Читать книгу The Cottage on Juniper Ridge - Sheila Roberts - Страница 13

Chapter Five

The to-dos on our list aren’t always what we need to do.

—Muriel Sterling, author of Simplicity

Chita Arness only wanted one thing from Santa— some time to herself. She had no idea how she was going to simplify her life if she didn’t even have a couple of hours to finish reading a book on simplifying it. She’d said as much to Cass when they ran into each other in Johnson’s Drugs.

“I hear you,” Cass had said. “Being a single parent isn’t for sissies.”

Especially being a single parent this time of year, Chita thought as she’d left the drugstore. Christmas was right around the corner, waiting to pounce on her. Her shopping wasn’t done, the house was a mess and her washing machine was dying. Her work week at Sweet Dreams Chocolates was over, but the work at home was just beginning.

“When are we going to make pasteles?” Anna greeted her when she walked in the door.

“Oh, baby, give me time to get my coat off,” she pleaded. She thanked Cass’s daughter, Amber, who’d been her after-school babysitter for the past few months, and sent her on her way.

“We didn’t make them last year and you promised we would this year,” Anna persisted.

“Maybe Abuelita will make them with you.” She always hated to ask her mother for favors, though. Not that her mother wasn’t happy to come over from Yakima and spend a day helping out, but her assistance carried a price. Whenever Chita put out an SOS, Consuela Medina couldn’t seem to stop herself from observing how much easier Chita’s life would’ve been if only she’d married Danny Rodriguez instead of that gringo.

“Danny would never have broken your heart,” her mother liked to say.

“Yeah, well, Danny’s been on unemployment for the past eighteen months. I’d still be working just as hard,” Chita liked to retort.

That usually ended the conversation.

Anyway, work was part of life. What Chita had to do was figure out how to balance it with the demands of two children and a dachshund who had a penchant for eating things he shouldn’t, like bottle caps, crayons, Lego bricks and shoelaces (the reason for their last visit to the vet).

“I want you to make them with me,” Anna said, bringing Chita back into the moment. “You never do anything with me.”

Guilt and manipulation, a girl’s best friend. Anna must have learned that from her grandmother. Consuela was an expert. “You have to go to your sister’s cookie exchange. She’ll be hurt if you don’t. Family is important.”

Chita thought of the pile of laundry, the cleaning that needed to be done, the shopping she had to finish and the packages she had to wrap before the big Christmas Eve celebration at her parents’ house.

“You know, you’re right,” she said to her daughter. “We’ll make them tomorrow.”

The way Anna’s face lit up put their Christmas tree to shame. And put her to shame, too. Having a clean house shouldn’t be the most important thing in her life. At the age of ten, the days Anna would want to hang out with her were numbered.

Eight-year-old Enrico came racing into the front hall with Hidalgo chasing him, yapping at the top of his doggy lungs. “Can Bradley spend the night? His mom says it’s okay.”

What the heck? “Sure.”

“Can we have tostadas?”

She’d planned on heating up leftovers. “Sure.”

“And fried ice cream?”

Life was one big party when you were a kid. Sometimes Chita wished she was still a kid. “We’ll see,” she said.

Ten minutes later, she was making a run to the store for ice cream and cornflakes. And on the way home, she picked up Enrico’s friend Bradley and Anna’s BFF, Emma. What the heck? What was one more kid at this point?

She knew dinner was a success when Bradley announced, “I like coming here.” Obviously, not everyone cared if a woman’s house was clean. After they were done eating, she put the kids to work clearing the table while she cleaned up the stove. After that she could get started on the laundry.

Then she caught sight of her book selection sitting on the kitchen counter. Forget the laundry. She put on a Disney movie for the gang, got her blanket and stretched out on the couch to read, barely aware of the TV blasting.

Sometimes it’s more important to get some rest than to get things done. I learned early on that when we go, go, go, we never give our bodies a chance to recharge. Schedule time in your life to relax and recharge and you’ll find you have more energy and more enthusiasm for the things you need to...

Chita bolted awake when the book fell on her face. Come the new year, she was going to build in more time to keep her batteries charged...before they died for good.

* * *

Alma Tuttle opened her front door on Saturday afternoon and greeted Jen. “It’s about time you arrived. Half my friends are already here.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jen said, lugging her case full of candles through the door. “Like I said when I called, I had a flat tire.”

Alma clasped her hands in front of her. With her tacky Christmas sweater, her tightly permed white hair and her glasses, she looked a little like Mrs. Claus. But the minute the old bat opened her mouth she ruined that illusion. “You should plan for that.”

Plan for flat tires? Was she serious? Jen shoved down her irritation. “I guess I should.”

“Well, you’re here now,” Alma said irritably. “You’d better hurry and get set up.”

This had been a mistake. Alma was the grandmother of the hostess at her last party, and she’d pretended she was booking a party to help her granddaughter earn the special candle set that could only be obtained when two guests booked a party, but Jen suspected she’d been motivated more by avarice than sacrifice.

“She’s finally here,” Alma announced, preceding Jen into the living room where three other senior ladies sat, holding plates filled with store-bought Christmas cookies.

Two of them looked as if they’d been sucking on the same lemon as Alma. The third woman, however, gave Jen a friendly smile. “I love candles,” she said.

Well, that was encouraging. “We have some beautiful ones. And I’m selling all my Christmas stock for fifty percent off today,” Jen told her as she started to unpack her case.

“It’s almost Christmas,” Alma said. “They should be seventy-five percent off.”

What the heck? Profit was highly overrated. “Well, let me know if you see something you really like.” All she wanted at this point was to get rid of these candles and this job.

And the financial burden of the condo. The stupid thing hadn’t sold yet and she’d wanted to move the first Saturday in January. Now she was beginning to worry that she wouldn’t get to move at all, which was really depressing because she was so ready to escape the hectic life she’d created in Seattle. She was so tired of working two jobs, especially these two.

Ever since the office Christmas party, going to work had been far from fun. People were still grumbling over the fact that there hadn’t been enough food. (As if that was her fault? She’d only had so much money to work with.) Leon Eggers, her supervisor’s boss, had made a pass at her at that ill-fated party and she’d told him to go soak his head in the punch bowl. After that, she’d somehow found herself with more work in her in-box. Nothing she could prove, but she knew.

And the candle parties...ugh. It seemed to be getting increasingly harder to convince women they wanted to make time to host a party. Yes, the candles were shipped to them and they had to distribute them to their friends. But so what? They got all kinds of free merchandise as a reward. Of course, the more everyone bought, the more the hostess got. And the more Jen made. Sadly, no one had purchased much at the last party. Hopefully, the smiling woman at today’s event would buy a lot and encourage her friends to do the same.

Now another woman had entered the room. “All right,” Alma said to Jen, “that’s everyone.”

Five women. Not exactly a huge group. But that didn’t mean anything, Jen told herself. All it took was one or two women to go on a spending spree and Alma could earn her holiday centerpiece. And Jen could earn some money.

“Okay,” Jen said in her perky candle-lady voice. “Thank you all for coming today. I know you’ll be happy you did when you see the wonderful bargains I have for you. Soft Glow candles are the finest on the market, guaranteed to bring beauty and light to your home. Today, just for hosting a Soft Glow party, Alma will receive this lovely multipack of pillar candles as a thank-you.” She picked up the set of red candles and the women oohed and ahhed and nodded their heads. She had them now!

Jen went on with her spiel, talking up various candles, candleholders, centerpieces and hurricane lamps. “And, as I said earlier, all our holiday candles are fifty percent off today.”

“Seventy-five percent,” Alma reminded her.

“Seventy-five percent. So, feel free to come up and browse.”

“Aren’t we going to have a draw?” Alma asked.

She held a drawing for a free candle at every party. Between the flat tire and Alma’s irritation, she’d forgotten all about it. Alma hadn’t. “Let’s do that right now,” Jen said, pretending she’d been about to get to it.

One of the lemon-suckers won a set of taper candles. “You’re sure these are dripless?” she asked Jen.

“Absolutely. I use those all the time.”

The woman nodded, but still seemed unconvinced. “I bought some once that were supposed to be dripless. They ruined my silver candlesticks.”

“These won’t, I promise,” Jen said.

“Well, I hope they don’t.” The woman’s tone of voice promised big trouble for Jen if they did.

Now it was time to order. The women looked at the candles. They visited. They looked some more. They ate more cookies. Then the smiling lady announced she had to get going. She had her bridge club at two.

She took her leave and left her empty order form behind.

One of the lemon-suckers purchased a set of holiday votives. For seventy-five percent off. Big spender. “Would you like to host a party?” Jen asked.

“Heavens, no. I have all the candles I need.”

At seventy-five percent off. Jen forced the smile to remain on her face. That’s sales, she reminded herself. Sometimes you did well, sometimes you didn’t. Anyway, the woman probably didn’t have a lot of money.

“Well, dear,” the broke lemon-sucker said to Alma, “I’ve got to go home and finish packing for my cruise.”

The second lemon-sucker purchased a set of tea lights and called it quits. “I’d have bought more,” she informed Jen, “but your candles are overpriced.”

“They’re very high quality,” Jen said. Why was she bothering?

“Well,” the woman huffed, “some of us are on a budget.”

“I understand,” Jen said. And that was why she was working two jobs and trying to sell her condo. Toni had been right. She shouldn’t have made a snap decision, shouldn’t have wasted money on a deposit on that cottage in Icicle Falls. What had she been thinking?

She’d been thinking of Garrett Armstrong. And home-canned goodies. And eating home-canned goodies with Garrett Armstrong. She’d been thinking of getting away and simplifying her life. Sadly, that was turning out not to be so simple.

“It was a lovely party, dear,” the last of Alma’s guests said to her, and slipped out the door without buying anything.

Alma turned to Jen. “Well, that was nice, wasn’t it? What did I earn?”

“You earned this lovely multipack of pillar candles as a thank-you gift,” Jen said.

Alma’s smile drooped. “Is that all?”

“Well, you do have to have a certain amount in sales to earn—”

“I spent all day yesterday cleaning,” Alma said miserably. “And I had to go to the store and get those cookies with my hip bothering me.”

“How about I throw in the holiday centerpiece?” Jen offered.

Alma’s smile perked right up.

Jen’s drooped.

She packed up her candles, thanked Alma for hosting the party and thanked God she was done with candle parties for the season.

Make that forever. Alma Tuttle’s nonparty was the last straw. She’d keep some of the candles for herself and sell the rest on eBay. Much as she loved the product, her heart wasn’t in this anymore.

Her heart wasn’t in Seattle anymore, either, even though it was a great city. What she wanted was life in a small town...a charming mountain town.

She loaded up her wares and drove back to the condo. Home, sweet home. She’d been so in love with this place when she first bought it, so intent on forgetting her unhappy starter marriage to Serge and carving out a new life for herself.

She’d gotten a new life. It just happened to stink.

There was no sense wasting what was left of a perfectly good Saturday afternoon moping. She’d find something simple to do, some small pleasure to give her life sweetness, the way Muriel Sterling recommended in her book. It was almost Christmas. She’d bake cookies. Gingerbread boys like the ones she’d enjoyed in that cute bakery in Icicle Falls. She could give them to Toni’s kids for Christmas. A nice simple present...to go with the more expensive ones she’d bought with her overworked credit card.

She found a recipe online and got busy assembling butter, flour, eggs, sugar and spices. These were going to be delicious. Yes, there was nothing like spending a little time in the kitchen making old-fashioned goodies to lift a woman’s spirits. Simple pleasures really were the best.

She was sliding a batch of cookies in the oven when her cell phone rang. Caller ID told her it was her Realtor, Hannah Yates. Hannah had shown the condo the other night, but Jen had given up hope when she didn’t hear back that same evening. Maybe the person had decided to buy, after all.

Jen let the oven door slam shut, grabbed the phone and said a hopeful “Hello.”

“Hi, Jen, it’s Hannah.”

“Yes?” Jen said eagerly.

“I just called to tell you that the woman I showed the condo to decided she’d rather have a house.”

Jen’s spirits took a nosedive and she sank onto her couch. “I thought she wanted to downsize.”

“She changed her mind. It happens. But don’t worry. I’ll find you a buyer.”

“Thanks,” Jen said, trying to sound upbeat and appreciative. “I know you’re trying to sell this place.”

“Frankly, I can’t understand why we haven’t found a buyer. It’s a great condo, and it’s definitely priced to sell.”

Because it isn’t in the cards, Jen thought. The fact that the condo hadn’t sold was a sign that she wasn’t supposed to move. She was doomed to stay in her crappy life, working as an office drone and selling candles to the Alma Tuttles of the world.

She thanked Hannah, then hung up and slumped against the couch cushions. From her window she had a beautiful view of the Seattle skyline. This was really a lovely place. She hated it here!

She was still staring grumpily out the window when the phone rang again. This time it was her sister.

“How was the candle party?” Toni asked.

“A dud. Like my life.”

“Well, that’s upbeat.”

“My Realtor just called. Still no bites.”

“Maybe you’re not meant to sell it,” Toni suggested.

“Thanks,” Jen said miserably.

“Maybe you’re meant to rent it instead.”

“Rent it?” Jen repeated. She hadn’t thought of that.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” her sister said. “I really hate to see you move. But at least if you rented and you didn’t like it up there, you’d have someplace to come back to.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Jen muttered.

“Hey, it never hurts to have a plan B. Anyway, if you’re interested in renting, I think I know someone who’d want your condo.”

Jen bolted upright. “You do?”

“My neighbor. Her divorce became final and she’s looking for a place where she can make a new start. She might even be open to renting with an option to buy if you decide you want to go that route. She works downtown, so your place would be perfect for her.”

“Does she have a house to sell?” That would take time. Jen knew this now, from personal experience.

“No, she and her ex were renting.”

“So, if she liked the condo she could move in right away.”

“Probably,” Toni agreed. “Should I give her your number?”

“Absolutely!” If the place didn’t sell, she’d have someone who could make her payments. That would get her out from under just as well as a sale. Yes! This was a sign. She was meant to move.

The aroma of burning cookie wafted to where she sat and she remembered she was baking. She dashed to the kitchen, phone in hand and, propping the phone between her ear and shoulder, put on her oven mitt and opened the oven. A plume of smoke wafted out to greet her, stinging her eyes and making her cough. She pulled out the cookie sheet with her blackened gingerbread boys. Eeew.

A moment later the smoke alarm went off.

“What’s happening?” Toni asked.

“I burned my cookies. I’ve got to go.”

“Okay. Try not to burn down the condo before you get it rented,” Toni teased, and hung up.

Jen grabbed a towel and flapped it in the direction of the smoke detector, all the while scolding herself for forgetting to set the timer. Finally, the noise subsided. “Well, you guys are history,” she informed the ruined cookies.

Maybe, if she was lucky, her life here would soon be history, too.