Chapter 13

“It’s Thursday. You know the bathrooms always get cleaned on Thursday, and they haven’t been done yet.”

Sarah looked up and saw her mother in the doorway of the library, which Sarah had turned into an office. She sat back and swiveled her chair away from the computer screen. “I know, Mama,” she said. “I’ll come do them right now.”

“You wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t let Sophie go.” The critical edge in her mother’s voice sharpened. “She’d been working here for us over thirty years.”

Sarah closed her eyes and wished for strength. Sophie hadn’t worked here for ten years. Mitzi’s Maids had taken over, and Hilda had complained about them every week. Now Sarah did it all, with Christine’s very welcome help. “I can do the cleaning perfectly well, Mama.”

“Of course. But you shouldn’t have to clean up after all of us.”

True. “I don’t mind. And Christine helps a lot.”

With an abrupt switch back to alert and focused, her mother said, “She shouldn’t be doing a lot of physical work right now. She’s going to have that baby in just a few months.”

“I don’t let her do the heavy stuff. And Rob said he’d come over and wash the windows in a couple of days.”

Her mother considered this. “I suppose that’s all right. Not that any of us can see well enough to tell, except for you and Christine.”

Her teasing smile was such a potent reminder the younger, happier woman Sarah remembered. “Oh, Mama,” she said, and hugged her mother, trying desperately not to notice how frail she felt, how the thin old bones poked at the papery skin. “How about a snack, and then I’ll get back to cleaning?”

“Oh, no thank you, dear. I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t eat enough.”

Instead of answering, her mother fixed her gaze on a shelf that held some small bronzes and a vase, in addition to books. “Your grandfather brought those statues back from Europe in nineteen forty-five, Sarah. That one has a mark from the Louvre on the bottom,” she said, pointing to a statue of Diana the Huntress. “And the Circassian dancer...”

This was about the fifth time in as many weeks as Sarah had heard the same monologue. Her mother had become obsessed with the history of every object in the house. When she wound down, Sarah said, “You know, Mama, it would be wonderful to have a real record of all these stories, and I have an idea. You’ll have to help, though.”

“Well, of course. I’m so pleased you’re interested. It would be such a pity to lose all these bits of family history.”

A pity. Sure. Since Sarah had no children, the family history was toast when she died. All these cherished bits and pieces would probably end up in a garage sale or the Good Will store, but that wasn’t something she’d say to her mother.

“Well, Beth has a video camera. What if I borrow it and video tape you describing each of these pieces?”

“Oh, no, dear. It would take too long.”

“No, it wouldn’t. You’d just talk the way you did today. Please, Mother?”

Eventually, Hilda gave in and agreed. “And maybe Violet and Miranda would like to do the same thing. Could we do that?”

“Of course.”

Her mother frowned. “I’m sure Rob would appreciate that. As for Miranda, she’s softened so much since she’s lived here, she might even make peace with her children, so a record would be good. But she’d probably want one anyway because she has so many valuable pieces.”

“How long has it been since she’s seen her children?” Sarah asked.

“Twenty years, at least. Let me see, it was the summer after that scoundrel Hogbottom left with all the bank money, and that was the year...”

Since Sarah had lived far away from Crowley Falls for years, some of the rambling monologue was new to her, and, she admitted guiltily, interesting.

After her mother had settled on twenty-one years as the time since Miranda’s estrangement from her children, Sarah added, “Even though she’s much too secretive about her financial arrangements, we should ask her if she wants to do your tape.”

“Yes, that would be very nice. You’re a sweet girl, Sarah.”

“That’s settled, then. I’ll ask Beth about the camera.” Sarah got up to start the bathroom cleaning, but her mother plucked at her sleeve. “Before you go dear, I want to be sure that you remember about these statues. Your grandfather brought them back from Europe in nineteen forty-five, Sarah. That one has a mark from the Louvre...”

The sudden descent into short-term memory loss was a stab in Sarah’s heart. It always hurt more when it followed a conversation that was just like old times. She stifled a surge of grief and resentment and settled herself to listen.

****

Sarah leaned back in her chair and watched Miranda presiding over the teapot with her usual air of high-tea-in-an-English-castle. Casey sat beside her chair, and Fred watched intently from the sofa. Sarah smiled. Miranda had certainly changed her tune about the animals. And lots of other things, too, although she’d probably die rather than admit it. Far from avoiding tea with the moms, these days Sarah looked forward to a chance to relax. Her life had turned into a non-stop round of cooking, cleaning, worrying, repeat, repeat, repeat.

Violet heaped little cakes on her plate, Christine relaxed in the lounger, looking exhausted as well as huge, poor girl, and Hilda slumped in her chair. “More tea, Mama?”

Hilda nodded, so Sarah picked up the cup and held it to her lips. Those poor, shaky hands couldn’t manage even a half-full cup reliably any more. But this afternoon, after her nap, Hilda had shown a trace of her old vanity, wanting her hair fixed, and a pretty blouse.

Sarah sighed, knowing she’d be the one to deal with the food spills on the fine periwinkle silk. But it was worth it to see the spark of interest in her mother’s faded blue eyes. She reached over and took her mother’s hand. A faint answering squeeze brought a smile to her lips.

“Lovely, dear,” Hilda said. “I know it’s a lot of work to do a fancy tea, but I do enjoy it so.”

“That makes it worthwhile, Mama.” If only the lucid moment would last, Sarah would do more than this. Before she could say anything more, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she said.

The man on the doorstep was a complete shock. “Now what, Mr. Macklin?” But he must be here to talk about work. Probably to complain about something she’d done before she was fired.

“Miss Gault.” He looked firmly over her shoulder, refusing to look her in the eye. “I understand your mother is not doing well these days. I came to offer my sympathy—condolences—to see her—to bring her these,” he stammered, and thrust a bouquet of tender, pale lavender roses at her.

Sarah stared at him for a moment with her mouth hanging open. “Uh,” she said, as incoherent as he was. “We’re having tea in the living room. Why don’t you join us?” She stepped back and held the door for him to enter.

“Thank you.”

She ushered him into the room, and he took a chair near Hilda.

“Hilda. You’re looking lovely as ever today,” he said.

Sarah paused in the doorway to watch. The roses could wait for a few minutes.

Hilda stared at him with the blank, uncomprehending expression that said she didn’t have the faintest idea who he was.

Sarah knew that expression. She started across the room to rescue her mother, but saw that it wasn’t necessary. Hilda shifted into what Sarah had always called ‘social gear,’ smooth, meaningless chit-chat flowing like water.

“Thank you. How very kind of you to visit,” Hilda said. “So good of you to remember that roses are my favorites.

But Sarah could tell that she still didn’t recognize Mr. Macklin.

“Well, Homer, this is a surprise,” Miranda boomed, and passed him a cup of tea.

Sarah saw the easing of tension in her mother’s shoulders, a motion so small that only someone who was watching for it would notice. She relaxed and headed to the kitchen to find a vase for the roses. Someday, she knew, Hilda would look at her with that same blankness.

It was only a matter of time.

Terror seized her with an almost physical pain and she lingered over the flower arranging as long as she dared. When she returned to the living room with the roses in a vase, Mr. Macklin had picked up the picture of her mother from the table by the piano. He looked down at it with an expression Sarah had never thought to see on his face. Tenderness, that’s what it looked like. Tenderness and regret, and that surely had to be her imagination. He was a mean old Grinch who hated everyone and went out of his way to cause trouble. He couldn’t possibly look tender.

He set the picture down and looked at Sarah. “I’m sorry for intruding,” he said. “I’ll leave now.”

Sarah wasn’t sure what to say. She opened the door for him.

He surprised her by adding “Thank you,” and by pausing for a moment before adding, “I’m sorry.”

She watched him scuttle down the walk and into his car. He was sorry? Homer Macklin had never apologized to anyone for anything that she’d ever heard. Unbelievable.

She shut the door and went back into the living room. “Mama, why does Mr. Macklin dislike me so much?”

Hilda looked vague. “Homer? Oh, yes. I forgot to tell you.” She focused on Sarah and sat up straight. “Homer asked me to marry him.”

Sarah dropped a cookie. “He what?”

Fred batted it under a chair and pounced on it.

“At church, a while ago,” Hilda said.

A long while ago, Sarah assumed. “But why would that make him hate me?” she repeated.

Hilda ignored her and picked up a cookie.

“Old business,” Violet said with a glance at Hilda.

“He and Hilda had a disagreement in high school. It would be just like him to still carry a grudge. And to take it out on you.”

“Since they were in high school? That’s sick.” Awful of her to feel relief, but she couldn’t deny it. It wasn’t her fault. “But how could anyone be such a Grinch?”

“He is a Grinch,” cried Violet. “That’s the perfect description.”

“Remember what happened to the Grinch,” Miranda said unexpectedly.

“His heart grew three sizes that day.” Violet clapped her hands. “I love that story.”

“Homer has made a success of his life,” Miranda said. “But I doubt money and success have brought him happiness.”

“Grinch,” Hilda murmured.

Rob came to the door. “Who’s a Grinch?”

“Homer Macklin,” Sarah said. “Want some tea?” Casey picked that moment to sidle into the room and nudge her knee.

“No thanks. But can you come show me where you want the stuff I cleaned out of the garage?”

“Sure.” Sarah excused herself and followed him across the yard to the pile of ancient tools and bits and pieces by the garage. “Hard to believe all the history those three have. And Macklin, too.”

“I guess when people live together in such a small community for such a long time, their lives get all tangled together. It’s part of what makes small towns cohesive, Sarah. You have to learn to take the bad with the good.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to be talked into regarding her ex-boss with anything but dislike. “Yeah, well, Homer Macklin is definitely the bad.”

“That’s what I said. But he has a history with your mother. Didn’t you say she told you what he was like in second grade?”

She nodded.

“That’s almost eighty years. Eighty years, Sarah. If you try to cut him out of your mother’s life, out of your life, you’re leaving a big hole in the history.”

“The butterfly wing hypothesis.”

Rob laughed. “Don’t sound so disgruntled. Our lives are intertwined, all of us. It’s something to look back at, and it gives us something to look forward to.”

“In other words, live with it.”

The laughter was still in his eyes, along with something warm and approving that started an answering glow deep inside her. “You got it.”

****

The next Sunday after church, Violet put a hand on Homer Macklin’s arm before he could escape. “Oh, Homer,” she gushed. “Just the person I wanted to see. Here, sit for a minute.” Keeping up a steady flow of chatter, she tugged him toward a bench in the hallway between the church and parish house. “It won’t matter if you’re just a minute of two late to the Friendship Hour.”

“You know I never attend, Violet. What is this all about?”

That was Homer, tactful and accommodating at all times. “I know we haven’t been close for the past several years, but I do so need you to help me,” Violet burbled.

“I see.”

“I have to talk to you about Hilda.” Fortunately she had one hand on his arm. It took all her strength to keep him from bolting, but she kept smiling and just plain refused to let go. “Homer, dear, this is so important that I hope you’ll forgive me if I seem to trespass on your privacy.”

“Really, Violet, my feelings are none of your business.”

“I know you’ve never stopped loving her, and I want to know why you’ve caused so much trouble. And why you’re so mean to Sarah, who has never done anything to deserve it.”

The chattering from the meeting room was loud in the long silence that followed.

“I scarcely think that’s any of your business,” Homer said at last. “If you’ll excuse me now...”

“Oh, please,” Violet begged. She kept her grip on his arm and he sank back onto the bench. “Hilda has been my best friend for my whole life, and now that I live in her home, her daughter has come to mean a great deal to me,” she said. “You’ve been making their already difficult lives even harder. So you see it is my business. And if you don’t come clean”—she was proud of that phrase, which she’d learned from Perry Mason reruns—“you’re going to be very sorry.”

Macklin looked at her, as stunned as though one of the carved angels on the pillars that lined the covered walkway had spoken. “Are you threatening me, Violet Henderson?”

Well, he’d gotten the idea pretty quickly. “Yes. How clever of you, Homer. Yes, I am.”

“With what may I ask?”

“I wonder how much you’ve really changed since school days.” The flicker in his eyes told her she was on the right track. “Do you think any of your customers would want to know about the time you poured glue on Miss Withers’ chair? Or who put the golden rod in the homecoming queen’s bouquet?”

“It should have been Hilda,” he muttered.

“Possibly. But it wasn’t.”

“Violet, all that was over sixty years ago,” he said. “Who do you think is going to care?”

“I have no idea. But I’m willing to test it. Are you?” She was tempted to add, ‘Do you feel lucky, punk?’ but restrained herself. This was church, after all.

“I’ve changed a great deal since then.”

“I certainly would hope so, although your treatment of Hilda and Sarah leaves room for doubt. You fired Sarah, Homer, when she’s not only an excellent worker but the sole wage-earner in a houseful of dependents.”

He turned away from her, but she could see a hard, red flush along his cheekbones.

“You might as well tell me,” she persisted.

He actually smiled, a small wintery grimace that hinted at more humor than she had expected. “You’re going to keep after me until you get an answer, aren’t you?”

She nodded.

“All right, Violet. You know so many embarrassing things about me that I suppose you might as well know this, too. You probably remember the day that Reverend Dobbs held Sarah up as an example of true Christian spirit.”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled, a small reminiscent curving of her thin lips. “Hilda and I were so pleased that Sarah’s good work and sacrifice were recognized.”

Homer’s gaze lost focus, taking on a glaze of memory. “It made me think. And then I saw her again the next week...she looked so lovely.”

He’d been drooling over Sarah. The thought was enough to make Violet gag. She swallowed a rude comment.

“She wore a lavender dress, and she looked like an angel. To make a long story short, we chatted for a bit after church.”

Oh, thank goodness. He meant Hilda.

“And I asked her to marry me. For the fifth time, I believe. She turned me down, of course. For the fifth time. That was dreadful. I had hoped...but for a moment, I could have sworn that she didn’t even know who I was. I’m afraid I regressed. I took my feelings out on Sarah. I am sorry now, of course.”

The last few words were so soft Violet thought she might have imagined them. But poor Homer. Violet remembered the empathy she’d felt for him years ago. “I thought it must be something like that,” she murmured. “So sad that you could never put those days behind you. One must, you know. Put unpleasant and unavoidable things aside and get on with life, I mean.”

He nodded without looking at her. “If Sarah wants her job back... And of course, calling in the IRS was an empty threat. She should not worry about that.”

“As if Sarah would ever cheat on anything.”

The furtive expression flickered across his face again. “No. I know Sarah would never cheat,” he said. “Not for any reason.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that you recognize that,” Violet said. “I’ll tell her, but I doubt she’ll have time for you right now. Hilda—” She cleared a frog from her throat. “Hilda requires a lot of her time. Well, you saw her.”

“Hilda. Oh, God, yes, I saw her.” His voice was hoarse. “I heard she’d been ill, so I came to call, and—” He buried his face in his hands. “I only thought she broke my heart years ago. This time she really did. I’m so sorry for every mean thought I’ve had over the years, and every mean word I ever said to Sarah. I’m so sorry.”

Violet patted his shoulder. “I think your heart just grew three sizes, Mr. Grinch.”

****

The next afternoon, Sarah sat in the library, which had become her office, and stared at the envelope. Not another bill. She eased it open. Yep. Another bill.

“Sarah?” Her mother clumped into the room with her walker.

Sarah leaped to her feet. “What is it, Mama?”

“Beth’s on the phone. She wants you to go shopping with her this afternoon.” Her mother fished the cordless phone out of the walker basket and handed it to Sarah.

“Oh, Mama, you didn’t have to bring it to me. You should just have called me.”

“Shouting is ill-mannered,” Hilda replied primly. “Beth is waiting.”

“Bad idea,” Sarah said. “No shopping. She sat back down and unfolded the single sheet of paper. “Oh, no.”

“What’s that?” her mother asked.

“Car insurance.” Sarah scrabbled in a desk drawer for the budget she’d drawn up last month. “Oh, God. I forgot about the car insurance. It’s due in less than a month.”

“Well, pay it, dear. We do need to have the car, you know,” her mother said, and left.

With what? When the dot-clunk of her mother’s progress down the hall had faded, Sarah opened the check register and stared at the balance. Not a snowball’s chance in hell. Not if they wanted to eat this month. And there was the small matter of the electric bill, which had soared with the extra people in the house.

The cordless phone, which she had left lying on one of the big leather chairs by the fireplace, emitted a high, annoying tone. Sarah retrieved it and pushed the ‘end’ button.

She’d forgotten Beth. Well, she wasn’t going shopping, that was for sure. But she ought to call back.

The phone rang. Beth, probably, and probably justifiably irritated. She switched it back on. “Sorry, Beth,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I must have the wrong number,” a strange male voice said. “I was trying to reach Gault Accounting Services.”

Oh, my God. A client? “You have the right number. I’m the one who should apologize. The previous call got cut off and I thought—” Oh dear. Babbling. “This is Sarah Gault. How may I help you?” There. That sounded a little more professional.

“This is Henry Wilson. I’m selling my drilling company and a prospective buyer wants an audit. I’d like to have someone look over my books and make sure there aren’t any errors before his accountants arrive. You’ve been recommended, so I called. Can you fit me in this week?”

Oh, my God. A client. Sarah untangled her tongue enough to learn details, negotiate a fee, and accept. Just before the call ended, she thought to ask, “Who referred you to me, Mr. Wilson?

The answer nearly made her drop the phone.

“Homer Macklin.”

****

That evening, Sarah sat on the porch, idly watching lightning bugs flicker around the lawn. What a day it had been. Many more like this and she’d be ready for the funny ward at Bellonna Gardens. Erase that. Shouldn’t even joke about it.

Beth’s car jounced into the driveway and reminded her that after the Macklin-client shock, she’d forgotten all about Beth. The only question was why it had taken Beth so long to call her on it. Sarah pushed the swing into motion and waited for Beth’s reprimand.

“The usual, Sarah?” Rob said from the front door. “Oh, hi, Beth. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Please,” Sarah told him. “A glass of wine, Beth?”

“I thought you’d never offer,” Beth said as she came up the steps. “A big glass of wine and an apology, please.” When Rob had left to get the drinks, she turned back to Sarah. “So what does he mean, the usual? You do this every night? What haven’t you been telling me?”

“Nothing. Rob comes over most nights to see his mother, that’s all.”

“So where is Violet?”

“She’s gone to bed.”

“Leaving you to sit on the porch with Rob.” Beth’s voice held a world of implication. “You sure that’s all you do?”

“Here you go.” Rob came out onto the porch with two glasses of wine and a beer, saving Sarah from having to answer.

“Ever-dependable Rob. Thanks.” Beth took her glass. “So. You guys do this every night?”

Rob’s mouth twitched in annoyance, but he said only, “Pretty much.” He eased down into a chair. “Decompression time. Life gets pretty hysterical around here sometimes.”

“I expect it does. It was so hysterical this afternoon that you left me hanging on the phone, Sarah, and when I tried to call again, the line was busy.” Beth set her glass down with a thump. “So what was going on?”

“What in the world are you all doing?” Violet’s voice floated out of the dark hall.

Sarah started and spilled a bit of wine.

Rob jumped up. “Mum. What are you doing up?” he said, and handed Sarah a handkerchief.

“I couldn’t sleep and I heard voices. So I came down to see what was happening.” Violet opened the door and tiptoed out onto the porch.

“Just sitting and talking. Can I get you a cup of tea?” Rob bent and kissed her cheek.

Violet shook her head. “No. But thank you, dear.” She sat in the chair Rob pulled forward for her. “How nice. Your father and I always used to sit and talk over things like this in the evening. It’s a lovely way to tie up the loose ends of the day.”

Sarah felt Beth’s gaze and refused to look at her for fear that Beth would read her mind. More and more it seemed as though she and Rob were a married couple. They had the moms instead of kids, but the responsibilities didn’t seem to be all that different, and if being with Rob was a tingly distraction, well, she tried to put that out of her mind.

She glanced at Rob in spite of her resolve not to. This had become some kind of ritual for them, and maybe it was a little more comfortable than it should be.

He grinned at her.

“Well, I still have a loose end,” Beth said. “The one where my best friend left me dangling on the phone today.”

“I got a client,” Sarah said. The simple words couldn’t begin to convey her excitement, which hadn’t faded. Her first client!

“What, you can’t have clients and friends at the same time? What are you going to do, take my number off speed dial when you get another one?”

Sarah made a face at Beth.

“That sounds like a perfect reason to go shopping,” Beth persisted.

“It sounds to me like the perfect way to pay the car insurance,” Sarah replied.

“Well, we should be drinking champagne, not hanging up on our friends.”

“True. But it’s so exciting. You’ll never guess. You haven’t heard this, either, Rob. Listen.” Sarah recounted her conversation with Mr. Wilson. “So my question is, why, after the way he’s treated me, is Macklin sending me work? Is Wilson one of those more-trouble-than-he’s-worth people?”

Beth shrugged. “Never heard of him.”

“Maybe Macklin’s sorry he fired you,” Rob said.

“Maybe the moon is made of green cheese,” Sarah retorted. “He’s spent years making my life miserable. Why would he change?”

“He’s worried about your mother,” Violet said unexpectedly.

Sarah stared at her. “Why?”

“I imagine he just realized that she depends on your income.” Violet smiled gently.

“That’s nothing new.”

“Yes, I know. He should have realized that all along. He’s a very near-sighted man, you know.”

Sarah shook her head. “I do know. I worked for the company for fifteen years. If it hadn’t been for his partners, he’d never have hired me. He never worries about the people who work for him. Why is he so worried about my mother?”

“I can’t imagine there’s any reason not to tell you now. He’s had such a crush on your mother all his life,” Violet said.

“My mother? Homer Macklin? I can’t believe it.”

Beth stared at Violet, open-mouthed.

Rob laughed. “That dried-up little stick?”

Violet nodded. “Ever since kindergarten, really. Even sticks have feelings, you know. And actually, he was amazingly handsome in high school.”

“I guess Mama was a real hot number. That’s how Daddy described her once,” Sarah murmured. “He said he’d cut out three other beaus when he was courting her.”

Rob grinned. “Hard to imagine, isn’t it? Parents being that young. Hell, I’m not sure I can remember me being that young.” He winked at Sarah, and a spark she hadn’t felt in years zinged through her. Unless she imagined it, he remembered very well.

“Your mother dumped Homer for your dad, and Homer’s never forgiven her,” Violet said. “Actually, she only went out with Homer once or twice. She didn’t like him much, I’m afraid, and wouldn’t have continued to see him in any case. But that was when your father moved to town, and Homer always blamed Eldon for the rift.”

Sarah shook her head and tried to wrap her mind around her mother and Homer Macklin in high school. Dating. Ew. “Hard to imagine all that teen angst and Mama in the same sentence.”

“Oh, there’s more,” Violet said, settling herself deeper in her chair.

Sarah wasn’t sure she could take more.

“Anyway, he felt that she had jilted him, and he didn’t take it well. He came here, to your grandparents’ house to confront her. But Eldon was here and the encounter was quite heated, I’m afraid. Eventually Eldon simply picked him up and tossed him down the steps.”

Sarah gasped. “Daddy? He’d never do something like that.”

“Oh, yes, Sarah. He did. And that was bad enough, but the thing that really upset Homer was that his humiliation was so public. You see, a bunch of us drove up just at that moment. We were to pick up Hilda and Eldon to go to the lake for a picnic. So almost the entire senior class witnessed Homer’s worst moment. He blamed Hilda, and he never forgave her.”

Sarah shook her head. “But why would he be mean to me? This all happened before I was born.”

“I think it’s because you remind him so much of her. You do look like her, you know, Sarah. I would guess it’s given him some feeling of revenge to treat you so badly.”

“The sins of the mothers, huh?” Rob said.

“But I scarcely look like a high-school student,” Sarah protested.”

“We’re all looking older, dear,” Violet said. “I imagine he looks at you and sees your mother at whatever age. He renewed his suit after your father died, you know.”

This just got worse and worse. “No, of course I didn’t know that. Mama never said a word about it.”

“Well, your mama rejected him again, and he didn’t take it any better than the first time,” Violet confided.

“Oh, that must be what Mama meant the other day when she said he’d proposed to her. I couldn’t imagine what she was talking about.”

“No, no,” Violet said. “He proposed again after church. The day before he fired you.”

Unbelievable. “So he fired me because he was mad at my mother? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m sure he still cares for your mother. He was truly upset when he saw how she’s failing. And if he came to see what a hardship he had inflicted on her, I think he might have come to his senses.”

Sarah studied Violet’s innocent expression. “Violet, what did you do?”

Violet fiddled with the fringe on the belt of her bathrobe and didn’t meet her gaze. “Well...”

“Mother.” Rob sounded unbelievably stern.

“I just happened to run into him after church last week. We got to chatting before Friendship Hour.”

“Like Homer Macklin had ever stayed to be friendly. I can just imagine the way you pounced on him,” Sarah said.

“You meddled,” Rob accused his mother.

“And just what might you have told him?” Sarah asked. “That we were on the brink of starvation? That the wolf was having pups on the porch?”

“Now, Sarah. I just mentioned a few home truths about what an inconvenience his silly, useless revenge was. Not just to Hilda, but to the rest of us as well. And since he’d just seen the way Hilda is now...well, you know, I think he must have reconsidered his attitude.”

Sarah pressed her hands to her temples. “Oh, Violet,” she said. “Not that I’m not grateful for whatever brought me the client, you understand, but it’s hard to imagine that all that teen angst lasted so long.”

Rob laughed. “Mum, you never cease to amaze me. But Sarah, you know she’s probably right. Think about how often she’s nailed something when the rest of us didn’t have a clue.”

Sarah turned to look at Violet. “My God. You’re right. She does it every time.”

“I expect Homer’s sorry and just doesn’t know how to fix things.” Violet got to her feet. “He said if you’d like to come back to work, your job is waiting.” A huge yawn swallowed the rest of the sentence. “I believe I’ll go up to bed now. Don’t you children stay up too late.”

Silence pooled on the porch after she left. Sarah listened to the footsteps down the hall, followed by the hum of the elevator. “Wow.”

“Second that,” said Beth.

“Makes sense, though. I was expecting a commendation for the Fleider account, not a firing. Good to know it wasn’t my fault.”

“You coming back?”

Sarah shook her head. “I have my hands full here. Anyway, I need some time to get used to the idea of Homer being human. Unbelievable. Wow. If he can change that much, Beth, maybe even your mother could.”

“Don’t go there,” Beth warned. “Ever. I think I’ll head home now.”

“I guess you shouldn’t have mentioned her mother,” Rob said when she’d gone.

“Guess not.”

“Did you ever get the Fleider business settled?”

“No. I got fired that day. Macklin was so mad that I’d called Mrs. F. And now that I think about it, he was leaning over me when I worked on that account.” She frowned and thought about it. “I might believe that he was siphoning money out of the Fleider account. Maybe. But why would he put money into it? What reason would he have?”

“Beats me. This all reminds me that it’s time to go over my mother’s accounts. I’ve been letting that slip. First thing tomorrow.”