by Pamela Tracy
Annie gave a slight smile. “Not my fault. And I did get some sleep that night, scrunched up in the back of my rental car. Not comfortable at all. So, are you going to work at all today?”
“No. While you were exploring with Cliff, I called my appointments and rescheduled. None of them were emergencies. Almost all of them knew about Dad and weren’t surprised. I’m going to do the same thing as you. Get some shut-eye. More shut-eye than you, actually, since you’re feeding the kitten. Or, do you want me to take it?”
“Not a chance. I’m starting to like the little guy.”
“Don’t give him a name,” Joe advised. “If you do, you’ll want to keep him.”
“Too late. One of the little girls back there named him Boot because he’s bootiful. She didn’t ask permission. I like it, although I’m sure I’ll change it to Boots.”
Joe was silent for a moment, and just when she was about to nudge him so he wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel, he said, “I am not the enemy.”
He must really have been tired, because he’d indicated he was just as vulnerable as she when it came to dealing with their out-of-whack parents.
“You’re right, you’re not the enemy. I’m the one who said we should work together, so deep down I know that. It’s just so weird.”
“What?”
“Our parents acting so comfortable together, like they’ve known each other forever, like they’re a couple. I about fainted when my mom opened your dad’s front door for the morning paper the day I arrived. She looked like she belonged here.”
“It’s been like that since the evening she arrived.”
“You were there?”
“Of course. I knew when your mom’s plane was due in. I knew when he left to go pick her up. I was right here, sitting on the porch, waiting for their return. Margaret was next door pacing. I think it was the first time in years she’d missed her evening shows. Dad had convinced her to let Willa stay over there. Margaret started imagining some six-foot-tall, tattooed villainess.”
Annie giggled. “My mom threatened to disown me if I so much as dared get a tiny rose tattoo on my ankle.”
“So, no tattoos for you?”
“Not even a temporary one.”
He pulled into his dad’s driveway and turned off the engine. Jacko stood, tongue out and tail wagging, waiting patiently for freedom.
“When my dad drove up with your mother, he whipped in the driveway and got out of the car with this big grin on his face. I hadn’t seen that expression in years. He hurried around the car—like a teenager—and opened the door for her. As she got out of the car, he bowed! I almost fell off the rocking chair.”
“Because he bowed?”
“Not just because he bowed, but because I recognized what he was doing. He was flirting.” Joe wasn’t finished. “And it has only gotten worse.”
He opened the driver’s side door and he and Jacko got out. Annie gathered her purse and straightened the front seat up as much as she could. Before she finished, her door opened. Joe waited.
She climbed out.
He bowed.
* * * * *
Luckily, Margaret was so focused on putting the eggs in the refrigerator and cooing over the kitten that she didn’t notice Annie’s distraction.
The man had bowed. Then, before she had time to wrap her mind around his actions or what they meant or react herself, he’d walked her to the door. Then, checking his watch, he’d mumbled something about going to fetch his dad and how late it was, and having “places to go, things to do, people to see,” and he’d left.
She’d had the most ridiculous urge to chase his truck.
Lately, she’d done a lot of chasing, mostly after her mother. But maybe it was time for a change.
Was he trying to be funny? No, not a chance, not after a whole night with no sleep. He’d talked about his father flirting, and then he’d mimicked his father. Why? What did it mean?
Why did it matter so much?
Margaret stared into the shoe box containing Annie’s kitten. “Didn’t take long for Joe to convert you,” she commented.
“I’m not in the market for a cat; I’m just taking care of Boots.”
“Boots?”
“Because he’s bootiful.”
“Indeed,” Margaret said. “So, you’ve already named him, but you’re not in the market for a cat.”
“I didn’t name him—one of the Whittakers’ granddaughters named him. I just went along because the name is perfect. And I’m just taking care of him temporarily.”
“I believe you.” Margaret said the words but her tone indicated otherwise.
Back in the pink bedroom, Annie quickly checked her messages and responded to her sisters’. Beth was still assuming everything was wrong and that she needed to be in Bonner Springs. Not that she had time, mind you.
“So, tell me why our mother was lost in the middle of nowhere,” Beth demanded. “I want to know everything, not just what Mom decided I should know.”
Annie related that Max’s family owned property in the area and that he’d been showing it to Mom. She also very carefully blamed the cow, four times. Cow, cow, cow, cow.
Something was going on with Beth, and it had nothing to do with their mother. Unfortunately, Annie was too tired to tackle Beth and her problems right now.
Annie’s phone call to Cathy was easier. Cathy picked up on everything pretty much being all right—and that it might be fun to be in Bonner Springs.
“So tell me about this vet,” Cathy demanded cheerfully.
All Annie could think about was the last moment she’d seen him, how he’d smiled, and the exaggerated bow.
What did it mean?
Knowing Cathy was a hopeless romantic and would start imagining emotions that didn’t, couldn’t, exist, Annie filled Cathy in about hunting for their mom and the visit to the Blue Sunflower Farm, and asked about school.
Annie noted how Cathy sidestepped the question and guided the conversation back to Bonner Springs and their mother. Annie redirected it back to school, especially the Spanish class Cathy was struggling in.
The next phone call, to Rachel, was a different kind of problem.
“Tell me from the beginning,” Annie said when Rachel picked up the phone. “Your text message felt a little frantic.”
“I do have one piece of good news,” Rachel said. “Dad fixed the air conditioner. The rest, however, is not so good. With you out of town, it’s like a free-for-all. I had two girls call in sick. Then, I had both of Suzette’s customers call me yesterday to complain about her arriving late and then leaving early.”
Suzette was a good worker, when prodded. Rachel was not a prodder. Annie was human relations, in charge of dealing with the employees. She was the heavy. Rachel was behind the scenes, not a taskmaster.
“Who called in and why?”
Rachel gave the names and added, “They didn’t say why, and they both just left messages on the phone.”
“Did you reschedule the houses?”
“No, I called and explained that you were out of town and that we had a sick employee.”
Annie closed her eyes. On one hand, Rachel had done the right thing, but from a business point of view, one had to think of the money. Not rescheduling immediately meant the home owner could decide to skip a week. It saved them money. However, it cost OhSoClean money. They were in the black, but not enough to swallow many losses—especially not in this economy.
“First, call Suzette’s clients and tell them you’re sending them a holiday gift card. Short term, we lose money, but maybe in the long run we’ll recoup. I’ll call Suzette when, hopefully soon, I’m in town next. Then start looking through applications.”
Rachel was silent for a moment, then muttered, “I’m trying so hard. I don’t know how to talk to these people. Maybe I should just stick with marketing and numbers.”
Some of Annie’s annoyance fled. She’d been unfair to Rachel. Rachel had never signed on for the human resources end. She’d
signed on as marketing, website upkeep, and accounting. Those were her gifts.
“You’re doing fine,” Annie assured her. “When a management change happens last minute, people feel displaced and can take advantage. I completely understand. And I want to be there so I’m not trying to troubleshoot long distance.”
Rachel’s responding laugh was on the wry side. “So, have you just about got everything sorted out with your mother? Will you, will both of you, be home soon for good?”
“I wish I knew,” Annie admitted. “Nothing here is what I expected.”
“Just like here. I expected I could take over your end, successfully, at least for two measly weeks. I’ll tell what I did take over with some success. I’m keeping up on your jewelry website. You’ve sold five pieces in the last two days. I’ve mailed them out already.”
“I repeat: You’re doing fine. You can’t control what others do.”
Even after hanging up, Annie’s final words to Rachel echoed through the bedroom.
You can’t control what others do.
“We all have our gifts,” Annie informed Boots. “I’m not trying to control my mother. My gift is keeping things running smoothly while keeping tabs on her. Your gift is being cute and staying alive.”
With that in mind, Annie went to make Boots a new bottle. Once that was accomplished, she lay on her bed, holding the kitten in her lap. She’d never held anything so tiny, so vulnerable, so unbelievably soft. Funny how this tiny being, eyes seared shut and delicate paws reaching out for a mama that wasn’t there, made Annie feel content in a way she’d not felt for a long time. Like she had time to breathe, had time to sit back and just enjoy.
No wonder Joe took Jacko everywhere with him.
“I think I’m going to have to keep you,” she confided.
Boots was too busy enjoying his bottle to respond. Annie positioned the kitten on her stomach—carefully angling the bottle the way Joe showed her—and closed her eyes.
“You coming to church?”
Annie’s eyes flew open. Margaret stood in the doorway.
“Uh, no, not tonight. How long have I been sleeping?”
“Just over four hours. It’s six now. I almost didn’t wake you up, but Joe called and asked about the kitten.”
Asked about the kitten? For some reason, while Annie was glad Joe asked about the kitten, she was a bit perturbed that he hadn’t asked about her.
Very unrealistic.
She blamed it on that stupid bow.
“There’s meat loaf and some other stuff covered in the fridge. Feel free to warm it up and take some over to Max,” Margaret said. “He’ll have to take medicine tonight, and he’ll need a full stomach.”
“When did he get home? Did Joe bring him? Where is my mother?”
“Max and your mother got home about three. Yes, Joe brought them. Right now, Willa’s at the drugstore picking up Max’s medication. She’s meeting me at church. We’ll be back a little after eight. Your mother left Max’s front door unlocked,” Margaret continued. “Go on over when you’re fully awake. He’ll be glad for the company.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be much help. I’m not a nurse.”
“He doesn’t need a nurse. Right now he’s asleep in his favorite chair. Just help him up if he needs it and make sure he eats.” Margaret glanced at the clock. “I need to run.”
Annie looked at the clock on the dresser, too. Six. She’d been asleep only four hours. It felt like just a few minutes, and the brief snooze barely took the edge off her fatigue and left a fuzziness she wasn’t comfortable with. She could only imagine what Joe must be feeling. He’d not gotten any sleep at all.
As Annie listened to Margaret’s footsteps heading for the front door, she gently nudged the kitten off her stomach and positioned him between pillows so there was no chance he could make it to the edge of the bed.
“Looks like I’ll be taking care of both a big guy and a little guy,” she whispered. “At least I hope you’re a guy, since I named you Boots. If you’re a girl, I’ll have to call you Bootsette.” The cat didn’t so much as move when Annie rolled him over to see if he was indeed a Boots.
She had no clue.
Because Boots was sleeping so soundly, she decided to wait on the next feeding. Joe said the kitten would let her know when he was hungry. A quick shower and change of clothes later, Annie headed out the front door, kitten box in one hand, leftovers in the other.
It felt strange entering Max’s quiet house. Since her arrival, it had been full of his come-into-my-fold personality and her mother’s constant good mood. Her mother had always been cheerful, but it had been in a muted way, never boisterous like this.
“Cathy,” Annie said suddenly to herself. “Right now, Mom reminds me of Cathy.”
Too hungry to wait for Max to wake up, Annie found a plate in the cupboard, divided the food in half, warmed her share in the microwave, and sat down at the table to eat while checking her phone. Good news was, no calls from her sisters. Bad news was, Rachel didn’t like the way any of the applications read.
Even as she texted Rachel with a “Do what you can I’ll be home soon,” Annie battled the desire to fly home right away. It had taken years to build the business. And she was good at it. But then, if one week away meant make or break with the company, just how firm a foundation did their company have?
After washing her dishes, Annie started cleaning. She wasn’t sure whose peace she was keeping—her own or Max’s—but doing something helped her not to worry. Since she was in the kitchen already, it was a perfect place to start.
As she bent down and opened the first cupboard door, she started analyzing what she’d accomplished since arriving in Bonner Springs. Hours spent looking for the coins: three. Hours spent not looking for the coins: fifty-four. Hours spent looking for the coins: three. Hours spent alongside a handsome veterinarian: twenty-one.
It was time to put things in perspective. Clearly Bonner Springs was an Oz of a place. Both Annie and her mother needed to remember it was a temporary place and they needed to get home.
She was on her knees, pots and pans circling her, with her head inside a bottom cupboard, busy running her gloved hand along the baseboards—coins rolled after all—when Max groggily called, “Willa?”
Annie was almost glad for the interruption. Besides dust and a greasy film, there was evidence that at one time an animal had made a home in the way back. “Mom went to church,” Annie hollered. Right, like anyone could hear the muted words coming from the dark recesses of a dusty old cupboard. She backed out, managing to bump her head, stood, took off the gloves, wiped the dust from her brow, and blew an errant strand of hair from in front of her face. Then, in a calm voice, she shouted, “I’m coming.”
First, Annie did what every good cleaning service employee did. She quickly looked around the kitchen and assessed her progress. It was a mess. She’d emptied three entire cupboards. Her assessment took too long, and Max obviously was not in a mood to be patient.
“Willa, I need a little help.”
Right now the mess didn’t matter. Annie quickly traversed a field of frying pans, various-sized pots, and Dutch ovens, and headed for Max. She got there right as he was trying to get up.
“Wait a minute.” Annie offered an arm. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t take it, but then he seemed to think better of it.
“I’m a little weak.”
She got him to his feet and handed him his cane. “You’ve had a tough twenty-four hours. Plus, your painkiller is wearing off. Mom picked up a prescription on her way to church in case you need more.”
“Willa went to church? Good. I told her to go on without me.” Max smiled and let her steady him. He slowly headed down the hall. “I’m all right, really. You should have gone with her.”
Instead of coming up with an excuse that sounded weak, because it was weak, Annie headed back to the kitchen, warmed up the rest of the meat loaf, and carried it out and put it on the TV tray someone had p
laced nearby. While she waited for him to return—hopefully his food wouldn’t get too cold—she headed to the kitchen again and stacked the pots and pans in the sink and started washing them. Most had a fine mist of aged dust attached and really needed scrubbing. Truthfully, after three cupboards, Annie had the same splattering of dust attached to her. She’d be taking yet another shower tonight.
She loaded the dishwasher with some things and hand-dried the rest. Cathy always said Annie was crazy to wash dishes and then put them in the dishwasher. After starting the cycle, she went to check on Max. He was back in his chair, looking exhausted. His food was untouched.
“I can scoot the tray closer if that helps.” She started toward him, but he motioned her away.
“I’m really not hungry.”
“My mother will kill me if you don’t eat. That’s one of the Jamison rules. We feed people.”
Max smiled. “If what your mother says is true, then the only people you ever fed was your own family.”
Feeling a bit uncomfortable, Annie started to protest, but then realized it was true. The Jamison house wasn’t really a beacon for friends from work, social events, or the like, whether male or female. Not from Dad’s side or Mom’s side. Not once had Willa hosted a Pampered Chef or Avon party. Dad liked his privacy and didn’t enjoy noise or clutter.
Mom catered to him, so the girls tended to either bring kids home before he got off from work—then they had to make sure to clean up after them—or not bring them home at all. Even Cathy, the social butterfly, didn’t want to chance Dad’s comments. All too well, Annie remembered her dad once asking, loud enough so the friend could hear, “Doesn’t she have a home?”
Still, Annie was surprised that her mother would tell Max, a stranger, about how her husband liked peace and quiet and everything in its place.
It felt wrong talking about her father, especially about his faults, with someone who wasn’t family. Come to think of it, though, she and Beth and Cathy never talked about Dad, either.
“Well, it’s the thought that counts,” Annie said, trying hard to sound upbeat.
“I could hear you doing dishes. Were there that many? I thought Willa did ours yesterday.”