I wanted to laugh, but when I saw Jessie, I stopped. She was near tears.
“I don’t want to be a mean person, but I’m just so frustrated all the time.”
“You’re stretched too thin,” I said. “You’re overreacting because of stress. Which won’t end until we get you outside help.”
We sat quietly mulling that impossibility.
“What about farther out? Have you checked beyond Denver?”
“I have. I couldn’t find anybody who wanted to be interviewed.”
“Well, that’s a crap sandwich,” said Ryan.
“Crap sandwich, crap sandwich!” shrieked the kids, giggling.
“Don’t say things like that in front of them,” Jessie said. “God, what are we going to do?”
“There’s one possibility,” I said.
Jessie shook her head. “No way.” Her fork stabbed into her pasta.
“Are we talking about your mother? She wants to help?” Ryan stopped eating. “Man, we should let her.”
“You don’t understand,” said Jessie. “Mother and I have issues.”
“‘Mother?’” I had never heard her refer to Sandy as such.
“Don’t read so much into it.” Jessie ran a finger around the lip of her wine glass. “I can see she’s trying to change, but that doesn’t involve us.”
“What happened was a long time ago,” said Ryan.
“When I was pregnant with Sunshine.”
“So, seven years. How long do you need?”
“I don’t know.” Jessie paused. “Maybe forever.”
“Come on,” said Ryan. “We’re desperate. You’re doing your best, babe, but I mean, send in the damn Marines, like now.”
Jessie glared at him. “Why did it take her so long to reach out to us?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she was healing? Maybe she was ashamed or didn’t have the guts,” he said. “She’s been through a lot, from what you said.”
“Who hasn’t?” Jessie said.
“You said she was, like, the Martha Stewart of her neighborhood,” said Ryan. “The country club and everything. Maybe she can teach us how to manage staff.”
“Oh, yeah, there’s an idea,” said Jessie. “Let’s have her come to my house and criticize me.”
“To be honest, I think you should try her,” I said. “There simply is no one else. You can keep her at arm’s length, personally. Just have her come a few days a week. If you’re too uncomfortable, you can ask her to leave. You could do it on a trial basis and it if isn’t good, no harm, no foul. Everybody walks away.”
“Would she be cool with that?” asked Ryan.
“Not Sandy,” said Jessie. “She’d want to move in and run the whole show.”
“Actually, I took the liberty of asking her. I laid it out as a possibility, and she said it sounded great.”
“And you believe her.”
I twirled my wine glass by the stem before answering. “Yes, I do.”
“Oh my God. She’s got you, now. Everybody thinks she’s a damned saint.”
“Come on, Jessie,” said Ryan. “All you have to do is say the word and life’ll be so much easier for all of us. You’ll be able to spend more time with the kids, and doing your work, and I’ll be able to focus better, and my wife will be happier...” He nudged her with an elbow. “Does your mother know how to cook?”
“Does a bear—never mind,” Jessie said.
“Ryan’s right,” I said. “Sandy could make your life easier, and she’s motivated. She is ready to go. All we have to do is call her.”
Jessie looked from one of us to the other, trapped.
Under the table, I crossed my fingers.
“And I can fire her anytime I want?”
I nodded emphatically. “The minute you’re uncomfortable.”
“I’m uncomfortable now, and we haven’t even asked her.”
Ryan glanced at me. I grimaced, hoping.
Jessie took a big swallow of red wine. Put her glass down. Stared at it a minute. “Fine, call her. But I don’t want her interfering, understand? You tell her she’s here to work, as an employee, and not to go involving herself in our personal life, okay? I don’t want her doing anything except what any other staff from the agency would be doing. Just follow orders, cash her paycheck, and go home.”
“I understand.”
“You’ll tell her that?”
I nodded. “I will. I’ll tell her exactly that.”
“Good,” Jessie said, “because I can’t.”
Chapter 23
JESSIE AND I SAT AT the kitchen table, waiting. She was fidgeting with her ponytail and cleaning her glasses over and over again.
“My mother, the maid. It’s ridiculous.”
I poured us a second cup of coffee. “Just tell her what you want and check in occasionally. Just like you do with your employees.” I was nervous, too, but not as bad as Jessie. She kept trying to list chores on a yellow pad in front of her, but as soon as she wrote something, she’d scratch it out.
“Let me look.” I turned the pad around. “This is all you have?”
“It’s all I can think of. My brain is frozen.”
The gate com-box beeped. Jessie shot up and pushed the button. Seconds later, Sandy’s Jeep appeared in the driveway.
Jessie brushed imaginary crumbs from her blouse and straightened her glasses.
I patted her arm. “She’s more nervous than you are.”
“Will you hang around while I get her started?”
I nodded.
Together we went to the front door. Sandy stood there in sweatpants, a tee shirt, and sneakers. Her face was bare of makeup; her smile cautious. She wore a messenger bag across her chest.
Jessie held the door open, avoiding direct eye contact.
The three of us took our positions at the kitchen table. Jessie offered her a cup of coffee, but Sandy declined. She slipped out from the bag strap and held it in her lap.
Jessie scooted her chair closer to the table, then back a half-inch. She wriggled around as if her slacks were too tight. “I guess we can get started.”
Sandy peered at the short list.
Jessie picked up the mechanical pencil and drummed it on the tablet. “So, okay. I was just getting started on my list, but off the top of my head, I would like you to clean everything visible from the front door, first. Uh, vacuuming, dusting, uh...”
Sandy waited, hands in her lap.
“Mopping?” I said.
“Yes. Definitely.” Jessie wrote mop on the tablet and sighed. “I feel so stupid. After all, you're my mother. I shouldn't be treating you like a maid.”
“I am a maid,” said Sandy. “All day long at the ranch, I clean stables. I shovel manure. This is a step up.”
“Okay. Okay, good.” Jessie nodded, staring at the pencil in her hand as if unsure how it got there. “So, um, vacuuming and dusting. Um.”
“I might have some ideas.” Sandy waved her hand in a circle, a gesture that took in the whole house. “May I look?”
Jessie shrugged.
“Back in a sec.” Sandy started at one end of the kitchen, surveying the room, opening and closing the pantry, the refrigerator, and the cabinet under the sink. Soundlessly, she slid open drawers, her movements taut and efficient.
I glanced at Jessie. Her eyes were closed, her face contorted as if her confession of housekeeping guilt were being read in the public square.
Sandy returned to the table, picked up the pencil, and quickly wrote six or seven items on the list. “Is it okay if I look around the house? It’ll just take a minute.”
Without looking at her, Jessie nodded.
Moving like a cat, Sandy slipped down the hall to the playroom. I heard doors opening and closing as she investigated.
Jessie opened her eyes. “This is so humiliating.”
“It’ll be okay.” Inside, I was laughing.
We waited as Sandy prowled the house, both upstairs and down. She returned to the k
itchen table and gestured toward the tablet.
Jessie slid it toward her.
Sandy began writing, the mechanical pencil scratching across the yellow legal tablet. She filled nearly a page and rotated it toward her daughter. “I can do the foyer, living room, dining room, library, family room, powder room, and kitchen today. Playroom and bathrooms daily, bedrooms weekly. And I can suggest other things later, but off the top of my head, I think these are the areas to attack first.”
Jessie looked up from the tablet. “This is a lot.”
“I work fast. I learned how.” She pulled a manila folder from the messenger bag. “The Ranch sent me to occupational training.” In her hand was a certificate with a gold seal. It verified graduation from housekeeping and janitorial services.
Jessie stared at the document, scraped her chair back and fled.
Sandy watched her go, her face in torment. She put the certificate back in the folder, the folder in the bag. “I didn’t mean to upset her. I just wanted her to know I’m serious.”
“She tries to act cool, but her emotions run deep.”
“She’s always been that way. Even as a child.” Sandy looked up at me. She swallowed; the tendons in her neck stood out.
There was so much riding on this tenuous arrangement. If the two of them kept their heads down and stuck to their respective roles, it might work. Yet, what were their roles now?
Jessie came back. Her face was red, and her eyes watery.
“All I wanted to show you is that I’m good at housekeeping,” said Sandy. For a moment she sounded more like the old Sandy, the dependent cream puff.
Then she sat up straighter. “Jessica,” she said, her voice low. “I’m just here to work, okay?”
Jessie, blinking rapidly, nodded. She pulled the tablet closer, looked it over again, and shook her head. “I don't want you to make our beds. We should be doing that ourselves.”
“Whatever you want.”
Jessie continued to study the list, occasionally making small changes and showing them to Sandy, who would comment or ask for clarification. At one point, while Jessie was bent to the tablet, Sandy caught my eye.
I nodded carefully. We had gotten this far.
Jessie looked up. “So you’re coming Monday through Friday?”
“Yes, if you like. I can also prepare make-ahead dinners. Your prep time would be minimal,” said Sandy.
Jessie’s lip quirked. “That would be good.”
Sandy pulled out her phone and took a photo of the list. “There’s a gardening crew I know of that has room on their schedule if you want me to arrange weekly maintenance.”
I was incredulous. Everyone I’d called said they were booked. One hung up on me. “Where did you find them?”
“From a private connection.”
Jessie scowled. “Where we lived before, with Dad. In the country club neighborhood.”
“No.” Sandy’s face was impassive. “They hired me when I was in recovery. I’m good friends with the owner. We look out for each other now.”
“I’m sorry.” To her credit, Jessie looked straight at her mother. “That was rude of me.”
“Not a problem,” said Sandy. “Was there anything else?”
Jessie fiddled with the pencil, eyes on the list in front of her. “Possibly.”
Sandy and I glanced at each other. Waited.
“There is this one thing, but I don’t know—”
“Go ahead,” said Sandy.
Jessie put the pen down. “Is there any chance you could get here by 7:30 and take the kids to school? I mean, I’d have them ready and everything. All you’d have to do is load them up and drop them off. Then come back and do the house stuff.”
Sandy hesitated. “I would love to.”
Jessie said, “I mean, if that’s asking too much...”
“No, I appreciate the opportunity.” Sandy pulled out her phone, set the reminder, and stuck the phone back in her bag. “I’ll start in the kitchen.”
I pushed my chair back, relieved the discussion was over.
“I’ll just, um, go do some work.” Jessie hurried down the hall to her office. Her door closed.
Sandy turned to me. She extended her hand. “Thank you. And I apologize for my behavior. In Moab.”
I clasped her hand with both of mine, wanting to say something deep, something to convey my forgiveness and good wishes, but unable to find the words. Instead, the warmth of my grasp had to speak for me. “I’ll be in the guest room if you need anything.”
Sandy flinched, and too late, I realized I’d hurt her, for I was staying in the grandmother’s room.
Castigating myself, I returned to my work, trying to make progress on a volunteer-and-employee handbook for Father Engel, but I was distracted by the sounds coming from the kitchen. Water ran in the sink; the garbage disposal rumbled. Dishes clattered, the dishwasher clicked on, sprinkler arms swished and swooshed. Over the hum of industry, I heard her singing.
I could have closed the door but didn’t.
A while later, she tapped on the jamb. “Do you know where the mop and cleaning supplies are?”
“I’m pretty sure they’re in the garage.” I pointed out the appropriate cabinets, leaving her to find what she needed.
Back at my desk, I moved to the job of setting up interviews for Jessie, but I kept my door open, in case there were more questions. I could hear Sandy slap the mop and wring water into a bucket. The pine fragrance of floor cleaner wafted down the hall to my room. After a while, the vacuum cleaner switched on.
I made a little headway with my work, but not much. I kept thinking about their mother-daughter dynamic. Here Sandy was, working as a servant to her daughter. Instead of youth serving age, it was the reverse. Instead of Sandy occupying a room in her daughter’s house, it was me, her former enemy. And after all that had happened, it was I who’d brought them together.
God Almighty, I hoped it worked out.
THE FIRST FEW DAYS were good. Sandy arrived early, drove the children to school in Jessie’s SUV, and attacked the cleaning and cooking. She worked quietly and without much interaction with us since Ryan, Jessie and I were busy with our own projects. Midweek, the gardening crew came and went, leaving the yard clean and trimmed. Sandy left at noon each day, slipping out the door without comment, leaving a note as to her plans for the following day.
Every evening, we gathered together in the kitchen for a delicious, easy meal. Dinners were simply a matter of taking dishes out of the refrigerator and heating according to Sandy’s handwritten instructions. The house sparkled, the kids were happy, and Ryan walked around whistling.
Jessie bit her nails.
Once or twice, she asked me to convey directions to Sandy on her behalf. I complied, but always updated Jessie so she’d learn to do it herself after I left.
On Friday, I awoke early. I switched on the light, made coffee, and settled in to write in my journal. Before long, I heard the sounds of the kids having breakfast.
A few minutes later, I heard Jessie’s voice, raised and angry. She was in the kitchen, squawking into her phone at Ryan, who’d left for work early.
Something was wrong.
In the kitchen, Jessie held one hand against her forehead, pacing as she talked. “I don’t know. She didn’t call. They were supposed to be gone by now. No, I can’t. I have a meeting in an hour.” She glanced up and saw me. “Hang on. Karen? Are you busy? Sandy’s late, and the kids are going to be late for school. Is there any chance you could drive them?”
“Didn’t she call?”
“That would be too much to ask.”
“Did you try calling her?”
“That’s not my job.” Jessie’s jaw muscles tensed as she waited for my answer.
I looked over at Sunshine and Christopher. They were dressed and ready to go. “I’ll get my jacket.”
We loaded the kids and their lunchboxes and backpacks. As I drove toward the gates, I noted the beautiful, cleaned-up front ya
rd and wondered what had happened to Sandy. A mile away, I saw her Jeep racing toward me. We stopped in the middle of the deserted road and rolled down our windows.
She spotted the kids in the car with me. “Oh, no,” she groaned. “My goose is cooked.”
“What happened?”
“Three wrecks on the way in. She’s going to kill me.”
“Good luck,” I said, glad I’d be far away when the two of them hashed this out.
When I got back forty-five minutes later, Sandy’s Jeep was nowhere in sight. Jessie was in her office.
“Hey.” I sat in a chair next to her desk. “So, what happened?”
Jessie, two pencils stuck fashionably into a bun, glanced sideways at me. “I fired her.”
I bit back a response, but it was hard not to jump over and wring her neck.
Seeming to sense my anger, Jessie stuck her chin out. “Obviously, nothing has changed,” she said. “She’s as irresponsible as ever. I don’t know why you thought we could trust her.”
Inhaling slowly, I fought to maintain the equilibrium that was fast leaking away. I chose my words carefully.
“Do you have any idea where she drives in from?”
“No, and I don’t care.”
“She comes from Holt, in the morning rush. It’s an hour’s drive, assuming the traffic is normal. This morning, it wasn’t.”
“That’s not my problem.” Jessie’s fingers flew across her keyboard. “She put the children at risk, and I told her so.”
Right. Before Sandy, Jessie had “put the children at risk” of the tardy bell plenty of times herself.
“I guess she’s gone.” I turned to go back to my room. I had plenty of work to do. Including look up airline schedules.
“I really let her have it,” said Jessie.
I stopped.
“And I have to admit, it felt good. I told her she made me miserable all through my childhood, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let her wreck my kids, too.”
“You said that?”
“And that’s not all. I told her this kind of thing was the reason I hated her. Yes, I said ‘hate’. And I said not to expect to ever see her grandchildren again.” Jessie went back to her computer. “I know it sounds harsh, but it needed to be said. She was trying to act like she changed, but I’ve been through too much to believe that. I will not be her fool. And I’m not sure why you led me in that direction.”
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