Wallpaper with Roses

by Jenny Andersen

  Sarah went back to Beth and her coffee. “He seems to know what he’s doing.”

  “Of course he does. How could you not have heard about him? Where have you been? You’re such a hermit, Sarah. I’ll swear I don’t know how you do it. He moved back here about six months ago and everyone, but everyone, calls him to fix things. Everyone in town just totally depends on Rob Henderson. He can fix anything.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Sarah answered, remembering that her mother had said something about Violet’s son. She hadn’t paid any attention at the time. Now she had to wonder. If he could fix anything, could that include the current ruins of her life?

  She didn’t think so. Judging from the way her heart had thumped when he came through the door, Rob Henderson could be just one more complication in her no-longer-peaceful life.

  Chapter 2

  “Have a good day at work, dear. We’ll be fine here.”

  Sarah paused in the doorway and watched her mother shake off the new caregiver’s hand and maneuver carefully into her usual chair at the round oak table that dominated one end of the big, old-fashioned kitchen. Only two weeks out of Bellonna Gardens and she looked great. Her color was better, her eyes bright. And her hair was beginning to grow back. She’d be ready to lose the walker soon.

  “Enjoy your breakfast,” Sarah said. “You two have a good day too. Don’t forget your pills at noon.” She blew a kiss, waved, and left.

  The sun shone, the mountain air was crisp in the early morning, and the world was beautiful. She looked at the fat gray clouds on the horizon and stepped back inside for her raincoat. The world was beautiful, but only for a few more hours.

  Striding down the street, she let herself dream about Gault Accounting Services. She was so close, but she didn’t dare quit her job now to take a flyer into her own business. Not until she was sure her mother’s insurance would cover all the medical bills. Brain surgery didn’t come cheap, and if any of the myriad doctors and services refused to accept Medicare assignment, they’d face some shaky financial ground.

  She shuddered. With her mother’s illness, some balance had been shifted, and now Sarah was the one in charge. The parent. The one who got to worry about everything, especially money.

  She hated it.

  Tough. Her job at Hensen, Edell, and Macklin was now a necessity, a fact of life. And she needed a raise.

  At least the house was safe. Her mother owned it free and clear, and had a small—very small—annuity to pay taxes and, supposedly, upkeep. So she wouldn’t be homeless, and she had Sarah to help if things got too bad.

  So there was no reason to get depressed. The morning was beautiful in spite of the coming rain, and she was on time, and accounting wasn’t nearly as dull as everyone thought.

  It was just HE&M, the place, and her boss in particular, that drove her crazy. She wanted to work for herself, not a stingy, fault-finding, overbearing...person. There had been a movie, Joe versus the Volcano, that started with bleak-faced workers trudging into a bleak building for a bleak day of bleak work, trampling a lone, brave little flower into the bleak mud before facing the boss.

  Oh, come on, Sarah. It’s not that bad. The building isn’t bleak, your co-workers aren’t bleak, there’s no mud, and the work isn’t bleak. That left...

  Bad image.

  Better to concentrate on what she needed to do. She needed a raise. She deserved a raise. And today she was going to ask for a raise. Not a good time to think about how bleak her boss was.

  Sarah trudged up the gray concrete steps of HE&M.

  “Ms. Gault.” Even Homer Macklin’s reedy voice sounded...well, bleak.

  “Good morning, Mr. Macklin,” she said.

  He didn’t bother with any niceties. “You are three minutes late,” he said, his mouth pruned up as though he’d caught her falsifying an account. “Again.”

  Man, he sure had it in for her. She was two minutes early, but trying to convince him that his clock was fast never worked. Just apologizing and letting him rant was the fastest way to get this over with.

  By the time she reached her desk, she was fifteen minutes late and her teeth were clenched hard enough to start a headache. She considered tiptoeing to the kitchen for a much-needed caffeine boost. No. Old Time Clock Macklin would undoubtedly be watching. She’d have to wait.

  She’d picked a great day to ask for a raise.

  At least the job at hand was interesting enough to take her mind off minor problems like miserable bosses and the way her dream of her own business kept melting toward the horizon like a mirage, never any closer. She settled into her gray tweed chair in her cramped little gray tweed cubicle, ignored the unadorned gray walls, and booted up her computer. It was, of course, gray. Since Mr. Macklin discouraged any kind of personal tchotchkes, her space was a study in unrelieved gray.

  Once everything was up and running, she pulled up the Fleider account, leaned toward the screen, which was gray, because Mr. Macklin discouraged the use of frivolous, colored screen backgrounds, and scrutinized the columns of figures. Something was wrong here. The numbers didn’t balance, and she couldn’t find the problem. She could feel it, taste it. She just hadn’t found it. Yet. But she would.

  The scent of coffee, rich, life-saving coffee, pulled her away from the computer. “Oh, Goddess, Beth. Salvation.”

  Beth, who had the even smaller cubicle next door, handed her a steaming cup. “I had to wait until Macklin quit patrolling the hall,” she said. “I’m bringing you this memo that got in my mail-box by mistake.”

  “Did it really?”

  “Of course not.” Beth grinned. “But you haven’t collected your mail yet, so I just took it.”

  “As long as you don’t get caught.” The words were indistinct because Sarah had her nose buried in the cup. When she came up for air, she said, “Tell me again why we work here.”

  “Because it’s the only accounting firm in the county and we need the money.”

  “Oh, yes. I remember now.”

  Beth sank into a chair and sipped her own coffee. “How’s—” She broke off at the sound of stealthy steps in the hall, and jumped to her feet.

  “Thanks, Beth. I’ll get right on this.” Sarah waved the memo.

  “No problem.” Beth zipped out.

  Sarah concentrated on the screen.

  “Miss Gault.”

  She jumped. “Oh. Mr. Macklin. I’m sorry. You startled me.”

  “I trust that was business. And that you are not wasting time. My time.”

  Well, her time too. She suppressed the urge to tell him that she had a new computer game that looked like columns of figures. “Of course this is work,” she said, trying to keep her indignation from showing. “The Fleider account.”

  Macklin took a step backward and the lines beside his mouth deepened. “I meant Miss Baker’s visit to your office.”

  I need this job, I need this job, I need this job. Sarah swallowed a nasty word and concentrated on needing the job. “Yes, sir. She brought me a memo. Just being efficient.”

  “We have a perfectly good mail department, Miss Gault. I do not expect...”

  I need this job, I need this job, I need this job. Sarah tuned him out, wondering how she’d get out of this one without getting the entire mail department fired.

  “Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll just get back to work, then.” Sarah bent to the keyboard, seething but determined not to let it show.

  Macklin peered over her shoulder at the screen, distracting her and making her twitch. She straightened and he jumped back. “Is something wrong, sir?”

  “No, no. Carry on, Miss Gault,” he said, and left.

  What a nut case. And he got stranger every day. She shrugged and plunged back into the problem of Fleider’s Feed and Grain and their refusing-to-balance accounts. By the time Beth came to her door at noon, she still hadn’t found the problem. At least she’d narrowed it down. The problem was too much money, not too little. Still, it was di
sturbing. She didn’t allow discrepancies in her accounts.

  “How’s your mother?” Beth asked as soon as they were seated in the tiny gray lunch room.

  Not the most appetizing ambiance for a meal, but any respite from the computer screen was welcome. “Happy to be home,” Sarah answered. “Mad as a hornet about having a caregiver there all day.”

  “So, if there’s a caregiver with her, why can’t you move home?”

  Trust Beth to have the tact of an elephant. “Can’t afford someone twenty-four-seven. She goes home at five.”

  “And you rush out of here like your tail was on fire so your mother won’t be left alone more than half an hour.”

  “Right.”

  “It sounds as though you’re planning to stay permanently.”

  Sarah shook her head. “No.”

  “Yeah, well, how are you even going to get out of your Mom’s? Isn’t she going to be able to stay alone soon?”

  Yes, she should be able to. But I’m so afraid that I’ll never dare leave her alone. And I’m guilty, guilty, guilty because I long for my own home. And I don’t want to admit, even to myself, how afraid I am. “Who knows? One day at a time, okay?”

  “But what about—you know.” Beth looked around to see if anyone had heard. “If you have to keep paying that woman, you’ll never be able to start—you know.”

  Sarah shook her head. “Not now. Not the place to talk about it, or the time for me to think about it.”

  “Well, when?”

  Good question. “The twelfth of never?”

  Beth frowned.

  Sarah’s frayed nerves twanged. “I don’t know,” she almost shouted, and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

  Beth groaned. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have been nagging you. But your mom’s surgery really did mess things up, didn’t it?”

  “Beth! That’s awful.” But Sarah had thought that too, at first. Before she’d realized how desperate her mother’s condition had been. Now, everything was guilt. Guilt and worry, the two monsters that had taken up permanent residence in her life.

  The combination was not attractive, and it reminded her that a more dutiful daughter wouldn’t feel even a twinge of resentment at giving up so much to care for her mother. And she didn’t, really. Well, only the tiniest of twinges. And only when she was tired.

  Beth hung her head. “I’m sorry. Everything’s going to be all right. Your mother will be fine, and you’ll go out on your own and I’ll come work for you and everything will be wonderful.”

  She wished. She also wished Beth would shut up. “Yes, it will.” Her voice didn’t wobble, but it didn’t sound exactly right, either. “Do you suppose this place is bugged?” she asked, mainly to distract Beth.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” Beth mumbled around a mouthful of tuna sandwich. “Why? Are you worried about getting fired?”

  “Of course.”

  “You worry too much. If they fire you, you just work on your own. No hard decisions. A lot of your clients would follow you.”

  Yeah, right. Could it possibly be that easy? Sure, if you ignored all the details, like a cash cushion for emergencies, paperwork, and potential clients. Sometimes, Beth, it’s hard to believe you’re thirty-something, you’re so optimistic. Such a Pollyanna. I know you’re my closest friend except for Mama, but sometimes you just don’t understand. And you can always be counted on to blurt out the nasty little thoughts that most people didn’t even admit they had.

  “You don’t worry enough,” Sarah told her. “Success is not guaranteed, and it would take a while to show a profit. I can’t take the chance.”

  “Don’t be a coward. You could do it.” Beth picked up her diet Pepsi. “I know you could.”

  “She could what?”

  The luscious, deep, male voice cut across Sarah’s stab of irritation. She turned to see who it was and her heart skipped. Only because he’d startled her, of course. “Rob. What are you doing here?”

  “Building shelves in Mr. Macklin’s office.” He slid into a chair in response to Beth’s gesture for him to join them. “Is he always so, let’s see, how can I put this? Strange?”

  “Yes,” Sarah and Beth chorused.

  “Huh.” Rob unwrapped his sandwich. “How’s your mom?” he asked Sarah.

  “Recovering nicely. That extra bar you put up last weekend is a big help.”

  Rob made a mock-modest half bow. “That’s me, Mr. Helpful.”

  “Well, you are. Mrs. Fleider told me you caught a shoplifter this morning.”

  “Oh, yeah. Super Hero at your service.”

  “Did you hit him?” Beth’s eyes were wide.

  “No.” He winked at Sarah. “Did she tell you he turned out to be the stock manager? Some hero, huh?”

  Sarah laughed. “Better luck next time.” Fleider’s seemed to be following her, and it was number one on her list of problem accounts right now. Extra money was coming from somewhere. It was sorely needed. Just a few months ago, she’d warned Mrs. F. that the company was close to bankruptcy, but discrepancies weren’t acceptable.

  Rob cocked his head and eyed her. “What’s that thoughtful look for?”

  “Just thinking about a problem account.”

  He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t pursue it. “Tell me about your boss. I’ll swear he used a stop watch to time me when I took a break this morning. And he’s not even paying me by the hour.”

  “It’s not you. He’s like that with everyone. He’s a Grinch. Speaking of which, we’ve been here for twenty three minutes, Beth. And I have to make a phone call before lunch is over.” Sarah gathered up the debris of her lunch. “Bye, Rob.”

  “I think he likes you,” Beth whispered, elbowing Sarah in the ribs as soon as the ladies’ room door closed behind them.

  Sarah ignored the warmth that enveloped her. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Beth. This isn’t high school. And even if he did, I’m not interested in dating. I’m too busy taking care of my mother.”

  Beth chanted the last, familiar sentence along with her. “I know. You’ve said it a dozen times. But the world wouldn’t end if you left your mother alone occasionally. Like to go on a date.”

  But it might. And she had no interest in finding another man. It had been fifteen, no sixteen, years since she’d divorced Gary. Fled from Gary, really. One trip through the meat grinder was enough.

  Besides, she really didn’t want to go out. The stark terror that had clutched at her heart when her mother had been rushed to the hospital still lurked at the edges of her mind. She’d never known what fear was until she’d spent the night in that awful grim room at the hospital, waiting to hear that her mother had died. Now, every minute, every second they had together was precious. “I don’t see her all day, Beth. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “I’ll bet she’d rather have you go out and get yourself a guy and produce some grandchildren,” Beth said.

  “Beth, I’m forty-five years old. She’s not going to get anything other than grandpuppies and grandkitties.”

  “She’d still like to see you settled.”

  I can’t argue that. She has been known to drop the occasional hint, and Lord knew she couldn’t be any more worried about me being left alone than I am. But dating? No. In fact, “No, No, A Thousand Times No,” just like the old song says. “Butt out, Beth. Mama’s my top priority right now.”

  Beth hung her head. “I’m always apologizing to you. I’m sorry.”

  Oh God, now she’d hurt Beth’s feelings. “My turn to apologize. I know you think I’m too invested in Mama, but she’s always been my family, my support, my best friend, my cheering section. Every day that goes by means one less to spend with her. And it hurts.” Talk about understatement. Even though she was adult, middle-aged even, just the thought of losing her mother made her heart clutch.

  Enough. Thoughts that sprawled all over the place like unpruned rose bushes didn’t do anyone any good. She’d better go deal with the nasty ph
one call about an unexpected hospital bill. It was for tests that had been done over three months ago and Medicare didn’t cover them.

  After she lost the argument, Sarah put the phone down. The need for money had just become more urgent. This bill had to be paid, and who knew what others were lurking out there. Or how long it would take for them to show up. Time to act. She picked up a file folder from her desk and headed for Mr. Macklin’s office, trying to ignore her clammy hands and pounding heart.

  He glared up at her without speaking.

  Sarah walked up to his desk. “I would like a raise, sir,” she said, “and I—”

  “No.” He transferred his gaze to the papers on the desk, ignoring her.

  Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Be bold. Go for it. She set the folder in front of him. “It’s been two years since I’ve had a raise,” she said. “I’m now handling twenty percent more clients than I did two years ago, and I’m doing it well. This is my client list, and letters from satisfied clients. I think my performance merits a salary increase.”

  “I will review your salary at the end of the year, at the usual time.”

  “But sir—”

  “That will be all, Miss Gault.”

  She suppressed an urge to leap across his desk and kick him. Hard.

  “I said, that will be all.”

  Seething, Sarah reached for the folder.

  He put a hand on it. “I will examine this material.”

  Maybe there was hope. “Yes, sir.”

  But it was anger, not hope, that she carried back to her desk. What an awful man to work for. He was her mother’s age. Why hadn’t he retired? Why couldn’t he be the one who was sick, instead of her mother?

  Useless questions.

  Better she should think about the Fleider account. It kept her busy until quitting time. At five o’clock, she made a note to call Mrs. F. first thing tomorrow for more information, and bent to get her purse from the bottom desk drawer.

  “You’re leaving very promptly, Miss Gault.”

  “It’s after five, Mr. Macklin.” Sarah clenched her jaw to keep from saying more. One of these days...