Barefoot Season. Сьюзен Мэллери
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Michelle and her father had loved the inn, loved the island, Brenda had resented being trapped here. There were no trips to Europe—the inn couldn’t be left for that long. No summer vacations—that was the busiest time. No weekends anywhere. The inn came first.
Michelle remembered her mother screaming that she and her father were so selfish. At seven, Michelle had been a small but determined opponent. “If we’re so selfish, why do you always get your way?”
A question for which her mother never had an answer.
Brenda had resented her husband’s abandonment more than she had mourned his absence. He’d left them both—devastating Michelle. The desertion had not only proved he didn’t love her best, it had left her at the mercy of her mother.
At the time, Michelle had wondered if she would leave, too, but Brenda didn’t. Instead, Michelle had been the one to go away. Looking now at the financial math that was her family’s legacy, she thought that Brenda had won in subtle ways. A bad decision here, a foolish purchase there. Individually they were inconsequential. Taken in total, they were a disaster.
She studied the payroll reports. Boeing didn’t need this many people working for them. The inn only had thirty rooms, but seven maids. And what the hell was a reception greeter? Just as confusing, some people seemed overpaid while others didn’t make enough. Damaris hadn’t had a raise in six years. That was bad enough, but Carly’s financial situation was worse.
Michelle stared at the biweekly paycheck amount. Even taking into consideration the fact that she got free living quarters and a couple of meals a day, she wasn’t making close to minimum wage. She had a kid. The medical insurance sucked. There had to be out-of-pocket expenses for that, not to mention clothes and shoes and whatever else children needed.
While she was aware she should probably be happy that the other woman was practically living in poverty, she mostly felt embarrassed and maybe a little guilty.
Michelle wanted to put all the blame on her mother. The inn had been left to her in trust. She was supposed to take care of it. But Michelle knew she was the one responsible. She’d been the one to leave, the one who hadn’t come back, the one who had never asked. Now she had two mortgages, a pending foreclosure and a list of rules and demands that made her skin crawl.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Come in,” she barked without looking up.
“You sound like you’re still in the army.”
She saw Damaris step into the office. The cook had a tray in one hand.
“I brought you lunch. I didn’t think you’d eat on your own.”
Michelle glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was nearly three. “Do you always work this late?”
“Sometimes yes. Sometimes no.” The cook put the tray on the desk, then sat in the empty chair. “I had to order my meat and produce.”
“What time do you usually get out of here?”
Damaris shrugged. “Two. Two-thirty.”
Michelle did the math in her head. She knew Damaris got to the restaurant sometime around six. They opened at seven and she worked through lunch.
“You haven’t had a raise since I left.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Michelle wanted to ask if her mother had been doing this on purpose. If her goal had been to destroy the inn. She doubted her friend would have an answer.
“I’m giving you a raise now. Retroactive three months.” She named an hourly salary. “Better?”
Damaris nodded. “You’ve always been a good girl. None of this is your fault.”
“What have you figured out? About the inn?”
“I hear things. People don’t get paid. Checks bounce. No one blames you.”
Michelle glanced at the tray. Damaris had made her a roast-beef sandwich. Her favorite. There were chips and a small salad and a chocolate milk shake.
She reached for the glass and scooped out a spoonful of whipped cream. “Thanks.”
“Someone has to take care of you. You’re too skinny. How will you ever get a man?”
For the first time since arriving home, Michelle laughed. “I don’t think getting a man is my biggest problem right now.”
“A man would help.”
Michelle thought getting through the night without having nightmares and waking up in a cold sweat was probably a better first step, but she didn’t say that. The information would only frighten Damaris.
The other woman poked at the papers on the desk. “Is it bad?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.” She stuck a straw in the milk shake. “Do you think my mother screwed up on purpose?”
“I don’t know. She wasn’t the type to have a plan. I think maybe it just happened.”
“What about Carly? Did she help or hurt the inn?”
Damaris shrugged. “I don’t like her very much, but I don’t think she did anything wrong.”
Not exactly what Michelle wanted to hear. Carly’s low salary made her suspicious and their past made her want to show her the door. The deal with the bank was a problem, but more than that was the fact that Carly didn’t even know how to work the computer system. Her carefully handwritten notes proved that.
If Carly wasn’t stealing, then it was all Brenda.
“How long has Carly worked here?” Michelle asked.
“Practically since you left. One day she was here. Pregnant. Brenda gave her one of the rooms. After Gabby was born, she moved into the owner’s suite and Brenda took the two bedrooms on the second floor.”
Michelle wanted to ask what had happened to Allen. If Carly had been alone and pregnant, he’d obviously left. But why?
“The customers like her,” Damaris said grudgingly. “She’s good with them, but she’s not the boss of me.”
That made Michelle grin. “What are you? Five?”
Damaris chuckled. Then her humor faded. “Are you going to fire her?”
If wishes were horses, Michelle thought. “Not today.”
“Soon?”
“That eager for her to be gone?”
“It goes back to the ‘boss of me’ thing.”
“I’m the boss of you now.”
“Good. I like that.” Damaris stood and walked around the desk. “Give me a hug. I’m going home.”
Michelle stood, then winced as the fire surged through her and she nearly lost her balance.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. My hip.”
“Don’t you have something you can take?”
“I’d rather not.” She’d rather drink.
Damaris put her hands on her hips. “You were always stubborn. You must get that from your dad. Take something. I’ll wait.”
Determination gleamed from behind her glasses, telling Michelle this wasn’t a battle of wills she was going to win. Besides, by the time she got back to her motel room, the pill would have worn off and she would be able to drink as much as she wanted.
“Fine,” she grumbled, then reached for her backpack. She fished out the prescription bottle and swallowed a pill. “Happy?”
“Always.”