“As bad as that,” Carly said quietly. So much for hoping her mother had been exaggerating the situation.
A timer dinged. Maribel moved to the second oven and pulled out a pan of muffins. Carly drew in a deep breath.
“Those smell heavenly, too. Now I don’t know which I want.”
“Have one of each,” Maribel urged.
“I’d love to, but I don’t have the cash flow to replace my wardrobe with a larger size.” One of the joys of getting older, Carly thought. She could no longer eat whatever she wanted and still fit into her clothes. Soon she was going to have to get serious about organized exercise, and how twisted was that?
“Do you have any big plans for the B and B?” Maribel asked. “Your mom thought you might.”
Carly sensed her friend’s interest was more than casual. No doubt she wanted to keep her job. The hours were perfect for someone with children and Maribel had always loved cooking.
“Not off the top of my head,” Carly admitted. “I didn’t think I would have to jump in to rescue a failing business my first day back.”
Actually she’d planned on relaxing a little, basking in the whole “moving back home” thing. But apparently not.
“It would be a shame to lose all this,” Maribel said.
Carly agreed. Did she want to save it, and if she did, could she?
They both turned at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Tiffany pushed open the swinging door and smiled shyly.
“Hi,” she said. “You got up way early.”
Carly glanced at the clock and raised her eyebrows. “So did you. You remember my friend Maribel, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh. Hi.” Tiffany inhaled. “I remember your muffins, too. You’re the best cook.”
“Aren’t you sweet for saying so.” Maribel grabbed a paper towel and pulled one of the muffins out of the pan. “Be careful,” she said as she handed it to Tiffany. “They’re still hot.”
“Thanks. I’m going to walk around outside,” Tiffany said.
“Have fun,” Carly told her. She wanted to add something about not going too far, or staying away from the main road, but she held back. Her daughter was smart enough to know all that and right now Carly couldn’t face another eye roll.
The back door slammed shut behind her. Maribel sighed.
“She’s beautiful and she looks a whole lot more grownup than fifteen.”
“Tell me about it. Older guys are constantly asking her out and I’m stuck trying to explain why this isn’t a good thing.”
“It gets worse,” Maribel said cheerfully. “But then it gets better. Of course just when they settle down enough that you want to spend more time with them, they go off to college. Isn’t that the way?”
“I don’t remember being that much trouble,” Carly grumbled.
“Me, either, but I’m guessing we were. Remember how we were going to change the world?” Maribel laughed. “I was going to live in Paris and become a world-class chef. You were going to marry a movie star and plan fabulous parties for all of Hollywood.”
While Carly could remember talking endlessly about what she and Maribel had wanted to do with their lives, she had an odd feeling of being disconnected from the whole thing. As if it had been someone else dreaming those dreams.
Maribel picked up a kiwifruit and started peeling it. “That was a long time ago. Funny how now I don’t want anything but what I have.”
Carly envied her friend her contentment. If pressed, Carly wasn’t sure she could say what she wanted. Not anymore. Maybe not in a long time.
Carly put off unpacking to go online on her laptop. If she and Tiffany didn’t stay here to make a go of things, they were going to need an alternate plan. But what? Her most recent occupation wasn’t about to excite anyone and she didn’t have the start-up capital or the savings to try going out on her own as an events planner.
She went to a couple of different cost-of-living Web sites and found out that she could indeed support herself and Tiffany on a doctor’s office manager’s salary in, say, Bakersfield. Or if they left the state. There were a lot of places cheaper to live in than Los Angeles.
If she wasn’t at the B and B she wouldn’t want to stay here. It would be too hard to be close to the house but not a part of it.
Is that what she wanted? To move somewhere new and start over without friends or family nearby? Not that there were all that many friends since the divorce. But still, there was the whole pain of leaving the familiar.
She left the Internet and went into the word-processing program. Maybe a list of pros and cons, she thought. Reasons to stay in L.A., reasons to stay and make the B and B work and reasons to locate elsewhere.
In Los Angeles, she had contacts, even if she hadn’t used them in years. She might be able to land a job working for an events planner. Of course, as she reflected again, the hours were hideously long and she would be home while Tiffany was in school and gone the rest of the time.
If she stayed here, she would have to bring the B and B back from wherever it was and make it successful again. Which meant she needed to know how bad things were. As her mother wasn’t the most forthcoming of information givers, Carly wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. But staying meant being able to hang out with her daughter, to attend school functions, to be a mom.
Carly leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. There were a thousand details to consider under any scenario. Like medical insurance. Getting it for Tiffany wouldn’t be that difficult, but what about herself? Was she going to be considered “hard to insure” because of her age? And what about the fact that she would soon turn forty and have to check a different box on all those forms that asked for age in groups? Perhaps not relevant for her job search, but still depressing.
She looked back at her list. Obviously staying here was the best solution, assuming she could find a way to make it work.
Carly remembered growing up here. The B and B had always been crammed with guests. They were sold out for all the major holidays months in advance. There had been a wedding every Saturday from May through September. The holidays had been magical, with period decorations covering every inch of the public rooms. And she’d felt safe and happy, secure in the knowledge that she knew where she came from and where she was going.
“We could make that happen again,” Carly told herself. “I could make it happen.”
She had determination, drive and a willingness to do the hard work. Surely that would be enough. Which meant first up, she had to get accurate information from her mother.
Conveniently, Carly heard Rhonda calling for her. Unfortunately, Tiffany was also yelling for her, and the teenager didn’t sound happy.
Carly saved the information and closed the computer program. Then she began the shut-down process as she yelled, “In here. What’s going on?”
Tiffany marched in first. Her daughter looked upset and defiant. Tears sparkled in her eyes.
“Grandma’s being mean,” she announced.
“Your daughter is very spoiled and uncooperative,” Rhonda said from behind the teenager.
Tiffany turned on the older woman. “You can’t be serious. It’s totally illegal to make me work so much. There are child labor laws. I know—I read about them in school. You can’t exploit young workers for your own financial gain.”
Rhonda’s eyes widened with indignation. “I would think you’d be more grateful that I took you in, young lady. You’re spoiled.”
“Am not.”
Carly stared at her daughter. “Tiffany, you’re speaking to your grandmother.”
Tiffany opened her mouth, then closed it. “She started it.”
Rhonda looked smug. “You should have your daughter help more around the house. If she’s part of the family, she needs to have responsibilities.”
Carly wanted to reprimand her mother, too, but knew it wouldn’t go over well.
“I blame you for this,” Rhonda said.
Of course she did, Carly
thought. When in doubt…
“Tiffany has always had chores,” she said calmly. “We’ll have to work some out for her.” She frowned. Tiffany was fairly typical in having to be reminded to do her work, but she never absolutely refused. Plus, the girl had always liked her grandmother and wanted to hang out with her.
“What happened?” she asked.
Tiffany sniffed. “She told me to fold sheets.”
Carly wanted to do an eye roll of her own. “The way you were talking, I expected to hear she put you to work sweeping the roof. It’s just sheets. What’s the problem?”
“It’s all of them.”
Carly didn’t understand. “Not just the ones for your room?”
“Of course not. I’d do that.” Her tone indicated that it wasn’t possible for Carly to be more stupid. “I’ve never seen a pile this big. There were hundreds.”
“Twenty or thirty sets,” Rhonda said with a sniff. “You shouldn’t exaggerate, Tiffany. It makes people think you’re lying. I’m surprised your mother hasn’t taught you that.”
Carly ignored that. “Why so many sheets?”
“I haven’t gotten around to folding them from the weekend,” Rhonda said as she walked to the window and stared out at the view. “I’ve been busy.”
Her mother’s activities were the least of Carly’s concerns. The real issue was why the housekeeping staff wasn’t doing the laundry.
“Don’t the housekeepers take care of the sheets on Tuesday?” she asked, knowing the staff was usually busy Monday, cleaning up from the weekend.
“They wash and dry them. I’ve been doing the folding.”
Not good, Carly thought. She had more questions but didn’t want to get into it in front of Tiffany.
She turned to her daughter. “We’ll talk later today and come up with a chore list.”
“You let her decide that sort of thing?” Rhonda asked, obviously annoyed.
“I think her input is important,” Carly said. “But she doesn’t decide.”
“I could,” Tiffany said defiantly. “I’d do a great job.”
Carly narrowed her gaze. “This would be a great time for you to keep quiet.”
Tiffany opened her mouth, then closed it. “Fine,” she muttered between clenched teeth.
“I still need help with all those sheets,” Rhonda said. “I suppose if everyone is busy, I can just do them myself.”
Like that was going to happen, Carly thought. “I’ll help,” she said. “Tiffany, why don’t you write up a draft of what you think is a reasonable chore list and we’ll talk about it later this afternoon? Aside from keeping your room clean, you’ll need to help around the B and B, so think about what you’d like to do.”
“I don’t want to be a maid even if it pays good.”
“You don’t have to be. There are lots of other things. You could help Maribel in the kitchen, you could prepare the evening appetizers, be responsible for arranging the fresh flowers in the public rooms and the guest rooms.”
Her daughter perked up. “I don’t know how to arrange flowers.”
“It’s not that hard. I could teach you.”
Tiffany’s eyes widened. “You know how to do that for real? You were always putting flowers in the house, but I didn’t think you really knew what you were doing.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. My point is there are a lot of ways to help and I don’t mind if you pick one that’s fun for you.”
“Okay. I’ll do that.” Her expression cleared and she headed out of the room.
Rhonda watched her go. “You’re spoiling her.”
“Because I’m willing to let her have a say in what her chores are? I don’t consider that spoiling, Mom. She’s more likely to do the work if she has some input in the process. There’s already plenty of friction with her being a teenager. I would like to avoid adding more to the situation.”
Her mother shook her head. “I would never have let you pick your chores.”
“I know.”
Her mother glared at her. “Is that a criticism? Do you want to blame me for the problems in your life? Is it my fault you couldn’t hold on to your husband?”
“None of the above,” Carly said as she wondered if living in say, Iowa, would really be that bad. “Come on. I’ll help you fold the sheets.”
She would use the time with her mother to find out the real situation at the B and B and then make her decision about staying or leaving. If she was going to move again, she had to do it soon, before Tiffany got too settled. Plus there was her daughter’s school to think of. Spring break was only a week. She didn’t want to keep Tiffany out of school because they were moving yet again.
Ten minutes later Carly found herself in the basement laundry room. Despite the fact that it had probably once been a dungeon, the space was bright and airy. Several small windows up by the ceiling let in light while the sunny yellow paint added cheer. Three industrial-size washers lined one wall, and matching dryers lined another. There were long folding tables and cabinets with laundry supplies. A dumbwaiter in the corner allowed the clean laundry to be sent up to the guest floors.
Carly stared at the piles and piles of sheets. They were on top of the tables, on the machines themselves and in baskets. She could see why her daughter freaked.
“Were you full for the weekend?” she asked her mother as she reached down and pulled out a sheet.
“No. We’re a little behind on the laundry.”
No kidding, Carly thought. She would guess that laundry hadn’t been done in a month.
“This has been hard for you, hasn’t it?” Carly said, knowing the conversation would go better if she took her mother’s side and was careful not to make anything sound like an accusation. “You’ve had to take on a lot of responsibility.”
Her mother picked up a pillowcase. “It’s been horrible. After your father died, I couldn’t really function. You can’t be married to a man for thirty-five years and just get over it.”
“I agree,” Carly said.
“At first this place ran itself. I liked being in the familiar surroundings and having all the guests come. The ones who had been returning for years were like old friends. Then business slowed. Just a little at first. But now…”
Her voice trailed off. Carly tried to think of a tactful way to ask how bad it was. Before she could, her mother continued.
“We’re still getting the die-hard ghost fanatics. Being in all the registries helps, of course. We are the best documented haunted house.”
“That’s a big plus,” Carly said. Without Mary, Chatsworth-by-the-Sea was nothing more than an old English manor in the middle of pretty much nowhere. “But overall, bookings seem to be down.”
“I know.” Her mother sighed. “People just don’t travel the way they used to.”
“What kind of advertising are you doing? There are so many specialty magazines and cable channels.”
Her mother reached for another pillowcase. “Don’t be ridiculous. We can’t afford to spend that kind of money on something as silly as advertising.”
“It’s not silly,” Carly told her. “If people don’t know the B and B exists, how can they come stay here?”
“They know.”
“How? Is there some kind of cosmic information booth that informs them?”
Rhonda pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. “I can’t believe, with all I’ve been through, that you would be so mean to me right now.”
Carly stared at her. What, exactly, was making her mother’s life so difficult at this exact moment?
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “I’m trying to point out that people won’t know about our place if we don’t tell them. Word of mouth is great, but it’s a slow way to build up clientele.”
She finished with the sheet and set it in a basket. “The thing is, Mom, I need to know how bad things are right now. If I’m going to stay and help you bring the B and B back to a p
rofitable status, I have to know where we’re starting from.”
“You know we never discuss money in detail. It’s rude.”
“This is business, Mom. Our family business. I thought you wanted me to help.”
“I do.”
“Then I need to know what’s going on.”
Her mother snapped open the pillowcase. “Fine, but I don’t want you talking about our personal finances with all your friends.”
“I won’t.” As if she ever had. Ah, but secrets were important in this family.
“Then I’ll show you the books. Although I can’t imagine what you want with them. You’ll never understand them.”
Carly gaped at her. “Excuse me? This is what I do for a living. I was in charge of the finances at the doctor’s office.”
“You don’t have to get huffy with me. I thought you had a bookkeeper.”
“We did, and I’m the one who checked her work.” So much for her mother paying attention when she’d talked about her job, Carly thought in amazement.
“Then I guess you can see them after we finish here,” Rhonda said. “Whatever the problems are, they’re not my fault.”
“Of course not,” Carly said automatically.
Whoever said coming home again was a good idea had obviously had a very different family, she thought. Could she do this? Could she work with her mother, live under the same roof, day after day for the next couple of years? Did she want to commit her life to the bed-and-breakfast?
There was still the possibility of a small town somewhere. She could walk away from all of this, let her mother simply sell the old place and get on with her life.
Which choice was better? Which would be the most beneficial for Tiffany? And wouldn’t it be great if someone was making decisions with her, Carly’s, best interest in mind?
CHAPTER 4
Carly knew the news wasn’t going to be good, but she hadn’t expected things to be as bad as they were. It took her two hours to study spreadsheets, ledgers and the previous two years of tax returns. She didn’t worry about things like payroll or food orders. Instead she focused on guest revenue and large expenditures.
There's Always Plan B Page 4
