Muriel Jensen - Love Me Forever

“Thank you.”

Darren looked up at her under his eyebrows. “That’s what makes this so hard.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs. Oh, no. No. She asked calmly, “What is this, Darren?”

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

“Just say it.” She sat a little straighter, bracing herself. “It’ll be easier on both of us.”

He opened his eyes and leaned his forearms on his desk. His gaze held regret for just an instant, then relaxed in that curious manner middle managers in an awkward position acquire. “When Palmer joined us and brought Janice along, we got a sort of twofer. She’s a trained legal secretary, and she’s good on the phone and...” His voice seemed to lose power. “We think she can manage the office.”

Sandy was out. Jobless. That was her new reality. She laughed nervously. “Darren, she bought oat cakes and herbal tea instead of donuts and mochas for the office meeting. You said you hated that.” Of all the examples Sandy could have brought up in her defense, that one was pathetic, but she wasn’t at the top of her game at the moment.

He nodded grimly. “The people who count thought it was innovative and appropriately considerate of our good health.”

She knew Kevin Palmer had been brought in because Jim Somerville was in his late seventies and finally thinking it was time he retired. Palmer was an impressive litigator and had clients in Portland, Seattle, and several in Hawaii. His billable hours had been a lot of his appeal.

“It’s business,” Darren said, firming his voice, clearly unwilling for the meeting to go on longer than necessary. “Things have been a little tight for us the last few years. We bill a lot of time, but we don’t collect on a lot of it.”

“Everybody’s broke.”

“The economy’s picking up.”

“But...you just said things are tight.”

He frowned at her challenge. “It’s picking up where Palmer’s clients are, but not here. Not yet. Maybe if things turn around...” he began.

She stood, unwilling to listen to him tell her they might want to bring her back. Hunter had dangled the same nebulous promise in front of her, too, as though the future might somehow improve her appeal. “Do you need a couple of weeks?”

He stood, too. “No. You’re free to go today.” He reached into his middle drawer and handed her an envelope. “Severance. Two extra weeks and your vacation pay.” He drew a breath and asked in a rush, “Can I have your key?”

She accepted the envelope, desperately trying to hold on to her dignity. She struggled to get her office key off the ring and finally resorted to using his letter opener to hold the ring open while she pulled the key off. Then she handed the key to him.

“Thank you.” He looked embarrassed for a moment then seemed to harden himself against her distress. All the years she’d gone above and beyond to do her job well counted for nothing in the face of a tight cash flow.

“Goodbye, Darren.” She angled her chin and forced a smile.

He nodded. “Bye, Sandy.”

She intended to take the photos of her girls and her mother off her desk, thinking she would pack up her other belongings later, but Vi, who had the desk beside hers, already had everything in a document box.

She handed it to Sandy, her eyes brimming. “I’m going to miss you.” No one understood office politics like the worker bees.

Sandy leaned forward to touch her cheek to Vi’s with a quick thank-you, then turned to leave. All eyes were on her. She smiled, waved and left before she fell apart.

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.