giving’ woman.”
“I’m sorry you’ve had such an awful day, Sandy,” her mother said, walking her to the door, “but I have complete faith in your ability to work things out. You did it for us when your father left and I wasn’t much help for a while. You survived Charlie leaving. And the girls are smart and happy. Which is quite an accomplishment for a woman having to do it all herself.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sandy assured her mother. She kept her worry about the dearth of jobs in Astoria to herself. “Thanks for the wine and the shoulder.”
“Anytime.”
* * *
DINNER AT MCDONALD’S was peaceful. Turning off her concerns about the day, she watched Zoey, who looked and generally behaved like a princess, talk about one day marrying Sheamus Raleigh, Nate’s nephew, who was eight. The girls saw a lot of him and eleven-year-old Dylan when Bobbie and Sandy exchanged babysitting.
Platinum hair in a messy ponytail she’d made herself, Zoey held the sock monkey wearing a tutu that went everywhere with her in one hand, and a glittery magic wand that Nate and Bobbie had brought her back from Disneyland in the other. She put down the wand to pick up a nugget of chicken. “Where’s Hunter?”
“He’s—um—working tonight.”
“Taxes?” Delicate eyebrows rose over bright blue eyes as she asked the question.
Sandy was astonished. She was sure Zoey had no idea what taxes were, just that Hunter and Uncle Nate had worked hard because of them the past couple of months.
“No.” She pulled extra napkins out of the dispenser and wiped a smear of ketchup off Addie’s mouth. “Tax season is over. That’s when they work really hard to get everything done on time. This is just regular work.”
“Sometimes Hunter wishes he was a cowboy.” Zoey examined a French fry, then snapped off a bite.
“How come?”
“They only have to count cows. Counting money is a lot of trouble.”
Sandy swallowed hard. Zoey quoted Hunter all the time, a reminder that when he was with the girls, he talked to them, enjoyed them, saw that they were never left out of the conversation. He’d never kept the distance from them that he’d kept from her. He would have been a good father.
Addie, about to be four, and smaller than her sister but already giant in personality, leaned over on her elbows toward her mother. Her hair, the same color as her sister’s, was wild and stuck up out of a tiara, also from the Raleighs’ trip to Disneyland. Addie’s dark blue eyes were alight with intelligence. “Hunter’s coming to my birthday!” she said.
Great, Sandy thought. But she smiled at that news. “That’s nice.”
“She told him he had to bring a present,” Zoey ratted, sounding disgusted.
Making a face at her youngest, Sandy said, “It isn’t nice to ask for things, Ad. Even when it’s your birthday. When did you see Hunter?”
“He brought stuff to Rainbow,” Zoey replied. Rainbow was the daycare center. “We were having lunch and Addie ran to see him. You’re not supposed to leave the table.”
Sandy knew that Raleigh and Raleigh did the books for the daycare center. In the tradition of small towns, Raleigh staff often delivered reports or payroll to their clients.
“Grandma’s going to make your birthday cake,” Sandy said, trying to divert the conversation. “And it will have Tow Mater on it.”
“Sweeet!”
Sweet was Addie’s new favorite word. Especially when drawn out, the way the Raleigh boys said it.
“When I grow up,” Addie said seriously, “I’m gonna have a tow truck.”
Sandy smiled supportively. She was raising a grease monkey. While other little girls were dreaming of horses, Addie wanted a tow truck. Sandy hoped that somewhere out there another mother was raising a young man who could fall in love with an unconventional woman.
On the way home, the girls sang “The Wheels on the Bus” song until Sandy turned into the driveway. They did all their usual evening things—watched television, had a snack, took their baths—then Sandy tucked them into bed.
Now, with a thick black marker in one hand and a cup of decaf in the other, Sandy sat at the kitchen table, opening the Daily Astorian to the classifieds section. She scanned the Personals, the Lost Pets, all the interesting things for sale, then zeroed in on the Help Wanted columns.
There were all kinds of ads for workers with skills she didn’t have—pipe layer, concrete finisher, licensed insurance agent, bus driver. A logging company was looking for choker setters and rigging slingers. She lingered over that ad. She would have loved to choke or sling someone.
Discouraged, she circled the hotel housekeeping ads in Seaside and Cannon Beach. Tourist season was coming and housekeepers were always in demand. Her mother was correct about Sandy not keeping her own house spotless, but she could certainly do it for someone else—particularly if she was being paid.
Waitressing was not an option because she simply didn’t have the skill to carry three plates on each arm. Cannery work was out because of a similar lack of dexterity and the lethal nature of those filet knives.
Tomorrow she’d prepare a résumé. There. She felt better. Nothing like being proactive.
Her positive attitude lasted about a minute, until she remembered Hunter. No amount of proactivity would help her with him. How unfair, she thought, that irresponsible, obnoxious men were out trolling for wives, but charming, thoughtful men wanted no part of marriage.
That was fine. Life went on. She kept reading.
Business Opportunities. She leaned closer to read the column of franchise offerings and businesses looking for investors. Then she spotted a block highlighted in yellow, which meant it was a new ad in today’s paper.
“Coffee Cart for sale. Money Maker with established clientele. Great location. Fully equipped, big inventory, helpful staff. Priced to sell quickly. Owner headed for Chicago. Call Crazy for Coffee.” The ad listed a number.
Sandy felt a jolt of excitement. Crazy for Coffee! The cart just off the Astoria-Megler Bridge was where she bought coffee most mornings on her way back from dropping the girls at daycare. Bjorn made the best caramel-vanilla latte she’d ever tasted. She always had to wait in line, so “money maker” was probably not an exaggeration.
A coffee cart! She felt another jolt of excitement, then drew herself back, thinking logically. Long hours on her feet; early, early start to a day that involved children and a daycare that didn’t open until seven o’clock; and... She couldn’t think of anything else negative.
The positives. She could afford it. She could learn to do it. She could set her own hours. She could handle the long hours on her feet by wearing comfortable shoes. Maybe her mother would help her with the girls in the morning.
She had to know more. Pushing her coffee aside, she dialed the number.
* * *
HUNTER
