Chapter 9 - The Rebuilding
By Monday morning, the fallout from Thanksgiving dinner moved with terrifying speed through the regional business community.
Skyler officially tendered her resignation to Larkfield Home Goods, citing material non-disclosure of financial liabilities by the board of directors. Deprived of her $200,000 equity injection and facing an immediate credit freeze from Ashford Freight, Larkfield’s board was forced to declare emergency restructuring. Harlan Voss was ousted as chairman by angry shareholders three days later.
On Tuesday afternoon, Skyler drove down to Birch Street and walked into my flower shop. The air inside smelled of wet spruce, pinecones, and fresh winter lilies. I was standing at the zinc worktable, arranging a center basket for a local church holiday drive.
Skyler set two hot coffees on the table and looked around the warm, sunlit space with entirely new eyes.
“It’s beautiful here, Wendy,” she said softly, touching the soft petal of a white lily. “I never really stopped to look at it before. I was always so focused on checking the next box.”
“It’s a good place to think,” I smiled, setting my shears down and picking up my coffee cup.
“I turned down two interviews in Charlotte this morning,” Skyler said, leaning against the table. “I don't want to go back into corporate environments where people treat human beings like numbers on a spreadsheet.”
I watched her for a moment, seeing the sharp, analytical brilliance that my mother had pushed toward status, now freed from the pressure of family expectations.
“Ashford Freight is expanding its regional cold-storage logistics division in January,” I said casually, taking a sip of coffee. “We’re opening a brand-new regional operations hub in Asheville. I need an Executive Vice President of Operations who knows how to manage people with integrity, who understands regional supply chains, and who isn't afraid to tell me when my plans look tidy on paper but won't work on the road.”
Skyler stared at me, her mouth slightly open. “Are you... are you offering me a job?”
“I’m offering you an interview with Talia,” I corrected with a slight grin. “She’s tough. She doesn't care who your family is. But the starting salary is two hundred and twenty thousand, full benefits, and you won't have to buy your own equity.”
Tears welled up in Skyler’s eyes, but this time she laughed, reaching across the table to hug me tightly across the eucalyptus branches. “Thank you, Wendy.”
“Don't thank me,” I said, hugging her back. “You earned the skill set. I’m just giving you a proper place to use it.”
A week later, my father came to the shop alone. He walked in quietly, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets, looking around at the buckets of roses and winter greens. He stood near the counter for a long time, watching me tie a silk ribbon around a wreath.
“Your mother is struggling, Wendy,” Dad said softly, his voice low and heavy. “She hasn't left the house much. She doesn't know how to talk to people right now.”
“She spent thirty years trying to control how the world saw our family, Dad,” I said gently, continuing my work with the ribbon. “It’s exhausting work. Maybe it’s time she stopped.”
Dad looked down at the zinc tabletop, tracing a line in the metal with his thumb. “I read about Ashford Freight in the business journal this morning. They called you one of the most effective logistics founders in the Southeast.” He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a quiet, lingering sadness. “I sat on that chair ten years ago and let your mother tell you that you weren't built for big things. I’m sorry, Wendy. I should have looked closer. I should have backed you.”
May you like
I looked at my father—a man who had spent his life keeping the peace by agreeing with my mother’s noise.
“Thank you for saying that, Dad,” I said quietly. “It means a lot. Truly.”
