South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [40]
“What does that mean?”
Terry shrugged.
“I’m sure you’ll get paid,” Madeline lied, because of course Gladys was as good as her word. “But taking her to court—come on. She’s trying to take care of her sister and she’s having trouble keeping Up. You should see what they charge for a day in rehab. Stuff like this happens and things fall apart.” Look at what she and Emmy had gone through, trying to keep things together. Sometimes it was almost impossible.
“That is not my problem. Do you have any idea how many Unpaid accounts there are? I can’t afford it!”
A man in a striped shirt joined her at the register. Her husband, Alex. “I can afford it,” he said. (But Madeline wondered. How like a man, especially this sort of man, to claim a wealth he didn’t actually possess.) “I’m just not going to. Half these people Up here expect a free handout and I’m not going to provide it, not for Gladys Hansen or that old drunk Emil, or anyone. And Randi’s got plenty of ways to make a buck from what I hear. You might as well not come begging for any of them.”
Madeline wanted to dive across the counter and strangle him. When she managed to speak, her voice was Uneven. “You know what? I think you’re pathetic. You’re a pathetic, self-righteous loser. You may be in the right legally, but you are just wrong out here in the world where I live. To Hell with you.”
She turned and stalked out. Her heart was racing and she felt her pulse everywhere, in her throat and wrists and legs. God, she hated smug people. What business was it of his if Emil drank? At least Emil wasn’t an Uptight, supercilious pig! Besides that, Alex Benson drank plenty himself and lost at cards too, from what she’d heard working at Garceau’s. And he should be careful what he insinuated about Randi’s habits, given his own reputation for trying to feel Up the female employees. Why, Verna Callihan had quit over it not a month ago, Madeline thought with indignation, though she had only heard this secondhand and had never met Verna.
She marched back to her car and slammed the door, then sat panting in fury. One good thing, Gladys would’ve been proud of her for telling them off. But of course she wasn’t going to tell Gladys. Gladys would kill her if she knew Madeline had not only presumed to go peacekeeping, but also failed at it.
Humiliation started to seep in. What had she been thinking, to put herself in such a stupid position? Of course the Bensons weren’t going to say, Okay, we’ll back off since you’ve asked so nicely. That had just been a really bad idea of Paul’s. Why had she listened?
Madeline huffed in aggravation and closed her eyes, wishing she could hit rewind and Undo the last half hour. Eventually she felt a breeze pat her cheek through the open window, heard the lake sloshing into shore, the gulls keening. She opened her eyes and gazed at the Hotel Leppinen. She longed to climb Up to the attic, get out her sketchbook, and draw Until she forgot this humiliation. The idea was so appealing. The key to the back door was sitting in the ashtray of her car, where she’d put it after that second time she Used it. She told herself that when Gladys did ask for the key, it would be most natural if it was there. It would seem as if she’d never Used it without permission at all, seem as if it had sat in the car ever since the first errand. It would seem that way to herself as well as to Gladys. That was human nature, right? To justify things, to believe its own half-truths and evasions? And what harm could there be in going in? None. Gladys wouldn’t even care. Probably.
Madeline had been Up in the attic for nearly half an hour when something clicked into place in her head. Scattered phrases replayed themselves:
Maybe we ought to count ourselves lucky that someone wants to buy.
They’re bullies, that’s what, they think they can have whatever they want, whenever they want it.
That is, Unless she’s willing to negotiate.
The Bensons wanted the hotel. It had to be. Frowning, Madeline put her pencil down. It was a horrible thought.