Chapter 3 — Gertie’s Plea

Lily

Lily Harper stared at the glowing screen of her laptop, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. The cursor blinked at her impatiently, like a quiet reprimand for her lack of focus. She had been staring at the same paragraph for ages, the manuscript she needed to edit blurring in her mind. Instead, her thoughts drifted—unbidden yet persistent—to the rooftop announcement from earlier that evening.

The memory replayed in pieces: Mr. Tate’s strained voice as he delivered the news, the ripple of shocked murmurs from her neighbors. The building was being sold. Their building. Families could lose their homes, the mismatched charm of the rooftop garden could be replaced by soulless luxury spaces, and the small but vital community they had built here might scatter like leaves in the wind.

Lily clenched her jaw, forcing herself to push the rising anxiety away. There was nothing practical about dwelling on what she couldn’t control. No amount of worry would stop the sale. As much as the news disturbed her, she couldn’t afford to throw herself into Ethan Blake’s chaotic campaign. Rallying tenants, fighting developers—it was all so… disorganized. And disorganization was not something Lily tolerated in her carefully balanced life. Deadlines loomed, responsibilities piled up like laundry she’d forgotten to fold, and the thought of stepping into the whirlwind Ethan seemed to thrive in was enough to make her stomach churn.

A soft but insistent knock at her door broke through her thoughts. She froze, her gaze darting toward the entrance. For a moment, she considered staying quiet, pretending she wasn’t home. But the knock came again, this time more deliberate. With a sigh, she stood, smoothing the front of her cardigan as she crossed the room.

When she opened the door, there stood Mrs. Gertie, her floral dress slightly wrinkled beneath her pastel cardigan. The elderly woman’s twinkling blue eyes, magnified by thick glasses, were filled with a steely determination that belied her usual warmth. In one hand, she held a plate of cookies, the smell of lavender and sugar drifting into the hallway.

“Mrs. Gertie,” Lily said, mustering a polite smile. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, no, dear.” Gertie shook her head with a dramatic sigh. “Nothing’s quite right, and that’s exactly why I’m here.” Without waiting for an invitation, she shuffled inside, the plate precariously balanced as she made her way to the coffee table as though she owned the place.

Lily blinked, momentarily stunned by her neighbor’s unabashed confidence, before closing the door. When she turned, Gertie had already settled into one corner of the small sofa, sitting upright but comfortable, her hands folded primly in her lap.

“Would you like some tea, Mrs. Gertie?” Lily asked, her voice automatically falling into polite hostess mode as she moved toward the kettle on the counter. The familiar motions of brewing tea were a welcome distraction from her guest’s unexpected visit.

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Gertie replied, her tone pleasant but laden with purpose.

As the kettle began to hum, Lily felt the faint tension in her shoulders rise. Mrs. Gertie was rarely this direct, even when she was doling out advice or slyly meddling in tenants’ lives. Whatever had brought her here tonight was clearly important. Steeling herself, Lily carried the two steaming teacups to the sofa, setting them down on coasters before taking a seat.

Gertie accepted her tea with a small nod of thanks, but her gaze was sharp as it fixed on Lily. “I’m not going to mince words, dear. We need your help.”

Lily stiffened, immediately wary. “Help with what?” she asked, though she already suspected the answer.

“With saving the building, of course,” Gertie said, her voice calm but resolute. “This place isn’t just apartments and rent checks. It’s a home. A family.”

Lily’s fingers tightened around her teacup. “I understand how important the building is, Mrs. Gertie. It’s important to me too. But I’m not sure what I can do. I’m not exactly… the rallying type.”

“Oh, I know that,” Gertie said with a soft chuckle, her expression softening. “We don’t need someone shouting into a megaphone. We need someone who can think clearly, keep everyone organized, and make sure this campaign doesn’t spiral into chaos. And you, my dear, are the most organized person I know.”

Heat prickled at the edges of Lily’s cheeks. Compliments always unsettled her, especially when they came with expectations. She looked down at her tea, focusing on the faint swirl of steam. “Ethan seems enthusiastic enough to lead,” she said carefully. “He doesn’t seem to need much help.”

Gertie let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Enthusiastic, yes. Organized? Not a chance. That boy’s got energy in spades, but it’s all scattered. He needs balance. Someone steady and thoughtful—someone like you.”

Lily hesitated, her protest caught somewhere in her throat. Gertie leaned forward then, placing her teacup on the table with a soft clink. Her voice softened, taking on a wistful tone.

“Let me tell you a story, Lily. When my Harold and I first moved into this building, we didn’t have much. Just a beat-up guitar, a few suitcases, and a dream that seemed far out of reach. Harold was a musician, you know. He used to sit on that rooftop, strumming his guitar, writing songs that no one but me ever heard. We didn’t have money, but we had this place. These neighbors. This community. It made us feel… less alone.”

Her hand drifted to the delicate gold locket around her neck. She opened it with practiced ease, revealing a tiny black-and-white photograph of a younger Gertie and Harold, their faces alight with laughter. “Harold used to say the walls of this building absorbed everything—the music, the laughter, the love. That’s what made it a home. That’s what makes it worth fighting for.”

Lily’s throat tightened, an ache rising in her chest. Her gaze dropped to the floor as memories she’d spent years burying began to surface—her parents’ whispered arguments about overdue bills; the day a foreclosure notice arrived in the mail. The helplessness she’d felt as her carefully constructed engagement collapsed into chaos.

She had spent so long building walls to keep that kind of instability out of her life. And now, here was Gertie, gently asking her to step into the very thing she feared most.

“That’s a beautiful sentiment,” Lily said at last, her voice quiet. “But sentiment isn’t enough to stop a developer.”

“It’s a start,” Gertie countered. Her tone was firm but kind, her gaze steady. “And with your help, it could be more than that. Ethan might be the spark, but you, Lily, are the one who can turn it into a fire.”

The kettle’s whistle broke the silence, and Lily rose to refill their cups, grateful for the brief reprieve. As she moved to the counter, her eyes fell on her leather-bound planner, sitting where she’d left it, its embossed initials catching the light. The sight of its color-coded tabs used to bring her comfort; now, it felt like a reminder of everything she might lose if she let go.

When she returned to the sofa, she set her cup down, her movements deliberate. “I’ll think about it,” she said softly, meeting Gertie’s gaze.

A small smile spread across Gertie’s face, one of quiet satisfaction. “That’s all I ask, dear. Just think about it.”

She rose slowly, her hands steady as she patted Lily’s arm. “And don’t forget to eat a cookie. Lavender and sugar—they’re good for the soul.”

Lily managed a faint smile, walking her to the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Gertie. For the cookies… and the story.”

As the door closed behind her neighbor, Lily leaned against it, her thoughts a tangled web of doubt and possibility. She glanced at her planner again—the structure it represented, the control it promised. And yet… Gertie’s words lingered, soft but insistent.

For the first time in a long while, Lily felt the faintest flicker of something she couldn’t quite name. Uncertainty, yes. But also, perhaps, the faintest glimmer of hope.