Dakota Blues Box Set

by Lynne M Spreen

  I ignored the jab. “What did she say in response to all of this?”

  Jessie’s fingers lifted off the keyboard as she stared above the screen. “She’s always been an actress, always manipulative, and I knew to expect that, so I was ready for all the excuses, all the ‘poor me’ stuff.”

  She fell silent as her attention drifted.

  “And?”

  Jessie looked at me. “All she said was, ‘I would like to explain, but I believe I've lost standing to do so.’ Then she left.”

  “What a buzzkill.”

  “Okay, you’re right. I wanted a big, bloody fight, and she wouldn’t play.”

  Silence fell as we both digested our feelings. Jessie was like a daughter to me. Her attitude was a disappointment, and her anger hurt. I was flummoxed to realize I’d been identifying with Sandy, of all people. How Frieda would laugh if she knew.

  Jessie resumed typing, slowly at first, and then faster. In seconds, her fingers were machine-gunning the keys.

  “Well.” I grasped the chair’s arms. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

  “I know you think I’m wrong.” She stared at her keyboard.

  “Not wrong, exactly. Over-reactive, maybe. But you’re dealing with a lot of history, and it’s bound to stir up bad feelings.”

  “I didn’t overreact.”

  “Okay.” I took a breath. “It’s just that—I do believe Sandy means well. I think she’s come a long way and wants very much to prove herself to you.”

  Jessie picked up a paper clip and stuffed it back in the container. “I can’t believe you’re taking her side.”

  “I’m practical. She can help you, and you need help.”

  “If I don't stand up to her now, I never will.”

  “And so you did. What has that changed?”

  “Maybe nothing, but I feel better.” Her mouth turned downward. “Anyway, I’m not the forgiving type, so don’t expect it.”

  My legs were crossed, and I laced my fingers around a knee. “Isn’t there any way Sandy can work her way back into your life?”

  “You mean is there any way I’ll forgive her. No.” Jessie neatly lined up a half-dozen pens. “I never have to see her again, and she can never mess up my kids like she did me.”

  “And what is the price of that decision?”

  “Nothing.” Jessie turned to me, eyebrows raised. “Absolutely nothing.”

  Chapter 24

  WE WERE SILENT ON THE drive to Jessie’s office, both of us deep in thought. I wished Sandy could have worked a few more weeks before bad luck made her look like the loser her daughter expected. Jessie’s smug reaction made me sad.

  When I worked at Global Health, a couple employees had mental health issues. One was young, one older. They both recovered. I couldn’t believe the difference in their work, and in their relationships with other employees. It was as if they’d been reborn.

  Maybe I was expecting too much of Jessie, given all that had happened between them.

  We arrived at her office, and I yielded to the welcome distraction of work. Up to now, she had been running a growing operation with a skeleton crew. We both hoped I could apply my years of expertise to the problem and hire some specialists to help her.

  We interviewed a half-dozen design people to do publicity for the refurbished apparel. We spoke with representatives from the employee assistance and temping firms who were hoping to gain our business. Somewhere in the middle of all that, we took a break for lunch. An assistant brought us cranberry-chicken sandwiches and watermelon-infused water from the gourmet café down the lane.

  I nibbled on my sandwich as Jessie continued to work. She reviewed a stack of photos brought over by the advertising people, making notes as she flipped from one image to the next. Occasionally she chuckled or frowned. She was so intent, I think she forgot I was there.

  As I ate, I considered how to tell her about my plan to fly home in a day or two. I was tired of her drama. I sent up a silent prayer to Frieda, apologizing for giving up, and hoping she’d forgive me. I needed distance.

  Jessie inhaled her lunch as she rushed from folder to folder. I barely recognized this brittle version of the sweet girl I’d sheltered in Key Largo.

  “You need to do something,” I said gently. “This can’t continue.”

  Chewing, she looked up from her reading, eyebrows raised in consternation.

  “You’re going to have a nervous breakdown.”

  She swallowed and took a fast sip of water. “It’s just a phase. I’ll manage.”

  “Question for you.” I took a breath. “Have you ever asked yourself why you’re so good at business and so challenged domestically?”

  “Because I put all my energy into one and I’m too tired to apply the proper energy to the other. There’s only so much time in a day and I can’t do everything.” She took another bite.

  “And why do you prioritize that way?”

  “Because I hate housekeeping?” Her eyes were on her reading.

  I waited.

  She turned a page. Glanced up at me, then back down. She stopped chewing.

  We stared at each other.

  She clutched a handful of paper napkins to her mouth, spun around, leaned over the trashcan, and hurled.

  I got up and walked over to the window. Outside, stately evergreens bent in the cold wind, and storm clouds blanketed the Rockies. I heard the office door close.

  When she returned, she plunked down behind her desk, her shoulders slumped.

  I went back to my seat. “There’s this life coach I met recently. She’s good at everything. Work, home, balancing it all—” I told her about a woman I knew, a colleague.

  Jessie shook her head. “I don’t have time for counseling.”

  “She has clients all over the country. I’m sure she can work with your schedule.” I tapped my phone, texting the contact information to Jessie. “Will you call her?”

  Jessie sighed. “Karen to the rescue again.”

  “But I need to go home, honey.”

  “Oh, no. Why?”

  “My aunt’s in a bad way, and I need to make sure she’s being properly cared for. I think maybe she’s not.”

  She nodded. “When?”

  “Probably Monday.”

  “That soon?”

  I nodded, my expression noncommittal. In truth, I was homesick. After all the roaming of late, starting with Fern and Belle in Palm Springs, I desperately missed Curt. I wanted to check on Aunt Marie, and Father Engel and Lanie, and my Dickinson friends. I wanted to sleep in my own bed. I wanted to visit my mother’s grave.

  “Monday.” Jessie tapped the calendar app on her phone. “What are we doing Monday. There’s something—Holy shit! Ryan’s dinner party is tomorrow night. He invited eight investors and guests, and they’re flying in from Silicon Valley to hear his pitch. I totally forgot.”

  “What do you need? I can help.”

  “Oh, crap. The house isn’t set up, and I haven’t even figured out what to make for dinner.”

  “You’re not using a caterer?”

  “They all turned me down. So I tried to make the best of it. I promised Ryan I’d handle it myself because I owe him. He’s been complaining that I should be more supportive of his work, cuz I’m all about my own stuff all the time and—oh, Jesus.” She shook her head. “If I mess this up, he’ll never forgive me.”

  “Wait, don’t panic. Between the two of us, we should be able to come up with something.” I wasn’t much of a cook, but I could buy take-out with the best of them.

  “These people who’re coming, they’re big wheels,” she said. “Ryan wanted to impress them. He was going to reserve a private dining room at The Capital Grille downtown, but like an idiot, I said, ‘No, let me do it. I’ll make it perfect for you.’ Oh, God, I’m so screwed.”

  “How big of wheels?”

  “Like the number one investment guy in Silicon Valley? And his girlfriend?” She gave me a name.

  I knew
the guy and pushed my half-eaten sandwich away. “Who else?” By the time Jessie got done listing the eight investors who were coming, I felt like grabbing the trash can.

  “And it’s not just this deal. If they turn Ryan down, his reputation will suffer. It’ll affect his whole future.”

  “What’s the proposal?”

  “He came up with a legal way to bank money from the marijuana industry.”

  “Good God.” If Ryan’s idea worked, it would affect the economy of the entire country.

  There was a knock on the door, and a young man entered with a problem that was so complicated, it made me go cross-eyed, but Jessie solved it in ten seconds and sent the guy on his way. “So anyway, it’s legal, and it’s brilliant, and I can’t believe nobody’s thought of it, but Ryan’s a genius, and now I’m going to make him look like a complete loser, and he’ll hate me. Or worse.”

  “Sandy could help you.”

  “Oh, that’s delightful, too. Thank you for reminding me.” She got up and paced around the office. “The kids are asking about her. They want to know when she’s coming back.”

  “So, they clicked.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “Worse. Last night, Sunshine asked me how come I won’t let Grandma come over. It seems Ryan slipped. So now I'm the bad guy.”

  On the one hand, I felt impatient with Jessie’s bullheadedness. On the other, she had cause. On the other, she desperately needed immediate help, which Sandy could provide.

  She stopped in the middle of her office, arms outstretched. “Look, sick or not, she tried to kill my baby and me. Aren’t there limits?”

  “I can’t tell you. You have to answer that for yourself.”

  She paced some more. “If I forgive her because of her issues, I feel like I’m still codependent. It means I didn’t learn anything from what she did. After all the therapy and everything, I’d be back at square one. No,” she said. “I don’t care how hard it makes things. I have to stand my ground. I can’t go back.”

  “I’m sorry it’s so upsetting.” I had my own rough history, though not as extreme. Dad had been a hardheaded bully, and Mom let him get away with it. Plus, between the old German ways and the teachings of our church, I’d grown up with a bunch of crazy demands and consequences. I was fifty before I figured it all out and felt strong enough to walk away. No matter what choices Jessie made, she’d suffer, but she’d grow. And maybe that would be enough.

  She came back to the table. “Let’s forget about Sandy. Let’s see what other alternatives we can come up with.”

  “How about this: I could pick up a couple trays of lasagna,” I said. “Garlic bread, a nice salad, some good wine...”

  “That might work. Or we could do Cheerios. With a side of PopTarts.” She groaned. “These are not casual people. These are global investors.”

  “Does Ryan have any friends who work in the restaurant industry?”

  “But it’s tomorrow night. I swear to God, Karen, if I mess this up, I’ll just die.”

  “Come on, Jessie.”

  “You don’t have any idea. He acts all sweet around you, but privately, he thinks I’m an asshole. Because I am, and I’m hurting everyone in the family.” She was near tears now. “Karen, he’ll leave me. The kids and me. He’ll be gone.”

  “Honey, are you serious?”

  The look in her eyes stopped me cold.

  “God.” I shook my head in despair. It was worse than I’d thought. There was only one answer, but she had to come to it herself.

  I stood up. “I’m going for a walk.”

  As I left the room, Jessie had resumed pacing at the window.

  I pulled on my jacket and went outside, where the crisp, cold air of a Denver winter burned my nostrils. Arms folded for warmth, I hiked around the building a couple of times, finally ending up at the loading dock.

  Inside the warehouse, I sat behind an unoccupied desk and watched the young men and women unpacking cartons of pre-owned clothing. They’d inspect it and either hang it or toss it into large plastic bins. The inspected racks were further scrutinized by two other women. They worked quickly, bantering and joking. Rack after rack filled as the cartons came off the truck.

  Jessie had created this operation from scratch, starting in Key Largo. She’d borrowed my sewing machine to rehab clothing she bought at local thrift stores. Between selling those and doing alterations for the CRS Ladies, she’d made enough money to support herself and Sunshine. And now, here she was, a wealthy and successful businesswoman.

  She had too much talent, too much capacity, to fail, and I couldn’t stand the thought that she and Ryan might split up. I’d been through divorce, and I knew how horrible it was. And the impact on the children would be even worse.

  As my thoughts turned grim, I watched the workers without seeing them.

  I’d stopped praying in my thirties, but I did believe in the power of positive intent, positive thoughts. So I closed my eyes and concentrated on something good happening for my dear friend and her family.

  An hour later, Jessie found me. She rolled a chair closer, and for a moment we were silent, watching the clothes being processed.

  When she spoke, her voice was gravelly. “So, I called Sandy.”

  I nodded, stifling a sigh of relief.

  “She’ll come out tomorrow morning.”

  “She’ll do a good job.”

  “That’s an understatement. She could impress Martha Stewart.”

  I chuckled. “That’d be something to see.”

  “It was. Martha came to our house when I was little. Mom gave her copies of all her recipes.”

  I gaped at Jessie. She nodded. “They were friends in college. Sandy’s always been obsessed with domestic stuff. All through my childhood, I had to put up with it. She wanted me to love the whole thing about menus and table decorations and frickin’ ambiance. Even today, I hate that word.”

  I leaned over and hugged her. “You did the right thing. It’ll be a fantastic evening.”

  She gave me a weird little smile. “I told her you were coming, too.”

  I shook my head. “Honey, no.”

  “Honey, yes. These are smart, interesting people. It might even be fun.”

  Dinner with investors? Fun?

  “Come on, Karen, say yes. You’ll be leaving soon, and it’ll be like a sendoff. No matter what happens, it’ll be a memory. When we get old, we can look back, and you’ll be in it with me.”

  I looked at my friend. Her eyes were so hopeful.

  So desperate.

  “Okay,” I sighed. “Count me in.”

  Chapter 25

  SANDY DROVE UP IN A nondescript white cargo van with a passenger riding shotgun. The two of them hopped out, both in jeans and sweatshirts, ready to start the day’s work.

  As Ryan hurried out the front door, his greeting boomed in the cold, dry air. I closed my laptop, pulled on a sweater, and went to help.

  Sandy introduced us to her sidekick, a scrawny little woman with a rough complexion and prominent cheekbones. “Edie’s our cook at the ranch.”

  “Pleasure.” Edie had cutting blue eyes and a grip like barbed wire. When she wasn’t slinging hash, she was probably out busting broncs.

  Edie went to open the back of the van, and Ryan followed. Sandy and I stood there for a minute, both silent.

  “What a long strange road it’s been,” she said, her hands stuck into her back pockets.

  “For both of us.” We stood there for a minute in the cold sunlight. Ryan went past us, carrying a couple of silver chafing dishes.

  From the back of the van, Edie hollered, “I could use some help here.”

  Sandy and I reached for a carton of dishes at the same time. Together we lifted it out of the van and carried it up the front steps and into the kitchen.

  Edie followed us in with a carton full of pots and pans.

  “Jessie said to put things wherever you want,” said Ryan.

  “Is she around?” Sandy asked.r />
  “She took the kids to a birthday party. They’ll be back this afternoon.”

  Nodding, Sandy opened a box and began removing serving platters, wine carafes, and assorted pots and pans.

  “Looks like you brought the whole kitchen,” I said.

  “You never know what a client will need.”

  “Client?”

  “The ranch does catering as a side business.” She hefted a stack of dinner plates from the box, the muscles in her arms flexing.

  Edie set down a box of silverware. “Catering was Sandy’s idea. We raise a little cash that way. Keeps us in feed. Human and animal.”

  Ryan brought in another carton.

  “Those are linens,” Sandy said. “Set them over there for now.”

  Together the four of us unloaded the van. The industrial-sized kitchen had been built for such an event. It swallowed up all the trays and roasters and glassware and napkins and tablecloths and everything else we carried in. I was astonished at how much equipment Sandy had been able to wrangle from the ranch. She took the lead, making on-the-fly decisions about where to put everything in Jessie’s kitchen.

  It was probably good her daughter wasn’t around.

  “I didn’t see any food,” I said.

  “That’s our next run.” Edie straightened up. “Hope you got another fridge.”

  “Right out here.” Ryan showed them the part of the six-car garage that had been remodeled for use as a butler’s pantry and storage unit. I helped Sandy put away the rest of the silverware, dishes, and glassware. I noticed she was mumbling something under her breath, repeating some sort of mantra.

  Or praying.

  “It’ll be fine, Sandy.”

  She heaved a big sigh. “It better be.” She looked around the kitchen. “Did you happen to see the candlesticks?”

  They left to do the shopping, returning an hour later with tons of groceries. After the food had been stored, I showed the two women to the guest house Jared had vacated.