eight
Forrest rushed into the laundry room to find Sara backed up against the humming dryer. His quick scrutiny revealed nothing amiss. He looked at her hand against her heart. Was she having an attack? “What’s wrong?”
His eyes followed her finger, pointing first to the towels on the folding table, then to the towels in the basket on the floor in front of a washer. Between gasps, she wheezed, “Th–the towels.”
“Is there a snake in there?”
She shook her head.
“A spider?”
“No.”
“Ants?”
“Arrrggghhh.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Are you afraid of the clean towels or the dirty ones?”
“I’m afraid of. . .of. . .” She flexed and unflexed and flexed her fingers. “I’m afraid of never being able to face this family again. I’ll mail the payments.”
“What did you do? Lose a towel down the drain? I’ve heard of losing socks—”
“I didn’t lose a towel. Just. . .look.”
He walked over to the stacks, the navy blue separate from the maroon, folded neatly into thirds, with the monogram displayed. Wondering if she were delusional, he turned to face her again. “They look fine to me.”
She murmured. “I killed the keypad, and now I’ve blushed the Ps.”
“Blushed the peas?”
“Yes, yes. Look. The Ps on the dirty ones are white. The ones I washed turned pink.”
Glancing from the piled towels to the folded ones, Forrest couldn’t contain his laughter. “The only peas I care about are green.”
She didn’t laugh. “You mom won’t take this disaster so lightly.”
A voice sounded from the doorway. “What disaster?”
Sara’s words ran over each other as she showed the Ps to Mrs. Paridy and tried to explain. “I washed the towels to-gether in warm water. I know now I should have washed them separately in cold water. All these Ps are pink.”
Sara watched as the woman looked. Stared, really. She ran her finger over a P.
“Should I try and bleach out the Ps?”
“No, no. Not that, Dear.”
Then Mrs. Paridy picked up a towel and lifted it to her face. Was she going to cry?
Sara made another offer. “There’s one load left with the Ps white. Do you want those to stay white, or should I turn them pink too?”
When Vivian didn’t answer readily, Sara made her final offer. “Maybe you just want me to leave. I understand that you have to fire me. If I were my cheerleader sister, I’d be flexible enough to kick my own self out the door.”
In the ensuing silence, Sara dared not look at Forrest. She didn’t want to see his grin. Anyway, her attention stayed on his mother, who had turned her back to Sara. Her shoulders seemed to be trembling as she held onto the folding table. Perhaps she was crying.
Finally, after a small sound of clearing her throat, Mrs. Paridy faced her again. She looked calm and dignified. “Don’t worry about this, Dear. Just go ahead and change all the Ps to pink. I think they look rather nice.” She picked one up and sniffed. “They smell good too.” She smiled. “You may hang them over the towel racks and put the others away.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Paridy. I’ll try not to mess up anymore.”
Her hand made that customary graceful movement. “Oh, I couldn’t have done any better. Now don’t fret about it. And my name is Vivian.”
“Vivian.” Sara forced a smile. Her confidence had swooshed down the drain with the pink wash water.
After Vivian walked away, Forrest stepped back into the laundry room. He grinned. “Get past the Ps, Sara. And get on with your next project.”
❧
By mid-afternoon, Sara had finished all the towels, put them away, and washed the lunch dishes. Afterward, she found Vivian in a cozy study behind the curved eating area next to the kitchen.
“Vivian,” she said quietly so not to disturb the woman handwriting at a desk.
When Vivian turned around, Sara asked what she should do next.
“Why don’t you just call it a day, Sara? You’ve had a full day, and after your accident, I’m impressed that you were able to work at all. Come back in the morning, and I’ll have a better idea of what all needs to be done.”
“If you’re sure. . .”
“Oh, yes. I’m so disorganized right now. This has been a summer home for several family members for years. When they sold it to me and Royce, I knew it was run down, but I didn’t expect the roof to leak, nor last year’s cleaning woman to be unable to work. Maybe tomorrow my thoughts will be together.”
And maybe my act will be together. Sara nodded and smiled. “See you in the morning.”
Sara walked outside. Forrest and Hal were planting on the left. Skip had the hose, watering the finished bed on the right. The yard was strewn with dozens of black plastic pots and several white plastic bags.
“Looking really good,” she said.
“Thank you,” Forrest said. Hal and Skip smiled at her.
“Well, bye.”
Forrest stood. “Did you quit, get fired, or just take the afternoon off?”
“Vivian said I could leave. I’ll be back in the morning.” She stooped down and picked up a shovel.
“I’ve heard of the hired help stealing the silver but never a shovel,” Forrest said. “You won’t get more than $1.98 for that. It’s used.”
Sara couldn’t resist laughing with him, especially since Hal and Skip both laughed. “I’m not stealing. I’m going to smooth out the ruts I made in the gravel.”
Forrest shook his head and reached for the shovel. “Been there, done that.”
Sara wondered if she should ask to borrow the shovel to dig a hole and climb into it after all the boo-boos she’d made this day. Before she could decide, Forrest spoke.
“Everything’s taken care of, and the keypad will be repaired or replaced sometime this afternoon.
Seeing the way the sunshine put that glint in his eyes, she could only say, “I appreciate that. See you tomorrow.”
If she took the stone path that led to the side parking spaces, she’d be taking the nearest route to her car. However, with her luck, she would end up wearing a pot on her foot or getting it stuck in a bag—if she didn’t trip over the hose and end up getting drenched. She opted for the front path, the way she’d entered that morning.
Buggy-Boo purred into operation as if she’d never gone through the trauma of being ditched. The big iron gates hung open, seeming to cheer Sara’s exit from the Paridy estate. A white truck was parked nearby, apparently belonging to the man working on the keypad.
He looked over and lifted a hand in greeting.
Sara wondered if she should return the gesture. Maybe after today’s fiascoes, she’d be accomplishing something great if she merely drove past without running him down.