Kirk puts his glasses back on. “I was up all night thinking about it. I might have another year with my girl. I’ve worked my whole damn life to provide this woman with the best life I could give her, and the only thing I can give her now is my time.” He rolls his chair back in distress. “The thought of her home, dying, while I run in here to check things or having my attention distracted because of an auction . . . I can’t do it, Palmer. I owe her the best of me—all of me.”

“I understand.”

I don’t, because I’m not Kirk, but oh, to be loved as much as Charlotte is.

“I haven’t made up my mind. This is a lot of information to process in a day. And I worry about you guys finding new jobs and all of that, but . . .” His voice cracks. “But I want to be home, feeding her soup and telling her how beautiful she looks.”

Tears fill my eyes again. “As you should.”

“You’ll be the first to know when I make a decision. But I need to get home and figure out what we need to do now.”

“Absolutely.”

“Just do me a favor and start testing the waters for a new job, okay?”

I nod.

I’m numb, unable to grasp the enormity of what he’s just said.

Charlotte is dying. Oh, God. Please help them. Please help my boss, my friend, and his sweet wife through this.

Tears wet my cheeks.

This is too much to process. My world has been turned on its axis.

How do I handle things at Skoolie’s, provide support for Kirk’s family, take care of Ethan, handle baseball practice, and look for a job and maybe a house? Because even though I know Kirk would never kick me out, what if he walks away from it all? What if he sells to someone who doesn’t give a shit?

My lips tremble as I cry quietly, my heartbreak for Kirk bleeding into fear for myself and my son too.

My brain switches to the men in the shop, who will also lose their jobs. How will their families survive? There aren’t a lot of jobs around here. It’s not like they can just switch careers and make the kind of money that Kirk pays them. And that money gets filtered around town—to Fletcher’s, to the gas station, to the bait shop, and to Bud’s Sporting Goods.

I hiccup a breath, not sure if I can still breathe.

The weight of the situation slams onto my shoulders like a boulder rolling down a mountain. I think I might collapse.

If I don’t run this place perfectly, if I don’t make this work, we’ll all suffer.