Sweet Dreams on Center Street

by Sheila Roberts

  It’s not your business to fix other people’s mistakes, he reminded himself. You can’t save every failing business in the state. Still, it seemed a shame to let this one die. He was well aware of the company’s history and it was the stuff of movies. Except right now the Sterlings’ story wasn’t looking like it was headed for a happy ending.

  He forced himself to focus on the papers in front of him. It was impossible. All he could think about was what a villain he felt like. Sweet Dreams was Samantha Sterling’s baby and she was trying desperately to save it. If he had to lock the company’s doors and sell off its assets he’d be a baby-stealer and everyone in town would hate him. Almost as much as he’d hate himself.

  * * *

  Elena took one look at Samantha storming into the office and muttered, “Mierda.”

  Samantha set the basket on Elena’s desk. “Take it home to your family and enjoy.”

  Elena’s eyebrows drew together. “That is a lot of money there.”

  “Consider it a bonus,” Samantha said. “God knows it’s probably the last one I’ll be able to give you.”

  “You mustn’t talk like that,” Elena scolded. Sixteen years older and forty pounds heavier than Samantha, she sometimes forgot she was an employee and morphed into an office mother. “And why are you back with this?”

  “Long story,” Samantha said, “and one I don’t want to tell.” Having shut the door on a fresh lecture, she then shut her office door on the world, plopped down at her desk and stared bitterly at the array of pictures on the wall.

  Generations of successful family smiled at her. Great-grandma Rose and her husband, Dusty, wearing their best clothes, stood in front of the newly purchased building that would house Sweet Dreams Chocolates. Then there was Great Aunt Fiona and Grandma Eleanor posing in their aprons behind the counter of the retail gift shop in the fifties, and Grandpa Joe, smiling over his shoulder for the camera while he worked the line in the factory with a young José Castillo and George Loomis. There was a shot of Mom before she married Dad, sitting at the receptionist’s desk. And one of her and Grandpa, displaying the logo Mom had created for the seal on the candy boxes. There was Dad in front of the store, posing with his three daughters, the whole Sweet Dreams team gathered around and beaming. A caption beneath it read Success, How Sweet It Is!

  She felt sick. She laid her head on the desk and closed her eyes.

  A moment later Gwen Stefani started singing on her cell phone. Cecily again. Head still on the desk, she fumbled the phone to her ear. “Tell me you’re calling because you had a vision of money falling from heaven.”

  “Sorry, no pennies from heaven. I had a feeling you might need to talk.”

  What she needed was a rewind button. “I blew it at the bank.”

  “What, did you walk in and shoot the new manager?”

  “Worse. I gave him chocolate.”

  “Bribes are good.”

  “And then took it away.” What the heck was wrong with her, anyway? Was she having a psychotic break? Maybe she had multiple personalities and didn’t know it.

  “Oh,” her sister said weakly. She could imagine Cecily falling into a chair in her little pink office at Perfect Matches.

  “I started out charming, I really did,” Samantha defended herself. “But then he just sat there looking all smug, repeating that he couldn’t help me—like a big dumb parrot in a three-piece suit—and…I blew it, pure and simple.”

  A sigh drifted over the phone line. “What would Dad say if he was here?”

  He’d say, “What were you thinking, princess?” Or maybe he’d say, “You should have punched the guy’s face in.” Okay, probably not that.

  “I don’t know,” Samantha said miserably.

  “He’d say temper…”

  Oh, yeah, that. “…and good business don’t mix,” Samantha finished with her. He’d told her that often enough, especially when she was young and impetuous.

  And now she was so mature. Ha!

  There was a long moment of silence before Cecily asked, “Maybe you should apologize to him?”

  “Apologize! As in, ‘Gee, Mr. Dragon, I’m so sorry I got mad at you for breathing fire and devouring my village’?”

  “He’s trying to save the bank like you’re trying to save Sweet Dreams.”

  Ever the mediator, Samantha thought sourly. “He’s just trying to save his butt.”

  Her sister heaved another sigh. “Well, you’re the business major. You know best.”

  “Oh, that was cute.”

  “Sorry. It’s just that, well, when it comes to business, you’re usually more in control than this.”

  Samantha scowled. She hated it when her sister was right. Samantha was the oldest. She was supposed to be the most mature, the one who always knew what to do. Except when it came to Sweet Dreams, she seemed to lose all perspective.

  “I wish I was up there to help you.”

  “I’ll be okay,” Samantha said with a sigh. “No more meltdowns, I promise.”

  “Call me if you need to.”

  “Thanks I will. Meanwhile, go make some money.”

  “Yeah, I should go. I’ve got a match-up cocktail party to plan and a client coming in ten minutes.”

  Finding rich men for beautiful women, throwing parties at swanky restaurants—no wonder Cecily had opted for L.A. over Icicle Falls, Samantha thought as she hung up. Who would want to live in a small town when she could have the big city and beautiful people?

  Samantha, that was who. She loved her mountain town with its picturesque setting and its friendly people, and she was proud that her family and their company were part of the town’s history.

  She wanted them to continue to be part of its present, too. She drummed her fingers on her desk. What options did she have other than robbing the bank? Think, Samantha.

  After an hour of thinking she had a headache and one last option—Waldo’s life insurance money. She wanted to go hit her mother up for a chunk of that about as much as she wanted to stick a knife in her eye. But it was for the good of the business and all their employees, she reminded herself, and she’d pay the money back. So get up and get over there.

  She laid her head down on the desk again. Tomorrow. Like Scarlett O’Hara, she’d think about it tomorrow.

  Except the clock was ticking and she couldn’t afford the luxury of waiting until tomorrow. She took a deep breath, stood and strode out of the office.

  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.<
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  “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.