, based on her pursed lips and superior air, he would’ve put money on her being a bad apple in the group.

“You’ve been here more than a week, and it looks to me as though nothing is getting done. I could probably fix my ice cream shop faster myself.”

He was tempted to tell her to go ahead and try and he’d have one less thing to worry about, but that wouldn’t solve anything. “Well, Mrs. Miller, it looks as though things are moving slowly because, quite frankly, they are. For now. We’re still organizing things, making assessments, and getting supplies ordered and delivered. When my core construction workers are operating at full steam, things will come together pretty fast. If you still have a complaint two to three weeks from now, you let me know.”

And she would. He had no doubt about that.

He answered dozens of questions before the group seemed to start running out of steam. Several people had already left or were standing up to leave.

“One more thing,” said Missy Abel. “What can we do to help?”

Adam smiled at Marin’s sister. Already, he liked some of these islanders much more than others, but unfortunately, Missy’s store, Whimsy, wasn’t going to be one of the first businesses back up and running. “The most important thing you can all do is to be patient. The less time I have to spend making you all happy, the more time I have for making your community whole again. If you happen to have construction experience, that’s a different story.

“I’ll hire anyone who knows what he’s doing. Understand that you will be working for me. Taking orders from my foremen. If you can work toward a common goal rather than setting your own agenda please see me after this meeting.”

More people left. “I want you all to know that I will have Mirabelle one hundred percent open for business by Christmas. We’ll have to put a few finishing touches on in the spring, but she’ll be better than ever by Memorial Day and the start of your tourist season. Thanks for coming.”

“That went pretty good,” Carl said.

“Yeah, not bad.” Adam gathered up his files.

“If there’s anything at all you need…”

“I’ll call.”

Carl nodded and headed toward the door while Sarah and Garrett hung back. “You got a second?” Garrett asked.

“Sure.” Adam turned and reminded himself that the intimidation radiating off this man was all because he cared deeply about this island and its residents. “What can I do for you two?”

“My brother, Jesse, is the best carpenter on the island,” Garrett said.

“Jesse’s my husband,” Sarah added. “He couldn’t be here tonight, but I know he’d want to work for you.”

“Tell him to stop by my trailer as soon as he can and we’ll figure out what crew to put him on.”

“No references, or resume?” Sarah asked.

“Nope. I don’t say this about everyone I meet, but your word’s good enough for me.” He paused and turned to Garrett. “By the way, Duffy’s was in a pretty old building. The layout of the place was a bit antiquated by today’s standards. It wouldn’t cost any more for you and Erica to sit down with an architect and tweak the designs a bit. It might even save some money.”

Garrett nodded. “That’s a damned good idea. I never did like the fact that I couldn’t see the lake from the bar.”

“There’s your silver lining.” Adam patted him on the back. With the way this project was going, he had a feeling he was going to need every friend he could get.