Dakota Blues Box Set

by Lynne M Spreen

Peggy waved over her shoulder as Karen shut the door.

  Chapter 5

  Back in her room at the Montage, Reyna flopped on the bed. Her head ached from the long afternoon at Karen’s. After the week at the Newport office, she felt as beat up as the dead drone.

  In a rare ebb of her warrior spirit, Reyna’s enthusiasm waned. She wished she were home at the converted garage she rented in Novato, an hour north of San Francisco. It was tiny, just a living room/kitchen combo, bedroom, and bath, but compared to the shack she grew up in, roomy enough. If she wanted company, her landlady was okay to visit with.

  Reyna had lucked into the rental. While jogging one morning, she noticed an elderly woman working in her front yard. The woman wore a babushka tied under her chin. Her back was bent as she struggled to stake up unruly foxglove. Reyna hurried over and offered to help. With an apple-dumpling smile, the woman handed her a set of clippers. The two labored side-by-side under the warm sun. Reyna couldn’t recall a happier time in several years. When the trimming and staking was done, they carried a load of clippings past the converted garage to the trash cans on the side yard.

  The garage looked vacant. When she asked about renting, the woman invited her in for a cup of tea.

  The main house was a sixty-year-old two-bedroom with one bath. Its location guaranteed a value of a million dollars, but the landlady refused to sell, having too many memories of a happy marriage and motherhood there. Her three were good children, she said, coming around often to help with home maintenance or yardwork, but they didn’t stay. The garage had been vacant until Reyna appeared.

  A few months after moving in, she asked permission to create a vegetable garden in the back yard. She loved putting on a big hat and sinking her fingers into the soil, tying up a vine, or pulling weeds as the sun warmed her back. Her mother always kept a garden, and it fed the family. Her daughters helped, although they complained. Now, Reyna would give anything to garden with her sisters again.

  The tomatoes would soon be ready to pick. Her landlady’s kids often got to the ripe vegetables first, but Reyna didn’t mind. There was enough for everybody.

  With her long hours and the commute, her weeks were rough. Work all day, get home late, have a light dinner and fall in bed, only to get up the next morning and do it all over again. Luckily, she was still young enough to miss a bunch of sleep and not have it bother her. Much.

  Reyna had seen her mother’s spirit broken by endless labor, so she tried to relax on the weekends. Her bookshelf, constructed of plywood planks and cinder blocks, sagged with the weight of literary novels and business tomes. She allowed herself the minor indulgence of a subscription to a video streaming service to keep up with the latest movies. Her DVD library contained yoga and meditation titles.

  Reyna sat up. Almost time for dinner. She intended to order room service and then work until bedtime. She called Lou.

  “I’m downstairs in the bar,” he said. “They’ve got live music. Why don’t you join me?”

  “I’d love to, but I’ve got files spread out all over my room.”

  “Reyna, it’s Saturday night. No one’s working. Wrap it up and get down here.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I won’t be going back north with you tomorrow morning. After talking with Karen today, I decided to hang around, lean on her a bit, and make sure she follows through. Otherwise, it’ll be status quo and nothing will happen.”

  “You worry too much,” Lou said. “Karen’ll do what she’s told, even if she disagrees with you.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Reyna’s mouth formed a straight line. Lou hadn’t picked up on the older woman’s resistance. “I suspect she’s going to try to shove that crazy software idea down our throats. I want to head her off.”

  “You really think she’s going to try to get around the layoffs?”

  “I do.”

  “That Karen. Always looking out for the little guy,” said Lou. “Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad about this, but it’s necessary.”

  “That’s what I believe, too.”

  “Unless she finds us a pile of money some other way.” Lou sounded louder than usual.

  Reyna held the phone a few inches from her ear. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “And between you and me, Karen lets her feelings get in the way. That’s always been a problem. Are you with me? Don’t you see that as a problem?”

  “I suppose it can be.” Reyna thought he sounded drunk.

  “She’s not like us. We see the big picture, you and me. When push comes to shove, we don’t have any problem saying, ‘Hell with the little guy.’ Am I right or what?”

  Reyna closed her eyes. Lou didn’t have a clue who she was or where she’d come from. That she’d learned table manners from watching etiquette videos on YouTube, studied books on how to make small talk, and developed her clothing sense from reading the magazines she stole from the local beauty salon. She purchased designer clothing second-hand from consignment stores, and clipped coupons from her landlady’s newspaper.

  Her mother, widowed when Reyna was twelve, still lived in that shack in Fresno. Her father had been mowing the front yard when he was gunned down by a kid trying to earn his place in a gang.

  Every month, Reyna sent part of her paycheck to help support her younger sisters. Two of them worked part-time while taking classes at the community college. The third had returned home pregnant. They all needed help.

  Reyna had gotten out. She was the lucky one.

  Everything Lou believed about her was incorrect.

  He broke into her thoughts. “So you’re not coming downstairs?”

  “I need to work.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll see you back up north in a few days.”

  “Lou, wait.” She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “You said when I get this done, you’d name me VP. I want to make sure you’re still on board for that.”

  “You deliver and then we’ll talk.”

  “Not good enough. I want a guarantee.” Her words sounded strong, but her heart pounded in her throat.

  “What’s it worth to the company?”

  She named a figure, waiting while he thought about it. Cymbals clashed in the background as the jazz ensemble went wild. When they finished, the line went silent.

  “Lou? Are you there?”

  “I’m here.” He paused for another long moment. Then: “Okay, gunslinger. You do that, you got the corner.”

  Reyna grinned into the phone. Finally, something was about to go right. “I’ll update you when I get back.”

  They hung up. Reyna threw the phone on the bed and danced around the room in her underwear.

  Chapter 6

  Karen drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Anywhere else in the country, you wouldn’t expect a Sunday morning to be a big traffic day, but on the Pacific Coast Highway, it never subsided. She sighed, curbing her impatience as she waited for the cars to start moving.

  Cleaning up after yesterday’s party, anger simmered within. Lou, Reyna, and the rest of them had spoken of cutting staff as if her people were firewood. Today, she would labor to make sure that didn’t happen.

  The security guard looked up from his phone as she walked by and jabbed the elevator button. The doors slid open to a foyer leading to one office, those of Global Health.

  She tapped in the code and pushed open the door, stopping to appreciate the lavish suite. Throughout the entire main room, floor-to-ceiling windows spanned every wall. Desks and cabinetry made of dark wood were decorated with lush green plants. The work stations, separated by low partitions, allowed a view of the ocean.

  She went to the break room, put on a pot of coffee, and activated the sound system. Smooth jazz filled the air. In her office, she pressed the remote to open her drapes. The tinted windows revealed a breathtaking panorama of Newport Harbor, from the jetty to the ocean. She sat in her leather chair, switched on her computer, and opened a folder of working notes on her hard drive. Excitement tingled
in her veins. Her software idea contained so much promise. If Global’s client hospitals and clinics went paperless, if they subscribed to a just-in-time reorder system, if they implemented a dozen other expense-shaving strategies, the company could save enough money to offset employee payrolls. And all those strategies were locked in an app she couldn’t quite get to work.

  Karen rested her chin in her hand and studied the code on her screen. Just last year, she earned a post-graduate degree in computer science. Although she was old enough to be the professor’s mother, the experience empowered and motivated her. She’d designed the software program as a lark, but soon realized its potential, especially when the economy went south.

  It served another purpose—a distraction from her failing marriage. Some people went to bars, some to counseling, but Karen went to her keyboard and fooled around with the program. It kept her from thinking about her problems. If it became a success and she patented and sold it, wouldn’t Steve be jealous.

  But the software could be quirky. A frustrated Karen went over the code again and again, tinkering and retesting.

  She thought about the people Lou wanted to fire. To him, they were just numbers on a payroll report. To her, they were mothers and fathers, young people crushed by student loans, and seniors who would lose their retirement if forced out of the job market. This recession looked like a bad one, hundreds of thousands of jobs lost every month, many never to return. Karen stared at the screen, trying permutation after permutation. Her shoulders ached. The tendonitis in her right elbow began to hurt.

  She persisted. She would do anything to keep her people from being tossed down that chute.

  But even Karen was human. Two hours later, she pushed up from her desk, stiff from sitting so long. She went to the kitchen for more coffee, staring out the window at the harbor. It seemed everyone was outside on this clear and balmy Sunday. Yachts, sailboats, and long-range battle wagons glided past the breakwater. A plane flew along the coastline, towing a banner. Something about gin. She watched the small craft head north toward L.A., imagining herself in the plane, the beach scene unfolding beneath her wings. She could see the waves washing up on the shore, where colorful umbrellas dotted the sand and family groups scattered along the waterline.

  That feeling again, almost of dizziness, as if the ground shifted slightly and tilted her off balance. It happened more now, when she allowed herself to stop running for a minute or two. A glimpse of a different life would flash before her eyes, as ephemeral as a whiff of jasmine from a summer vine.

  She sipped her coffee and searched the harbor for interesting yachts, wedding parties, hell, even a fight would do. Anything to avoid letting her escapist thoughts play out.

  But she couldn’t shake them.

  What would her life be like if she didn’t feel attached to Global, to the career she’d built here, to the habit of coming to this place every morning and cashing the paycheck every month? What if she decided to leave? Where would she go? How might she live?

  The bright sun reflected off the harbor, turning it into a path of diamonds.

  In the early years of her marriage, she and Steve bought a second-hand Bayliner, not big. A sixteen-footer with a red Bimini top. They launched it every Sunday at the Newport ramp and motored around the peninsula, eating a picnic lunch and ogling the expensive homes. Pointing out their favorites and thinking: someday.

  But then they grew too busy for harbor cruises. Someday came and went.

  She hadn’t minded working instead of playing. She loved her job. Loved the routine, the processes, the sense of being part of a team. But over the years, things changed. Work became work. The more she accomplished, the more the folks at corporate dumped on her. Did they not understand burnout? Did they not understand that even machines needed maintenance from time to time?

  Choices, Steve used to say. It’s all about choices.

  It’s about discipline, she’d argue. How well she remembered their debates.

  He might have been dressing for a Saturday round of golf, while she was already working in their home office. He’d lean against the doorjamb, shaking his head with pity at her failure to delegate, her insistence on holding the reins herself.

  She knew better than he the dynamics of her office and her staff. They already handled the maximum load possible.

  But Steve could not be convinced, so Karen stopped explaining long ago.

  She glanced back at the harbor, remembering their picnic lunches on the boat. The cool air fanned over them, the sound of water knocking at the hull. Waving at other boaters as they passed in the channel.

  Karen swallowed, her throat aching. Steve wouldn’t be working today. He was probably out on the boat with his young girlfriend.

  She sloshed the rest of her coffee down the sink. Unless she won the lottery, this job was all she had. She would be lucky to hang onto it.

  The software program was now more important than ever.

  She tapped at the keyboard, the office oddly silent behind her. She tried one thing after another, entering code and running tests. Code and test, code and test. Hours passed. She took a break for a sandwich, returned to her desk, and kept working. Her shoulders and neck grew stiff, her eyes blurry.

  As the sun moved across the sky and lowered toward the horizon, her thinking slowed. Her stomach growled. Without food and rest, she couldn’t do more. The time had come for her to give up and go home.

  She closed her laptop, hands resting on the cover. Her nail polish, an opalescent pink—perfect for yesterday’s party—had already begun to chip. Out in the harbor, a parade of boats motored homeward.

  The sky turned crimson as she walked through the deserted parking lot. On any other day, she would pause to admire the sunset. Tonight, her brain felt overloaded by HTML code.

  As she slid behind the wheel, her phone rang, her mother’s ringtone.

  “Hi, Mom.” Karen forced a smile into her greeting.

  “Honey, it’s Aunt Marie.”

  Karen’s pulse quickened. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your mother—”

  A long silence followed as Karen waited for her aunt to continue. Then, she understood. “No.”

  Aunt Marie began to cry.

  A few hours earlier, her mother had a heart attack. The folks in the ER weren’t able to help.

  Lena was gone.

  Karen listened, frozen in place. She had promised to see her mother. They’d spoken yesterday. She’d been alive just a few short hours ago.

  Now?

  No. That wasn’t possible.

  As Aunt Marie sobbed and stammered, Karen sat quietly, tears streaming down her face.

  “You’ll have to come home,” said her aunt.

  “I will,” Karen managed. “I’ll fly out tomorrow. Tuesday, at the latest. I’ll be there as soon as I possibly can.” Although why the rush now? Mom was gone. Karen would never again see the joy in her eyes at her daughter’s return. “Oh, God.”

  “I know, honey,” said Aunt Marie. “But don’t worry. It came fast. And she had signs over the past few months. She was ready. It’ll just be hard for us now.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

  “How could you be? Anyway, get some rest. Let me know when you’re coming and I’ll send Lorraine to pick you up at the airport.”

  “Okay.”

  “Try to think of Lena being happy now. She’s with Frank.”

  Karen hung up. Staring vacantly at her office building, she felt disoriented, as if she couldn’t remember having spent the whole day at the office. She put her hands on the wheel, her fingers numb to the cold leather. Slowly, she drove home, hardly aware of the traffic lights, wondering how she’d get through this, wondering what it was like for Aunt Marie, suddenly alone.

  Karen almost rammed the guy in front of her.

  Don’t think about it now, she told herself. You need to get home in one piece.

  She waited as the gate to her community swung open. The effort
to move her foot off the brake nearly overwhelmed her. The last colors had faded from the sky. Up and down the street, lights blinked on in homes. Families gathered for dinner, neighbors took their dogs out for the last walk of the day. The road wound past the golf course and the jogging paths to her dark house where she would grieve alone.

  But a car sat in her driveway.

  Steve’s.

  He stood on the front porch, waiting. She pulled in behind his car, staring through the window at the man who used to be her husband. Wondering why he was there, and then glad he was, despite his betrayal.

  She cut the motor and climbed out, leaving her briefcase on the seat, feeling too weary to care. She pushed the door closed with a tired click.

  His voice carried across the lawn. “Aunt Marie called me.”

  Karen shouldered her purse and trudged up the walk. She stopped in front of him, touched by the sadness in his face, and then remembering he loved Lena, too. She closed her eyes, swaying. He gathered her into his arms. Her purse dropped to the porch with a thud.

  “I’m so sorry.” He held her against his broad chest.

  Karen clung to him, inhaling the familiar fragrance of his cologne, her forehead pressed into the hollow of his neck. Letting out a long sigh, she sank into him, into the warmth of him. It felt so right, as if the whole nightmare of his leaving belonged in the past. As if it never happened.

  People weren’t meant to suffer alone. She closed her eyes and hung on.

  Chapter 7

  She lay quietly in the dark, her cheek against his arm, listening to him breathe. Despite the dark room, she could see his profile outlined against the dim glow of the street lamp. How well she knew his face, the arms that enfolded her now, the chest that gently rose and fell. She felt soft, relaxed, at peace. Well-loved. In the darkness, lying next to the warmth of him, hope bloomed. They would get by, somehow. Her heart had been broken, but a tiny green sprout now emerged from the wreckage, a filament of hope.

  They would talk, she thought, really talk, maybe after the funeral. Steve had never liked talking about feelings, but she would persist. She had let it go too long, this failure to communicate, and look where it got them.