Читать книгу Better Than Chocolate - Sheila Roberts - Страница 11

Chapter Four

No one is perfect. It’s important to remember this when working with family.

—Muriel Sterling, Mixing Business with Pleasure: How to Successfully Balance Business and Love

Muriel was in a swimming pool full of melted chocolate, competing in a swim meet, doing the butterfly stroke and trying desperately to catch up with her competition in the other lanes. Waldo stood at one end of the pool holding up a giant silver trophy cup brimming with fudge, and Cecily and Bailey were at the front of the throng, cheering wildly. “Go, Mom! You can do it!” But the chocolate was so thick that no matter how hard she pulled against it, she couldn’t make any progress.

She was halfway across the pool and heavily winded when in swept the Wicked Witch of the West on her broom. The witch wasn’t wearing her usual black garb. Instead, she was in an old-fashioned bathing suit from the early 1900s and she looked suspiciously like Samantha with hazel eyes and long red hair flying out from under her pointy black hat.

“Tsunami! Quick, everybody out of the pool,” cried the witch. She flew out over the water, reached down and yanked Muriel out by her hair. “Mom, you can’t stay here. Mom. Mom!”

“Mom?”

Muriel opened her eyes to see Samantha leaning over her, a hand on her shoulder, her expression anxious. “Are you okay?”

Of course she wasn’t okay. Muriel shoved her hair out of her eyes and sat up. “What time is it?”

“Eleven forty-five.”

Almost noon. Here she was, sleeping away another day.

“Have you eaten?” Samantha asked.

“I’m not hungry, sweetie.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

What did it matter? Muriel waved away the question. She slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom and shut the door on her daughter.

Samantha’s voice followed her. “I’ll make coffee.”

Coffee, ugh. Muriel had always loved a good cup of coffee but her taste buds, like the rest of her, seemed to have given up on life.

She stood at the bathroom counter and stared at her reflection. Beneath those artificially brown curls the face of an old woman looked mournfully back at her. The dark circles under her eyes showed how poorly she was sleeping in spite of all the mattress time she was logging in.

She flipped off the light and left the bathroom. The bed called to her, but the smell of brewing coffee reminded her that Samantha was expecting her in the kitchen. She put on her bathrobe and sat on the edge of the bed, willing herself to get out there. Her body refused to obey.

Finally Samantha entered the room bearing a steaming mug. At the sight of her mother she managed a tentative smile. “How about I draw you a bubble bath and make us an omelet?”

Muriel took the mug. “Is that a hint?” That sounded snippy. Well, she felt snippy.

Samantha’s fair skin glowed like an ember. “No, I just…”

“Go ahead and make yourself something. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Muriel returned to the bathroom with as much dignity as she could muster. She was too young for her daughter to be telling her what to do.

Although Samantha was right. She needed a bath.

Twenty minutes later she emerged to find her daughter huddled on a stool at the kitchen counter, nursing her own mug of coffee. Muriel joined her and they sat side by side, looking at the empty kitchen.

“I can’t seem to get my feet under me,” Muriel murmured.

“You will,” Samantha said.

And, if her daughter had anything to say about it, the sooner, the better, but all that busyness seemed like a waste of time. Her head suddenly hurt.

“So, how about an omelet?” Samantha coaxed.

Waldo loved a big, hearty breakfast. “It starts the day out right,” he used to say.

There was no right way to start this day. “No, I don’t want anything,” Muriel said. Except to have my husband back.

“Let me at least get you some toast.”

Fine, if it would make her happy. Muriel nodded.

It wasn’t until Samantha had toasted and buttered a piece of rye bread, put it on a plate and set it on the counter that Muriel’s foggy brain made an observation. “You’re not at the office.”

Samantha nudged the plate closer. “Have some toast.”

Muriel took a bite and chewed. She might as well have been chewing sawdust. She pushed the plate aside. “I thought you’d be at the office.”

Once again Samantha inched the plate closer. “Have another bite.”

Again Muriel pushed it away. She narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “Samantha Rose. Why are you here?”

Samantha dropped her gaze to the counter and gnawed her lip. Behind that pretty face lived a will of steel that showed itself in a strong chin always set in determination. Today, though, her daughter looked like she’d collapsed in on herself.

Maternal mode overpowering grief, Muriel reached across the counter and laid a hand on Samantha’s arm. “Tell me,” she commanded even though she didn’t want to hear. Between her daughter and the doctors, she’d been hearing enough miserable news the past few months to last her a lifetime. She shuddered inwardly and braced herself.

Samantha looked up at her, eyes filled with desperation. “I don’t even know how to say this.”

Of the three girls this daughter had never been afraid to tell her mother exactly what she thought. “Just tell me. It can’t top any of the bad news I’ve had in the past month.”

“The bank is calling in its note. If I don’t come up with the money by the end of next month they’ll seize our assets and we’ll lose the business.”

She’d known the company was having trouble, but hearing this, Muriel felt like she’d been knocked over by an avalanche. First that horrible diagnosis, followed by Waldo’s sudden death, now the business. What next?

If she’d stayed in the modest paid-for house where she and Stephen had raised the girls, she and Samantha could have gone to the bank and gotten a home equity loan and solved this problem. But instead, she’d traded up and bought a big, new house to go with her new husband and her new life. Real estate values in the region had fallen and even she knew what that meant—her house wasn’t worth what it once was. And that meant the amount of equity she had to trade on amounted to zilch.

It seemed wrong to ask your daughter, “What are we going to do?” She should’ve had an answer. But she didn’t. So she sat there and stared at Samantha, feeling like the world’s worst mother, willing her brain to become math-friendly.

“I’ve been to the bank,” Samantha said. “They won’t help us. Right now there’s only one thing I can think to do.”

She’d thought of something. Good. Whatever it was, Muriel would support her.

Samantha hesitated, chewing her lip. She obviously wasn’t happy with the solution she’d come up with.

“I’m listening,” Muriel said encouragingly even though she felt an overwhelming urge to run away.

“I hate to ask this, but did Waldo have life insurance?”

Life insurance. Just hearing the words made Muriel’s stomach churn. Waldo was not only dead, his life was reduced to a check. But it was a check they needed. She could use it to help her daughter save the company and maybe pay down this ridiculous mortgage.

Oh, how crass that sounded! Waldo, I’m sorry.

“Mom, I wouldn’t ask if I could think of anything else but I’m out of options,” Samantha was saying. “If you could just lend me enough to catch us up with the bank, I’ll make sure you get repaid as soon as possible.”

She patted her daughter’s arm. “This is our business, honey. I’ll give you the money.”

Samantha’s lower lip trembled and she took a deep breath. “Thanks,” she said with tears in her eyes.

“We’re a family. Family sticks together.” Muriel hugged her.

Samantha wrapped her arms around Muriel like a drowning person would grab a life preserver.

Independent as her daughter was, she still needed her mother, and no matter how much Muriel wanted to sit life out for a good long while, maybe forever, she wasn’t about to abandon her child to fight this battle on her own. “I won’t let us lose this business,” she promised. “Grandma Rose would turn in her grave.”

“So would Daddy.” Samantha pulled away and Muriel saw both relief and guilt on her face. “Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry we’re having to go about things this way.”

She pushed a lock of red hair behind Samantha’s ear. “I’m not. And Waldo would be happy to know he was helping.”

That remark tugged her daughter’s lips down at the corners, and even though Samantha didn’t say it, Muriel could hear her thinking, It’s the least he could do, considering the circumstances.

But she didn’t say it, and for that Muriel was grateful. She held in a thought of her own, too. Yes, Waldo made some mistakes but he wasn’t the one who took out that expansion loan in the first place. Sometimes her daughter forgot that.

“I’ll find the policy and call the insurance company this afternoon,” she promised.

Samantha nodded, still looking uncomfortable. “Thanks.” And then she was all business, ready to recommence fighting the world. “I’d better get back to the office. Call me after you talk to them.”

“I will,” Muriel assured her.

She sent Samantha on her way with a kiss, then stood at the window and watched her run down the walk to her car. For a moment she saw her daughter at eighteen, climbing into the passenger seat next to her father, driving to her summer job in the Sweet Dreams office. “Someday I’m going to run this company,” she’d announced when she was sixteen, “and we’ll be big.”

Such dreams and ambition. “She’s a natural,” Stephen had said.

Muriel sighed. She should have remembered that and left her daughter in charge instead of bringing in Waldo and complicating things. She hadn’t trusted her own judgment or her daughter’s business smarts, and now she realized that had been a mistake. But Samantha had been so young.

As if age had anything to do with business smarts. Muriel herself was living proof that wasn’t true.

Well, it was a new day. Samantha was in charge now and it seemed fitting that Waldo’s life insurance money would allow her to resuscitate Sweet Dreams and take the company to the next level.

Muriel went up to the loft they’d turned into an office and opened the filing cabinet. The files were all jumbled, with manila folders stuck in haphazardly rather than in alphabetical order. She finally found the one marked Life Insurance and pulled it out, only to discover it contained papers on the house.

Panic began to simmer inside her. She set the file on the cabinet and checked the house file, thinking maybe Waldo had mixed things up. No life insurance policy. She moved to the desk, pawing through the scattered papers piled on top. A past-due notice for Waldo’s Beemer payment made her swallow hard but didn’t distract her from her search. It had to be here somewhere.

Three hours and two more cups of coffee later, she found a letter from the insurance company. She picked it up and began to read.

Words jumped out and slapped her. Due to nonpayment…policy…canceled.

There had to be some mistake. She’d call the insurance company first thing in the morning and straighten this all out.

Oh, Lord, please let there be some mistake.

But there wasn’t. No matter how many superiors Muriel spoke to the following morning, no matter how much she pleaded, the answer was always the same: “We’re sorry, but we can’t help you.”

And now she had to call the office and say the same words to her daughter. She stared at the phone and wished she could just go back to bed.