not worry about any fee right now,” Helen said. “As I said, we’re going to look at this as an informal chat among friends, okay?”
Tears welled up in Karen’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She swiped at them impatiently. “I don’t know how to thank you, Ms. Decatur. I really don’t.”
“First, call me Helen. And before you thank me, let’s wait and see if we come up with some way to make this a win-win situation for everyone, okay?”
Helen didn’t think there was going to be any problem once Dana Sue understood the whole story. Sullivan’s was successful enough that she could afford to hire someone else part-time, if need be, to fill in when Karen had another of the inevitable family crises that came with having kids. If worse came to worst, Helen herself could step in to help out. She’d done it before when Dana Sue had a crisis that took her away from the restaurant.
Helen had discovered that working with Erik was actually fun. He was probably the only male on the planet who wasn’t the least bit intimidated by her. She’d found that to be both refreshing and frustrating.
In addition, she’d found chopping and dicing to his very precise expectations oddly soothing. After a tough day in court, it had relieved some of her stress to envision a particularly thorny witness or cantankerous judge on the chopping block as she worked. After today, taking a knife to an imaginary Judge Rockingham, Jimmy Bob or Brad Holliday would have been particularly soothing.
“Are you working tomorrow?” Helen asked Karen.
“Assuming my sitter shows up, I go in at ten to prep for lunch, then stay ’til seven so the early part of the dinner rush is covered.”
Helen nodded. “I’ll check Dana Sue’s schedule to see when she’ll be there and get back to you, okay? We’re going to work this out, Karen. I promise you.”
If she had to be a volunteer substitute in Sullivan’s kitchen on a regular basis for a while, she would do everything she could to save Karen’s job. Maybe she could even do something about that deadbeat husband of hers, though Karen hadn’t asked for her help with that. She’d happily do the work pro bono.
Karen left Helen’s office feeling a lot better than she had when she’d called out of sheer desperation to make the appointment. She knew enough about the attorney to know she worked hard for her clients—worked hard at everything she did, for that matter. If ever Karen had met a type-A personality, Helen was it. She made Dana Sue’s perfectionism in the kitchen at Sullivan’s seem like a cute little eccentricity.
When Karen got back to her two-bedroom apartment in a charmless rectangular building, she knocked on her neighbor’s door. Frances Wingate, who had to be over eighty but wouldn’t admit to it, had agreed to keep the kids for a couple of hours, which was about all she could manage with rambunctious, five-year-old Daisy and three-year-old Mack. Two hours were about as long as Daisy was content to make pictures with her crayons or read her books, and twice as long as Mack usually stayed down for his nap. Even as Karen waited for Frances to answer her knock, she could hear Mack crying.
“You big baby, look what you did to my picture!” Daisy yelled just as Frances opened the door.
Karen regarded her apologetically. “I am so sorry I took so long.”
Frances didn’t look nearly as frazzled as Karen had expected. “Oh, don’t mind them. This just started. Mack woke up a minute ago and made a beeline for the table where Daisy was coloring. He tore her favorite picture, the one she’d colored for you. I was just about to get both of them some cookies and milk—that should settle them down. Why don’t you come in and have some, too? They’re chocolate chip. I baked them this morning.”
“Are you sure you can stand this commotion another second?” Karen asked worriedly. “You must be ready for some peace and quiet.”
Frances gave her a wry look. “At my age peace and quiet aren’t the boon you’d think. I like having the kids around. They remind me of mine, though I hate to tell you how long ago it was when they were as young as Daisy and Mack. I have great-grandchildren older than these two.” She drew Karen inside. “Now, you sit down and get off your feet. I’ll get the kids settled and then you and I can chat.”
When Karen had asked Frances if she’d mind watching the kids, she’d said only that she needed to talk to someone about some problems at work. The older woman hadn’t hesitated. “Of course,” she said. “You go do whatever you need to do.”
Now, while Frances bustled off toward the small kitchen, Karen stepped into the dining room where the kids were still engaged in a noisy dispute over the destroyed picture. The instant Daisy spotted her, she ran to Karen and lifted her arms to be picked up.
“Mommy, Mack tore my present for you,” Daisy said with an indignant huff, her big blue eyes shimmering with tears.
Though Daisy was getting much too heavy for Karen to hold for long, she cradled her precious little girl in her arms. “Sweetie, he’s only three. I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt the picture.”
“But it’s ruined,” Daisy wailed.
“I bet you can draw me another one that’s even more beautiful,” Karen suggested. “You’re very good at drawing pictures.”
Even as she spoke, Mack latched on to her leg, shoulders heaving with great hiccuping sobs. “Mommy!” he wailed. “Up!”
Karen felt the start of a pounding headache. Torn between her two distraught children, she managed to sit down at the table while still holding Daisy. Settling her on one knee, she hauled Mack into her lap. Daisy immediately struggled to get down, clearly feeling betrayed by the shift in attention to her little brother.
“Not just yet,” Karen told her firmly. “Let’s talk about this.”
“He’s a baby,” Daisy said sullenly. “He never listens.”
“And isn’t that the point?” Karen asked. “If he’s too little to understand that something is important to you, then you need to be the big sister and keep important things where he can’t get at them. Can you try to do that?”
“I guess,” Daisy said, sounding resigned.
“Thank you,” Karen told her solemnly.
“Who’s ready for cookies and milk?” Frances called cheerfully.
Both kids immediately abandoned Karen, scrambling down and heading toward the kitchen, the disagreement forgotten. Frances’s cookies were always a huge hit with her kids, who preferred them to the fancier desserts Karen sometimes brought home from Sullivan’s.
“Why don’t we make it like a picnic?” Frances suggested. “I’ll put a big tablecloth on the floor in front of the TV and you can have your cookies and milk in there.”
“I love picnics!” Daisy said enthusiastically.
“Me, too,” Frances confided. “And you know the best part of having it indoors?”
“What?” Daisy asked.
“No ants.”
Daisy giggled.
Karen
