Which meant that for now, his father was going to hear a lot more from his son.
After their morning workout, Emerson and Ali had grabbed smoothies from the juice bar. Emerson had sipped hers while Ali gave her own version of a pep talk involving several cuss words and a hokey slap on the ass. But it had worked. She had arrived at the distillery ready to tackle the things she really didn’t want to.
The bookkeeper had called to remind her that all the paperwork and receipts were due to him by the end of tomorrow, before he took off on a two-week vacation to hike to Machu Picchu. She’d gathered all the bank statements, unopened letters, and everything else ready to drop off on her way to work the next day.
Now there was just one thing left to do. Deal with the insurance company. It was six days since she’d realized they hadn’t been notified of the change of owner. Six days where she’d ruminated tackling it while she’d simultaneously berated herself for not doing it. Before she could talk herself out of it, she dialed the number.
At first, she was passed from pillar to post, explaining her reason for calling only to be told she was speaking to the wrong department. Finally, exasperation overwhelmed her.
“As I just told your colleague Jennifer, I simply need to change the contact details on the insurance policy,” Emerson said, her patience stretched tighter than the vapors in the heads of the gin. She rested her forehead in her hand and shook her head.
Yet again, she’d been hit with a wall of bureaucracy. Official papers needed to be filed to show that the person named as the representative of the company had changed. “All I need to do is change one name…from Paul Dyer to Emerson Dyer. Same last name. I’m his daughter and have taken over the company.”
She listened as Andrew, the person on the end of the line, rattled off scripted lines about protection of private information, which she knew well and understood. What she needed was instructions on how to prove she was who she said she was, so she could get on with negotiating the claim soon.
“Look, please just tell me what documentation you need, and where I need to send it,” she said, cutting Andrew off. When she had what she needed, she thanked them curtly and hung up.
“Problems?” Jake asked, walking into her office, holding two cups. He handed one to her, and she took a sip of the scalding hot tea, wincing as it hit her tongue.
“The frigging insurance company was giving me the run around. All I want to know is when we can expect the check for the hall. I’m not asking them for the serial number of the dollar bills they’ll pay it with.”
Jake scoffed. “You know it’ll just be a bank transfer, right? You’re a CEO, not a stripper.”
“Funny. And so typical men think a dollar is a good enough tip for titillation. If I ever ran a strip club, there’d be a ten-dollar minimum tip. Holy fudge nuggets. I had no idea Dad had to deal with all this stuff.”
She blew on her cup of tea to cool it a little before taking another sip.
“Anyway, the service engineer for Constance just arrived,” Jake said. “I’ll let you know what he says.” He was gone as quickly as he’d arrived.
Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.
Instead of her usual memory of a family trip to the Adirondacks where she and her father had sat and watched the sunset one evening, Connor’s face came to mind. They’d messaged occasionally over the weekend. She’d been concerned on Saturday evening…he’d not seemed quite like his usual ebullient self. He’d assured her it was a work problem that was on his mind, and boy, did she know how that went.
Four hours later, she knew two things. The first was that Constance would be out of order for three more days due to the part required to fix her being unavailable. The second was that she had a meeting on Friday with the business manager at the bank to ask for a loan.
“I’m out,” Jake said, walking into her office and taking a seat.
“If you’re out, why are you sitting down?” Emerson replied.
Jake took his beanie off and ran his hand through his hair. Worry creased the corners of his eyes. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. Handling your old job, taking on Dad’s job. And I know a lot of it is new to you. Plus, Constance being off-line for so long. Are you doing okay?”
Emerson thought through the question before answering. “Not going to lie, I feel like I’ve bounced from task to task the last couple of months. I try to make a plan each morning, but by eleven it’s in the trash.”
Jake leaned back in the chair. “Do you remember what we agreed the day after the funeral?”
Memories of the three of them standing in their father’s living room, experiencing the silence that came after loss.
“We agreed that for six months, we’d just keep the company going, right?” Jake said.
Emerson shrugged slightly. “I know, but—”
“There is no but, Em. Anxiety and depression have swallowed Liv whole and spit out a shell of the girl she used to be. I don’t want to see that happen to you, too. The six months was for us to grieve. For us to take mental health days any time we needed them. Is it great that Dyer’s Medallion is doing so well? Yes. Will the distillery still be here next year if we have to turn down an order or two? Yes.”
Jake ran his hand through his hair again, something he’d done since he was little when he was worried. She wanted to reassure him. He hadn’t seen the books like she had, not in the detail she had. They were busting their butt, and yes, they were able to pay everyone’s
