Be My Neat-Heart

by Baer, Judy

  Molly sighed. “I’m afraid he’s right, Sammi, I have lost a few things that we really do have to find…my birth certificate, for one. And an agreement between Hamilton and Hamilton and another company that’s necessary to move ahead with some business Jared is working on.”

  “And you brought it here?”

  Molly brightened. “Now that much I remember. I was planning to look it over one evening.” She looked around the room. “I just don’t know where I could have put it.”

  Was that what Jared was so angry about that he’d brought me in to help his sister restore order to her life? She’d lost something vital to the company? It would explain some of his temper. Whatever it was, it had to be important, or he wouldn’t be insisting on overseeing this whole process like Sherlock Holmes with a magnifying glass in hand.

  “Books in the red basket, magazines and newspapers in the blue, sporting equipment in the green, pizza boxes in the trash can…” Molly was reiterating what I’d told her, making a game out of the sorting. “Laundry in the white and…where did you say the loose papers should go?”

  Jared pounced on the stack of papers she held in her hand. “I’ll take those.”

  “And all papers to Darth Vader, scourge of the messy.”

  We were able to keep Jared out of the picture most of the morning by feeding him stray papers and mail to sort. By noon, other than the heaping laundry baskets lined along the walls and seven huge trash bags bulging at the seams, the living and dining spaces revealed actual flooring and flat surfaces.

  “I love it!” Molly squealed, as if I were a designer on the Home and Garden channel and she were a happy home owner looking at her newly decorated digs. “I’d forgotten how nice it is in here.” She studied the room. “I thought my carpet was a different color, too. I’m going to keep it this way from now on.”

  I heard a strangled cough from the kitchen where Jared had taken a post to do his sorting, but, to his credit, he didn’t voice what he was thinking.

  Molly, reminded that he was there, went to him and threw her arms around him. “This was a great idea, Jared. Thank you.”

  I saw a faint flicker of amusement and affection in his expression before his default expression of stern disapproval returned. “You’re welcome, Molly, but we aren’t done yet. You know what I said…”

  “Oh, you won’t have to fire me now, Jared. I know you won’t. I’m trying very hard. Can’t you tell?”

  I, an outside observer watching the pair from a distance, was not so sure.

  I’d never before realized how annoying a perfectionist could be. Did people think of me the thoughts I was thinking about Jared Hamilton?

  He stood up and came with Molly back to the living room, pausing to straighten a stack of books on the coffee table.

  “Don’t do that,” I said, firmly directing his hands away from the books. “They’ll be fine.”

  “They’ll fall over and make another mess.”

  “They’ll be fine,” I insisted, although I knew that they were likely to tumble over for me to pick up again. If I felt a little rebellious at being told how to do my work, I could only imagine what Molly had put up with.

  “You two go to lunch,” Molly instructed before our conversation could escalate. “I’m going to stay here and sit in my beautiful, tidy house.”

  “You aren’t done for the day, are you?” Jared said with a frown. “You’ve barely scratched the surface.”

  Molly’s eyes had the glazed, unfocused look of the emotionally exhausted. To Jared, the morning had been about sorting through junk. To Molly, it had been a hike up an emotional Mount Everest.

  “She needs a break. Besides, you have homework, right, Molly?”

  She looked a little stricken, but nodded. “Get boxes, label them ‘Give Away,’ ‘Throw Away’ and ‘Store.’ Sort through all this stuff and, if I don’t love it or use it, put it in one of the first two boxes. If I’d end up having to replace it if I give it away now, put it in ‘Store.’”

  “Most of it will be thrown away, I hope.” Our resident storm cloud reappeared.

  Thanks for the input, Jared. Now be quiet!

  She shooed us toward her front door. “Get out of here, both of you. Sammi, I have to plan a funeral for all this stuff of mine.”

  Left standing on the front steps, Jared and I stared at each other dazedly. He has a Pierce Brosnan sort of handsomeness, though he is broader in the shoulders and more muscular. His complexion is duskier, too, as if he’s just flown in from a weekend in Cancun. He carries himself in the same confident 007 swagger and self-assured set of his shoulders. Fleetingly I wished we hadn’t met under such thorny circumstances. I’d never seen him when he wasn’t angry about something or other. Or maybe this was the sum total of his personality—surly.

  I don’t understand either Jared’s anger or Molly’s willingness to admit he has every right to be upset with her. There is an unspoken agreement between them to keep me in the dark about that. Even Ethan Carver danced around the outskirts of the subject. This isn’t a situation I enjoy. Neither, apparently, is it one I’m willing to abandon.

  I shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I’d better go.”

  He cleared his throat. “Molly’s probably right, you know. You deserve a nice lunch after what you did in there this morning. Frankly, I’ve never seen her place so picked up—or her so happy about it.”

  As I watched, he seemed to readjust his mood and attitude to something more appealing. “Do you like seafood, Ms. Smith? I know just the spot.”

  The cozy, out-of-the-way place couldn’t have been more perfect. Far from lobster traps and deep-sea fishing here in Minnesota, the Gourmet Angler managed to make me think I was eating lobster rolls and fried clams on a bridge overlooking Kennebunkport, Maine. Even the fishing net and splintered oars on the walls seemed just right.

  “Nice. I like it.”

  “Good. Try the sampler platter,” Jared suggested. “You can’t go wrong.”

  The good food almost made up for the not-so-good company. Jared was a million miles away. He burst out of his reverie every few minutes to ask me if I had enough cocktail sauce or if I liked the clams and then he would sink back into some deep dark pit of his own making. After one long silence, I cleared my throat and rapped on the table with my spoon to remind him of my presence.

  “Wha—” He shoved himself a little straighter in his chair and shook himself as if to clear away the cobwebs.

  Hard as I tried to study and comprehend his expression, I couldn’t get a handle on it. I’m usually adept at reading people. Perhaps I knew a little too much about Jared to be objective. Or, more accurately, I knew too much about his relationship with his sister.

  I’ve become truly fond of Molly in the short time I’ve known her. She’s bubbly, bright and, much like my friend Wendy, a delight to be around if one can stand the jungle of disarray she tends to create in her vicinity.

  “Sorry. I have some pressing things on my mind right now.”

  “Oh?” I leaned forward slightly.

  “I’ve taken over Molly’s files, and it involves some extra work, that’s all.”

  “I’m sure you’re missing Molly’s presence at Hamilton and Hamilton. As soon as we sift through her home, we’ll be able to apply the same strategies to her office.”

  The words I’d meant to be consoling seemed only to put him into a deeper funk. He sunk lower in his seat and I felt as though I’d just poked a stick at a sleeping grizzly.

  “Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry if I was out of line.” I felt a blush redden my cheeks.

  “You didn’t. You said a perfectly logical thing.” He leaned forward and, as if for something to do with his hands, grabbed the small pitcher of cream and dumped it into his coffee. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure if Molly is the cure or the problem.” Then he stared into his cup as if surprised to see the milky whiteness of his coffee.

  After he’d called the waiter and ordered new cof
fee—he apparently doesn’t even use cream in his coffee—he pulled himself to attention and looked directly into my eyes. “I’m sorry I’m so preoccupied today. You didn’t meet me in my best hour. Sometimes I can actually be rather pleasant to be around.”

  For a millisecond I saw some of Molly’s inherent charm in him. “Is there anything I can do? I’m a good listener.”

  That offer of help shocked him to his senses, and he plucked himself out of the doldrums. I’d edged a little too close to his emotions, and he pulled back with a swiftness that surprised me.

  “No, no, not at all. Can I interest you in dessert? The peach crisp is good.”

  I put my elbows on the table and crossed my arms. Leaning forward, I willed him to look at me. “We’d better talk, Mr. Hamilton…Jared. I don’t know what’s going on between you and your sister or if you want me butting in, but getting Molly to turn around and shape up in a day or two isn’t likely to happen. Possible? Yes. Likely? Not really. That means that you and I will be spending some time together, since you insist on being present as Molly works.

  “If there’s something I need to know or if you are expecting something more of this than is for Molly’s benefit, please tell me. I know you are footing the bill, but you hired me for Molly and she’s the one I have to be concerned about.”

  He looked at me as if I’d just slapped him. “Hidden agendas, you mean? Thanks for your vote of confidence. The basic problem is that my sister can’t keep her act together. I can ignore that when we aren’t working in the same office. However, since we are, she has to learn how things work at Hamilton and Hamilton and follow protocol, that’s all there is to it.

  “If Molly were anyone but my sister she’d be have been dismissed already—with no chance of a good recommendation from me.” The hardness in his voice surprised me.

  Absently he lined up the items at the center of the table—bud vase of flowers, sugar and artificial sweetener holder and ashtray—in a straight line. Then he made sure the used utensils poised on the edge of his plate were straight and refolded the napkin he’d had in his lap.

  An avid perfectionist. I know the type. I probably am the type in certain circumstances. I could see now that Molly and I were in for it.

  On Tuesday morning, I impulsively invited Molly to attend “God’s Reflection,” a group I’ve organized at my church. The concept is based on Genesis 1:26:

  Then God said, ‘Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness…’”

  And Genesis 9:6:

  “For in his own image God made humankind.”

  Those words stir something very elemental and powerful in me. Imagine me created in His likeness as a reflection of His glory, His representative on earth. How awesome.

  And humbling.

  Thursday afternoon my phone rang. “Samantha Smith speaking?”

  “Jared Hamilton here.” When I can’t see the scowl on his face, his voice is a symphony. “I understand that you’ve invited my sister to attend a class you’re having tonight. I’d like to know more about it.”

  He was micromanaging again, but Molly had given me full permission to discuss her case with him. Molly, even in this time of seeming trouble, took everything lightly. How those two had been birthed and raised by the same parents is beyond me. It’s like a hummingbird and a grizzly bear being blood sister and brother.

  “It’s a support group for those who want to live up to their potential and desire to reflect God more fully in their lives. I started the group for several of my clients who realized that the disorder in their lives isn’t the reflection of God they want to represent to the world. Then clients who don’t want to ‘fall off the clutter wagon’ joined us. Now it’s evolved and I’ve begun to give classes on organizing one’s environment. For some, the classes are important. For others it’s simply a time for fellowship, encouragement and support.”

  “Disorganized Anonymous?” There was incredulity in his voice.

  “Something like that. I think of it as a way station for the terminally cluttered. Maybe you and Molly should come together.”

  I’d said it facetiously, of course.

  That is why I was so amazed when they walked into the meeting room together later that night.

  Chapter Ten

  True to their disparate personalities, Molly aimed for a front-row seat but Jared grabbed her elbow and steered her into the last row of chairs and sat there brooding like a dark storm cloud.

  “Who’s that?” Margaret Wheaton, our pastor’s wife, whispered. “I should greet them.”

  “Go ahead and try but don’t get bitten,” I muttered to myself, but Margaret heard me.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “No ‘problem,’ really. It’s just a situation I can’t figure out.” When Molly and Jared were in the same room he was like a caged lion, pacing miserably and obviously trying—and failing—to control his impatience and discontent. Yet he kept coming back for more.

  He certainly could have scampered off by now and left Molly and me unchaperoned. I’d begun to sense that he wanted this for Molly almost more than Molly wanted it for herself. It was as if he had more at stake in the organizing of Molly’s life than she. Odd—and very puzzling.

  Determined to talk with them after class, I began to think about the icebreaker I would use tonight to begin the class. The toilet paper vs. Kleenex tissue question, I decided. I asked everyone to ’fess up to what was in their purses and pockets. If anyone admitted they were using toilet paper because they hadn’t put tissue on the grocery list again, it would be a perfect segue into my plan-your-menus-and-make-grocery-lists-in-advance speech. I’m on a personal mission to stamp out all toilet paper used for public blowing. Professional organizers have pet peeves, too, you know.

  “I had no idea how remiss I’ve been in the menu-planning department,” Jared said dryly as we left the church together. He’d dozed off a time or two during the evening and not surprisingly had hesitated to join in to the spirited easy-to-cook meal discussion that erupted. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why he was even there. In fact, he was beginning to make me angry. He looked like an octopus in a pool of goldfish, sitting there, trying to make himself inconspicuous while the ladies in the class feasted their eyes on the only male they’d ever seen cross the threshold of this gathering.

  “That was fun!” Molly chortled. “I took notes.” Her hands were full of old church bulletins. She’d taken her notes on the white spaces of the programs, making for an interesting written design snaking around the paper.

  Mental note: Have Molly start carrying a notebook.

  “I’d like to come again if you don’t mind, Sammi.” Molly’s tone was serious.

  Jared looked at her sharply.

  “I know it sounds crazy—especially to you, Jared—but keeping order is very difficult for me. It feels good to hear what others with my problem do to keep from getting themselves into trouble…er…making messes. It’s a relief, in a way, actually, to know I’m not an idiot or the only disorganized person on the planet. I try. I really do. It just never looks like it.”

  “Don’t worry,” I assured her. “I couldn’t run my business or make a living if you were all alone in this. And you are not an idiot.”

  “Good to know.” Molly impulsively threw her arms around me and gave me a hug. “Gotta go, you two. I promised my friends Linda and Melody I’d meet them after the meeting. They’re picking me up.” Within seconds a car pulled into the lot and Molly jumped in. She waved out the window as the car sped away.

  That left Jared and me standing in the parking lot, half staring, half glaring at one another. Despite my sense that Jared rode roughshod over Molly’s life, I felt a strange reluctance to simply get into my car and drive away. Oddly, although minutes ago he’d seemed desperate to escape, it now seemed that he felt the same disinclination.

  “Coffee?” he finally ventured.

  I couldn’t remember a time when I’d wanted coffee mor
e. Every fiber of my being was yearning for a cup of hot java—at least that’s to what I attributed the strange sensation I was feeling—the thought of strong, hot coffee just drawing me in.

  Jared could be, I discovered over a turtle mocha, quite charming. As long as his sister’s name did not come up, that is.

  Every time the conversation edged near Molly or clutter or anything to do with either subject, Jared’s eyes turned dark and brooding and I felt him drift away. More than once I snatched him back from the jaws of his own personal pit and discovered that as long as we didn’t get near the topic of Molly we could have a surprisingly pleasant discussion.

  It was a warm and windless night. As we left the coffee shop I inhaled deeply, breathing in the aroma of freshly cut grass. The moon was brilliant and voluptuous in the inky sky.

  “Want to walk?”

  “Now? Us?”

  He glanced around. “I don’t see anyone else. It’s too nice an evening to waste inside, don’t you think?” He nodded toward the winking glints of moonlight reflecting off the nearby lake.

  “I love the nighttime,” I commented as we strolled.

  “Not everyone does,” he commented.

  “It’s like God wraps us in a soft, dark velvet cushion and keeps us safe when we’re most vulnerable. When I was a little girl, I used to think the moon was God’s peek hole down to us and every time a cloud went by and blocked the moon, it was Him blinking.”

  “What about the nights you couldn’t see the moon?”

  “I just assumed He was peeking down at someone else far away. I didn’t have much comprehension of the rotation of the earth back then.”

  “It’s a nice thought.” He was silent for a long time before he said, “I never liked the dark much. I thought it was boring. I had to go to bed. My mother told me that if I’d had my own way, I would have slept only at the darkest part of the night and awakened with the sun.

  “Molly,” he continued, “always thought she was missing something if I was up and she was still sleeping. Of course, she was so high maintenance even then that I was never quite sure if I was glad she was up to follow me around or wished she’d sleep until noon.”