LITMIR.BIZ

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She pushed the buzzer on the desk.

      The house was big. She hadn’t really noticed the day before. When they’d walked up the steps, Joshua had spotted the rainbows and taken off before she could get much sense of their surroundings.

      “Can I help you?” An older woman came down the hall.

      “I’m here to see...” Her mind went blank.

      “Are you Cheryl? No last name?” the woman filled in.

      “Yes.”

      “Then you’re here to see me. I’m Marion. Last name Winters.”

      “Cheryl Henshaw.” After running from Atlanta, she’d decided to use her mother’s maiden name. Levi shouldn’t be able to find them, since he’d never heard the name before.

      Marion pointed to a small parlor. “We can talk in here.”

      “This house is beautiful.” The words rushed out.

      “That it is. And it takes dedication and elbow grease to keep it that way.”

      The rich smell of coffee mingled with the scent of lemon wood polish. Cheryl stared at a tray with two coffee mugs and a plate of banana bread. The aromas intensified her light-headedness, and she sank onto the sofa.

      “Take a sip.” Marion pointed. “You won’t find coffee this good at any of those chain places.”

      “Thank you.”

      Marion picked up a second mug. “Are you from around here?”

      “Atlanta most recently. Before that, Fort McPherson, though I grew up in Richmond.” Cheryl took a sip. “Oh, this is good.”

      “How many years have you been cleaning?” Marion asked her.

      Cheryl took another sip and then set her mug down. “I’ve cleaned all my life, but I’ve never...been paid to clean.”

      “Oh.” Marion frowned.

      “I know how to work hard. I won’t let you down.” Please, please, please.

      Marion watched her, not saying a word.

      Cheryl figured the interview was over. Sighing, she grabbed her wallet. Her Coach purse, a gift from Brad, had been hocked along with her wedding ring. She knew Brad would have understood; she needed to keep Josh safe.

      She stood.

      Where are you going?” Marion asked.

      “I...assumed...” She pointed out of the room.

      “Sit on down. Have a piece of that banana bread.”

      Cheryl sank into her chair. She couldn’t swallow much more than the coffee.

      “Here’s what we’re going to do.” Marion tapped her finger on her nose. “We’ll try you out for a couple of days.”

      “You will?” Had she really heard Marion right?

      “Sure. Miss Abby says you’ve got a little boy.”

      “I do.” She wanted to tell this woman with the warm brown eyes that her son was waiting in the garden for her. If she did, would Marion rescind the offer? “He’s an angel.”

      “I’m sure he is. Can you start today? That damn fool, Kikki, took off for California with her boyfriend. Going to be movie stars or some such nonsense. Put me in a bind leaving without notice.”

      Today? “I... I’d love to. But my son. He’s here, outside, waiting for me in the courtyard.” Her words ran together.

      Marion tilted her head. “He’s here?”

      “I don’t...” She took a deep breath, her face burning with embarrassment. “Miss Winters, I don’t have money for day care.” Without money for rent, how could she pay someone to watch her child?

      “Is he in school yet?”

      Cheryl shook her head. “He just turned five. He won’t start kindergarten until September.” If they were here that long. Staying away from Levi was more important than staying in one place.

      “I’ll bet he would love some of this banana bread.” A grin spread across the older woman’s face. “It’ll keep him busy while I show you the ropes.”

      As the meaning of Marion’s words sank in, Cheryl burst into tears. “Thank you!”

      Marion moved over and laid a gentle hand on Cheryl’s arm. “Now, now. No need for all that. Let’s see how your boy is doing.”

      * * *

      ABBY PUSHED THE remnants of lunch to the end of the kitchen table and convened the weekly Fitzgerald House staff meeting.

      Dolley checked her laptop. “This week we have three sets of Moons checking in—two today, one on Wednesday. There’s a Scrapbooking Sister group coming in today, thanks to Bess’s efforts—two rooms and one of the parlors for their work.”

      “There’s a group coming for the Scary Sister weekend—three rooms. They’re staying Friday through Monday.” Dolley tucked her bright red curls behind her ears. “Another Repeater couple, oh...it’s their fortieth anniversary. Neat. They’ll be here Saturday and Sunday.”

      “So I need three honeymoons and one anniversary basket. Got it,” said Marion.

      “Ten out of twelve rooms occupied.” Abby grinned. “Nigel, keep the vacancy sign up. I’d love to fill up this weekend.”

      If they could keep up this pace and open more rooms, they would easily make their balloon payment. Assuming nothing else broke down.

      “That’s better than last year at this time.” Dolley tipped her chair back on two legs. “We need to firm up Fitzgerald House’s St. Paddy’s Day plans.”

      “Give me a couple of days.” Abby took a deep breath. The celebration, parade and bedlam would be here before they knew it.

      “I can pull together the packages.” There was an unexpected sharpness to Dolley’s tone.

      The group around the table went quiet. Abby pushed her hair back and looked at her sister. “You already do so much.”

      “So do you,” Dolley replied.

      “But I don’t have to hold down an outside job,” Abby explained.

      “That doesn’t mean you have to do everything around here.” Dolley pointed a finger at her.

      Marion patted Abby’s arm. “If she’s volunteering, let her do the work.” She leaned in. “You need to learn to take help when it’s offered.”

      “I do,” Abby said defensively.

      Marion raised her eyebrows. “And be gracious when you do.”

      Abby huffed out a breath. “Thanks, Dolley.”

      Her sister rolled her eyes.

      Abby looked at her to-do list without seeing it. She did let people help her.

      “Nigel,” she said. “The hallway near Eleanor Roosevelt needs touching up—again.”

      He nodded, running his fingers through his white hair. How much longer would they have him to rely on? They’d celebrated his sixty-fifth birthday last month.

      He’d been driver, handyman, assistant gardener and jack-of-all-trades since Mamma had first turned their home into a B and B.

      “I think we should add wainscoting in the hall,” he suggested. “It’s too narrow. People bump the walls with their luggage. It would take a little more of a beating and we wouldn’t have to paint the whole wall.”

      The group discussed the hallway and the following weekend’s catering event.

      Abby

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