Love Me Forever. Muriel Jensen

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      CHAPTER THREE

      LORETTA CONWAY OPENED her back door and smiled at Sandy in surprise. Sandy’s mother, her hair all gray but worn spikey, was a small-framed woman in her fifties who still looked great in jeans and a sweater. “Hi, sweetie! I thought you had the day off.” Her eyes went over Sandy’s new jacket with approval. “New duds? How pretty.” Then her gaze settled on Sandy’s face and she grew serious. “What?” she asked anxiously.

      Sandy threw her arms around her and just held on. She allowed herself a spate of tears, then pulled herself together.

      “I just had the worst day off in the history of the world. Can I have a glass of wine?”

      “Of course. Come in.”

      Sandy followed her mother into a huge kitchen with a giant work island, high stools pulled up to it on all sides. Loretta had been a sous chef in her youth and loved to cook for friends and family. Her house, with two bedrooms upstairs, was small otherwise, but she often said she’d bought the cottage, which had belonged to an Astoria restaurateur, for the roomy kitchen.

      Hiking herself onto a stool on a corner, Sandy watched her mother pour wine into two tulip glasses, then place one in front of her. “What’s happened?” her mother asked.

      When it took Sandy a moment to answer, her mother sat at a right angle to her and said softly, “I was right about Hunter and the check, wasn’t I?”

      Sandy swiped away a single tear. “You were right about his reaction. I still think I was right about the situation. But, he yelled, tore up the check, and we broke up.”

      “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. Your offer just had disaster written all over it.” After that bit of frankness, she added bracingly, “Of course, part of your charm and your life success is that you jump in, whatever the prevailing opinion, and do what you think is right. And it’s served you well many times.”

      Sandy sighed, thinking about her job and trying not to succumb to panic and more tears. She said with an attempt at humor, “Well, it hasn’t served me well today. I got fired.”

      “What?” Her mother responded with flattering indignation. “Why? And who will they ever get to show up on Sundays to meet clients and get signatures on whatever those lawyers enjoying their weekends need signed but aren’t willing to drive over to the office for and get signed themselves?”

      “Apparently, it was an economic decision. The new partner’s secretary is a two-fisted talent, so I’m told, and she’ll be doing my job and hers.”

      “For the same money?”

      “Well, she earns more as a secretary, but I doubt she’ll earn more for doing my job as well, because then the move would no longer be economical.”

      Her mother waited a beat then asked gently, “Have you had time to think about what you’ll do?”

      “No, actually. It just happened.” Sandy took a long sip of her wine, felt it trail warmly down her throat into her stomach, then shook her head over the day. “I wonder if anyone else has ever lost the love of her life and a job she really enjoyed in the same day. While fitting a plumbing job in between.”

      At her mother’s look of concern for her mental stability, Sandy explained about Celia’s call for help.

      “Ah. She’s such a good housekeeper. She did this place in three hours flat last week.”

      “You hired her?”

      “No.” Her mother looked surprised. “She said you paid her to do it. You didn’t?”

      Sandy rolled her eyes and took another sip of wine. “She’s always trying to pay me back for letting them rent Aunt Lacey’s house. Honestly. She’s been trying to clean my house, but I told her you always clean it when you babysit, so I guess she thought she’d be sneaky.”

      “Well, she was thorough. I recommended her to some friends and I think she’s picked up a couple of jobs.”

      “That’s great. Maybe she’ll get big enough to hire me.”

      “Oh, honey, you don’t have it for housekeeping.”

      Sandy would have been offended had it not been true. She kept the house tidy enough, but her preference for playing with the girls or taking them to a movie often compromised her attention to detail.

      “If worse comes to worse, you and the girls can always move in here. I promise not to kill you, if you promise not to kill me.” Her mother was right about the potential for disaster. They were alike in many ways, but completely incompatible in sharing living quarters.

      “I do have thirty thousand dollars, so I’m not immediately desperate.”

      “Yes, but letting that get eaten up on monthly bills would be criminal. Have you considered selling your aunt’s house?”

      “No. I promised the Morenos they could live there forever, and I’ll do anything before I take that away from them.”

      “I know you have a wonderfully giving nature, but you have a right to consider yourself and the girls first.”