Sweet Dreams on Center Street (9 page)

“You're my hero,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek, making
his whole face turn russet.

From the corner of her eye she caught sight of Blake, old Mr.
Community Spirit, talking with Ed while watching her. He gave her what he must
have considered an encouraging smile, which made her seethe. Oh, yeah, the bank
wanted to do what it could to help the community, all right. Unless a business
was really in trouble. Then they could forget it.

She turned her back on him and said to Charley, “Let's go. I've
got a lot of work to do.” Like saving a company.

Chapter Eight

If you can't manage your family, what hope do you have of
managing a business?

—Muriel Sterling,
When Family
Matters

I
t was going on two in the afternoon and
Muriel had done about all she wanted to for one day. She'd gotten dressed. Now
she was on the couch, looking through one of her photo albums.

The cordless phone rang and she picked it up from the coffee
table where it was slowly losing juice. Caller ID told her that her eldest was
on the other end of the line.

Not now,
she decided, and set the
phone back down. She loved her daughter, but sometimes Samantha simply exhausted
her.

This was nothing new. She'd begun by keeping her pregnant
mother awake half the night with her in-the-womb acrobatics, and she hadn't been
any easier to corral once she'd left for the big wide world. Samantha had never
been fond of the word
no,
which had made her a top
seller in school fundraisers. It also made her a challenge to raise. She'd
always pushed the boundaries on everything from allowances to clothing styles to
curfews. By the time the other two girls came along, Muriel had given up on her
idea of holding the reins of parenthood tightly and had gone lenient.

“
I
never got to stay out that
late,” Samantha would complain when Bailey came dragging home at midnight. “And
you're going to let her stay out all night for prom?”

Frustration with her mother's choices hadn't stopped with such
minor issues. “Mom, you can't put Waldo in charge of this company. He's a sweet
man and I know he wants to be involved, but he doesn't understand how we do
things.”

“He's a businessman,” Muriel had insisted. “And he'll bring new
ideas to the table.”

The fallout from that decision had taken her relationship with
her firstborn to new lows, and so far she hadn't been able to atone for her bad
judgment. So she'd vowed that whatever her daughter needed to do, she'd be
supportive. But putting on this festival just seemed so impossible. Merely
thinking about it exhausted her. The last thing she wanted to do today was talk
about it.

With a frown, Muriel refocused her attention on the pictures
from her honeymoon cruise with Waldo. There they stood at the ship's railing,
the turquoise waters of the Caribbean serving as a backdrop, smiling like a
couple who had many good years ahead of them. She sighed and turned the page and
fingered the picture of them seated at the captain's table, her in her evening
gown and Waldo in his tux. They should've just kept cruising and left Samantha
to run the business.

She flipped through the pages, blinking back tears at the
snapshots of their short life together: picnicking at Lost Bride Falls, enjoying
dinner at the Space Needle in Seattle, posing in front of the tree last
Christmas. She looked at the brave face he was putting on and felt tears
forming. They'd known about his condition for a month by then but hadn't told
the girls. The holidays hadn't seemed like the right time. Now there was no
point in saying anything, especially to Samantha. She'd only feel bad about how
angry she'd been with him.

Samantha. With a sigh, Muriel picked up the phone to check the
message.

Her daughter's voice was filled with energy. “Good news, Mom.
The Chamber is behind us. Our chocolate festival is a go. Looks like you're
going to be busy for the next several weeks.”

Busy for the next several weeks, and all with a daughter living
at home again.

Not that she didn't want Cecily back—she would be a comfort.
But she would also be…here. And even though Muriel loved her daughter, she'd
rather not expend valuable energy pretending she was doing well. She just wanted
to sleep or sit in the office and stare into space or look at pictures. She'd
been down this road before and it didn't get any easier the second time around.
In fact, she was sure it was harder.

And how to explain that to her daughters, to anyone? How could
you explain the ache of loss, the deep well of sorrow, to people who hadn't
experienced it yet?

The moment that thought emerged, she knew she wasn't being
fair. Her daughters had experienced the loss of a father they adored.

Still, they were young. They had their whole lives before them.
They'd find men who loved them and build lives with those men. Muriel wouldn't.
She'd been blessed to find two wonderful men in one lifetime. There would be no
third time for her. And, that being the case, what would she do with the rest of
her life? She'd spent so many years as a wife and companion. What was she
now?

Still a mother, she reminded herself, and that was a role a
woman never stepped out of. Life goes on.

What a depressing saying! On days like this it seemed wrong
that life kept going when someone you loved died. Now hers wasn't going to
simply keep going it was about to turn into a whirlwind, and she wasn't ready.
But she would be. For everyone's sake she had to be. She'd call
Samantha…tomorrow.

* * *

“That's great,” Cecily said after Samantha told her the
news.

“And it will be really good for Mom,” Samantha said. “She can't
keep sitting in the house doing nothing.”

“Well.” Cecily was thoughtful. “I don't know. We're not giving
her any time to grieve.”

“There isn't time, not if we want to keep our business.”

“Whoa, Scrooge lives.”

“Scrooge has to. Did she tell you Waldo let his life insurance
lapse?”

“What? You mean—”

“She gets nothing. Nada. Zip.”

“The new house isn't paid off, is it?” Now Cecily sounded
worried.

And so she should. Someone besides Samantha needed to be.
“Nope, and she's upside down on it.”

Cecily let out her breath. “This is not good.”

Samantha agreed. “The sooner you get here, the better, because
Mom's not answering her phone.”

“Well, maybe she's out running errands.”

“No, she's in the house moping.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that's what she was doing last time I went over.”
There was silence, and suddenly Samantha felt guilty. “What?” she demanded,
ignoring the little voice jeering,
Rotten daughter, rotten
daughter, rotten,
rotten
daughter.

“You're not cutting her much slack.”

Her sister was right and that made Samantha testy. “There's no
time to cut anybody any slack.”

“You've got a point there,” Cecily said diplomatically.

Darn right she did. Oh, who was she kidding? She was the
world's biggest bitch. Her sisters should get her a dog collar for her next
birthday.

She heaved a sigh. “You're right. Mom needs a chance to grieve
and I need to see a shrink.”

“Don't worry. We'll get you whipped into shape,” Cecily
teased.

“I think it's hopeless,” Samantha said. “I should go. I've got
to get over to city hall and start things moving on the permits.”

“Okay. I'll be there by the end of the week.”

Samantha only hoped her sister wasn't closing shop on her
account. “Are you positive you want to do this?”

“Absolutely. You probably don't really need me, though. Knowing
you, everything's under control.”

Even though she'd felt put-upon when her sisters left her
holding the bag at Sweet Dreams, she had to admit she liked being in control.
Except this was still a family business. Had she really made Cecily think she
didn't need her?

That last thought came as a bit of a revelation. “I need you to
help me keep all these balls in the air,” she said. “And to keep me sane.”

“Well, I'm not sure about that last one, but I can help with
the juggling.”

“Thanks,” Samantha said. “Have I told you recently what a great
sister you are?”

“No. But you're right. I am.”

She could hear the smile in Cecily's voice, and when she hung
up she was smiling, too. She wasn't going to have to hold down the chocolate
fort alone. Reinforcements were coming. She shot an email to Ed to let him know
she was getting the permit process started, then grabbed her purse and coat and
left her office.

“I'm off to city hall to apply for permits,” she told Elena,
who had stopped a rapid-fire conversation in Spanish to ask where she was going.
“I shouldn't be long.”

Elena nodded and returned to her conversation, frowning and
gesticulating madly. The waving arm and Spanish could only mean one thing—she
was talking to her mother. Samantha was glad she'd be out of the office for a
while. It always took Elena at least half an hour to calm down after one of her
mother-daughter chats.

What was it about moms? They could be a girl's best friend one
minute and her worst enemy the next.
Your mother was never
your enemy,
she reminded herself. Mom wasn't psychic; she couldn't
have known how things were going to turn out. She'd been nothing but supportive
all of Samantha's life. Well, until Waldo.

Samantha frowned. And there was the rub. She'd resented Mom's
decision to put him in charge then and she still resented it, even now that he
was gone.

I do need a shrink,
she thought as
she made her way toward the end of Center Street, where Icicle Falls City Hall
and the police department were located. But she didn't have time for one
now.

Priscilla Castro was on the front desk and she greeted Samantha
with a superior smirk, her usual greeting for her former rival. In high school
Samantha and Priscilla had battled each other over everything from grade point
supremacy to boys. Priscilla's friends had called her Cilla. The other girls
called her Prissy, which quickly got changed to Pissy. Samantha had beaten her
out as class valedictorian and—worse—taken the Miss Icicle Falls crown and the
college scholarship money that went with it, leaving Pissy in the dust as third
runner-up. Pissy got even by stealing Samantha's boyfriend, Neil Castro, right
before senior prom. She wound up marrying Neil, who went to work in a
fruit-packing warehouse in Wenatchee. Not exactly the catch of the century as
far as Samantha was concerned. Or Pissy, either. They got divorced after a
couple of years, something Pissy probably blamed Samantha for, too. If Sweet
Dreams went under, Pissy would probably climb on the roof of city hall and crow.
Long live high school.

“Hi, Piss…Priscilla,” Samantha said.

“Samantha, what brings you here?” Pissy's tone of voice added,
Not that anyone wants to see you.

“I need permits for a special event and I figure you're the
go-to gal,” Samantha said with forced pleasantness.

“Special event?” Pissy cocked her head like the inquisitive
crow she was. “Who's doing a special event?”

“The Chamber.”

“This is the first I've heard of it,” Pissy said.

“Well, that's because it was just decided.” Samantha strove to
keep her smile in place.

“Does Mayor Stone know?”

Del Stone, like Pissy, didn't like anything happening in town
that he didn't know about. “Not yet, but I'm sure Ed York will give him all the
details. So, what do I need to fill out?”

Pissy handed over the appropriate form. It was a mile long.
“You can bring it back tomorrow.”

“You know, I think I'll take care of it now,” Samantha said
sweetly. The sooner she got the process going, the better.

Pissy shrugged. “Suit yourself. We close in ten minutes.” She
sauntered off in the direction of the mayor's office to tattle, leaving Samantha
at the counter.

Samantha had barely begun when Del Stone emerged from his
office, a short stocky man who loved to pair crazy neckties with his
conservative suits. Today he was sporting a black necktie featuring a leaping
salmon and the caption Born to Fish.

“Samantha,” he greeted her, taking her hand and giving it a
fatherly pat. “How is your mother doing?”

She has no money and she's sleeping all
day.
“She's fine,” Samantha lied.

“Well, if there's anything I can do…”

Just don't ask her to marry you.
“Thank you,” Samantha said.

“I hear the Chamber is talking about a festival,” the mayor
said. “This is news to me.”

He was smiling but Samantha knew a scolding when she heard one.
She looked over to where Pissy now sat at her desk, still in smirk mode. “Well,
we just voted on it today.”

He shook his head. “I wish I could've been there. I'm afraid I
had business in Wenatchee. Is it something for summer perhaps?”

Once more it hit Samantha how crazy it was to try and slap this
together in such a short time. “Um, no, a little sooner than that.”

“Oh?” he probed.

She could feel her cheeks warming. “More like Valentine's
Day.”

The good mayor's smile did a Cheshire Cat fade. “Valentine's
Day,” he repeated.

“Actually, Sweet Dreams is going to sponsor it.”

“Figures,” Pissy muttered over at her desk.

“Samantha, this really isn't very practical,” the mayor
said.

“We're going to start small,” Samantha assured him.

“With so little time you'll have to start microscopic.”

“I think we can do it,” she said.

Now the mayor was frowning. “If this comes off half-baked, it
won't look good for our town.”

“It won't, I guarantee it,” Samantha insisted. He was standing
there like a two-legged rain cloud ready to dump on her festival, so she hurried
on. “Why don't you let Ed and me take you out to dinner at Zelda's tonight and
tell you more about it? You'll find that this is something we can all get
behind.” Great. There went more money flying off over Sleeping Lady Mountain.
The mayor loved to eat. And drink. Dinner would cost a fortune.