Mustard on Top (6 page)

Agatha paused, making Helen think she expected her to say something. She ought to be grateful; instead, she her hackles rose. She worked hard, and had turned the failing business around , yet Agatha made her sound incompetent. Helen settled for a lame, “Okay.”

“Are you aware Friday and Saturday nights account for twenty-nine percent of our revenue?”

Helen shook her head.

“That’s why you must work on weekend nights until the staff is properly trained.” Agatha flipped another page. “I have figures here somewhere.”

Helen and her staff rotated the weekend shifts because nobody wanted to work every weekend.

“Ah, right here.” Agatha looked up. “Don’t give me that face. Page seven shows the average sales per day, per shift. I calculated percentages on the side.” Agatha pointed to figures on the page. “When you’re working we average $851 in sales on Friday nights; $910 on Saturday.”

“Okay.” Helen wished she could contribute more to the conversation. The algebra class would be helpful sooner than she thought.

“When you’re absent, the average Friday night is $525, the average Saturday night is $601 which means your night off costs us $300 or about $550 a weekend.”

“Five-hundred fifty dollars?” Realizing how expensive her ignorance had been, Helen wished she’d analyzed Hot Diggitys sales herself. She’d been trying to make Hot Diggitys better by creating new hot dogs while never considering profitability.

“So, until your staff is properly trained, you need to work Friday and Saturday nights.”

Five-hundred fifty dollars a weekend. Over $2,000 a month. She couldn’t ignore that kind of money. “Would you mind,” Helen asked, “starting at the beginning again?”

Agatha beamed, and Helen realized she had not seen Agatha smile that big in a long, long time.

“Yes, let’s.”

Chapter 4

As Agatha pushed her shopping cart down the aisles of Le Natural Foods, Nalley’s upscale grocery store, she hummed the theme from
Singing’ in the Rain
.

She sensed Helen would take her recommendations, she loved contributing to society again, and the challenge of transforming Hot Diggitys into a modern cash cow. After her husband’s death, and being laid off from her job, she’d felt useless.

Though no Donald Trump, Helen was hard working and a good mother.

Agatha wheeled the cart to checkout and paid for her groceries. Still humming, she pulled into her detached garage then carried the groceries to her back door. The door flung open startling her. Agatha staggered back, dropped her groceries, and pressed her palm to her chest.

“Mom?”

Before her stood her gaunt, tattooed son with a blackened eye and a swollen, cracked bottom lip. “Jeremy? You scared me half to death.”

Jeremy picked up the bags and carried them into the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind, I let myself in.”

Agatha didn’t want to know how. “What’s going on? What sort of trouble are you in?”

“Can’t I visit my mom without being in trouble?”

“You could, but you wouldn’t.”

“It’s nice to see you too Ma.” Jeremy’s sneer revealed yellow-and-black teeth.

The last time she’d seen Jeremy was at Arnold’s funeral three years earlier. Jeremy had only been interested in whether he’d received an inheritance. “Where have you been living?” Agatha asked.

“When did you get a new car?”

Agatha’s tense posture went rigid. She pulled a carton of milk from her bag and opened the refrigerator. Her meatloaf was gone as well as a block of cheddar cheese.

She told herself she’d had too much food for one person anyway and put the milk inside. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have purchased extra groceries.”

“I don’t have a cell phone, and pay phones are hard to find anymore.” Jeremy sat at the kitchen table and draped his arm over the back of the chair. “Mercedes. Those aren’t cheap.”

Agatha had the motherly urge to admit the truth, that Alfred had had a great life-insurance policy. Jeremy had a right to know didn’t he? Her other two children knew. “My ancient Volvo finally broke down,” she said.

“I didn’t know you made that kind of money being a secretary.”

“Office manager.”

“I’ll make lunch.” Jeremy popped out of his seat. “What do you want?”

Meatloaf.
“I can make my own—”

“Nah. I feel like I should since I ate your leftovers. What do you want?”

“How about soup?”

“No problem.” Jeremy flipped open cupboard doors.

A man reeking of body odor with blue-and-red serpents wrapping his arms was out of place in her pristine kitchen. Agatha worked to keep her heart rate down.

“Where do you keep it?” Jeremy asked.

“Keep what?”

“The soup.”

“In the refrigerator and the cupboard. I don’t buy it in cans.” She tried not to sound patronizing, but failed. “I’ll make myself lunch.”

Jeremy wacked the back of cabinet door, it slammed into the base and bounced back open. “Mother know best. I’ll go watch TV.”

Agatha nodded.

Jeremy started out of the kitchen.

“Jeremy,” Agatha called. “You can wear your father’s clothes if you like. I put them in the spare bedroom. Maybe you want to take a shower and change?”

“Sure.” He kept his back to her and took another step.

“Jeremy!”

He stopped again. “Yeah?”

“How long will you be staying?”

He faced her. At least he had the nerve to look her in the eyes. “Only a couple weeks, maybe a month. Until I can get back on my feet.”

She forced a smile. “I’m glad you came.” She opened the refrigerator as he disappeared from view.

****

Ben turned onto Interstate 5. He drove a Home Depot rental truck full of appliances, equipment, and supplies. It would take an hour to get back to Helen’s house. He knew she’d never agree to his help, so he’d opted for the ask-for-forgiveness-not-for-permission theory and hoped she hadn’t already bought the items herself.

Ben recalled the prior evening and smiled. Over candlelight, soda, and pizza, Ben, Theo, and Helen had shared something that almost felt normal. Ben told humorous stories of his youth while Theo did the same. For good measure Theo tossed in stories about Helen’s embarrassing moments: a hot dog recipe gone awry, the time she’d thrown her car keys in the dumpster and had to get inside to retrieve them, how she’d called a customer the wrong name so many times that others jokingly began to call him the wrong name as well. They’d all laughed.

Ben pulled the truck to a stop in front of Helen’s home at six o’clock. Minutes later he hefted a package of roofing shingles onto one shoulder. Its weight, biting into his neck, reminded him of the difference he was making in Helen’s and Theo’s lives.

He hauled the shingles up the ladder and set them on the roof. One after another, up the packages went. Ben’s legs stung and his back ached, but he wanted to accomplish something before the sun set. Ben climbed atop the roof and extracted the nails that held the shingles in place. He pulled a tile free, tossed it aside, and moved onto the next. The shingles scratched his hands and ripped the knees of his jeans. He needed gloves and kneepads. He’d get them later.

He worked through dusk. Using the smear of light that remained, Ben crawled across the rooftop to where he’d stashed the tarp. He was dragging one corner toward him when the sound of a nearby voice made him jump. Helen’s head, cloaked in near darkness, floated above the roofline.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“I asked, ‘What do you think you’re doing?’”

Ben tried to lighten the situation. “Is this a trick question?” Wanting to read her facial expressions, Ben dropped the tarp, and scooted toward her.

“What makes you think you can repair my roof? I didn’t give you permission.”

Ben decided to tell the truth. He hoped Helen’s generosity would extend to indulging his needs. “I’m doing this for myself.”

Helen’s forehead bunched like an accordion. “Why? Because you feel guilty?”

“I want to make an impact while I’m in Nalley.”

“You can’t change the past?”

“I know.”

“Or the future? You’re leaving in less than two weeks.”

She was right, he’d acted irrationally. “All I can say is when I saw Theo…” Ben couldn’t find the right words. “Something melted.” A piece of his life had shifted into place. The discontent that had stirred within him all his adult life had calmed. How could he explain that?

The lines on Helen’s face softened. “Theo
is
easy to like, but that doesn’t mean you can trespass on my home and make repairs I didn’t ask for.”

Ben drew in a deep breath. “Let me help you with this. Please, Helen.”

“Why?
To impress Theo for a week and then disappear?”

“I’m not going to disappear. I plan to be part of Theo’s life.”

Helen frowned.

“You’re running a business and going to school. Theo works and is trying to repair his car. You’re both busy. I have the time and the money to do this. Plus I want to,” Ben said.

“You are exasperating.” Helen pinched the bridge of her nose. “We are not a charity case.”

“You know I don’t think you are.”

“Besides, I have insurance.”

Ben decided not to point out her insurance wasn’t covering much. “So keep the money.” With the fading light, Ben couldn’t read her expression.

“How do I know
you
have the money?”

“Speaking of money.” Ben contemplated telling Helen what had happened to all the payments he’d sent. He opted to tell her another time, when she was sitting down. “Consider this back child support.”

Helen harrumphed.

Ben continued. “For the last ten years, I’ve amassed a small fortune. I’ve worked day and night trying to forget I had a son I’d never seen. I want to do this for both of you and for myself.” Ben held his breath as he waited for Helen’s response. In the silence, the ladder creaked.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean or can’t fulfill, Ben Smiley.” She started climbing down.

Ben followed.

“I want to do the repairs to the house as well,” Ben said when Helen stepped onto the porch.

“I can’t accept all that, Ben.” Helen slid a key in the door lock. She stepped inside and flicked on the porch light. Standing in the threshold with a hand on her hip and her lips pulled tight, she looked weary.

Her distrust and disdain of him hurt and an overwhelming need to prove he’d done something all these years overtook Ben. “I’ve confirmed where the US Marshal Service sent the payments. My first payment went to your mom’s address here in Nalley.”

“My mom kicked me out. She said I was a ‘whore,’” Helen’s tone was matter of fact.

Ben stepped closer, wanting to pull her into his arms even though she didn’t appear to need or want his compassion. She’d been poor, alone, and pregnant. “Oh, Helen.”

“Don’t do that. Just say what you so obviously need to say.”

Ben took a deep breath. “The Marshal Service received notification that your address had changed. The payments started going to Florida.”

Helen swallowed audibly. “They’re the US Marshals, how could they not know where I lived? I wasn’t hiding.”

“They had no reason to question the address change.”

“You’re saying what exactly?” The crinkle returned to her forehead.

Ben hated seeing her serene features pinched. “The money went to Eve Ableman’s address.”

“You have got to be kidding.”

“Untraceable and in cash. I’m sorry, Helen.”

Helen took in a shaky breath. “Well that explains a few things.”

Ben never her to wear that pained expression again. “The Marshal Service will have records. We can press charges to get the money recovered.”

Helen shook her head. “Not worth the heartache.”

“I’ll repay you.”

Helen sighed. “I have my house, my car, money for Theo’s education. I don’t need more.”

“It could be your mad money. Take a vacation somewhere exotic.” He had the absurd desire to sweep her off her feet, to take her somewhere warm, and pamper her with expensive drinks.

Helen’s laugh was one-part playful, three-parts sad. “I’ve always wanted to travel, but I’m not going on your dime. I’ll have time enough when I retire.”

He’d expected a different reaction. Outrage. Despair. Something. Not a quiet acceptance as if she were used to being on the short end of things. “Why wait until you retire?”

Helen glared. “I’m going in now. Good night, Ben.” She took a step back and closed the door.

Realizing they hadn’t resolved whether or not he could continue working on the roof, Ben took a step back. He’d be there in the morning. “Good night, Helen.”

****

Helen closed the door then turned and rested her back against the smooth wood. Her anger, for the moment, was directed at the messenger. Ben’s appearance in Nalley felt hallucinatory, and she half expected him to appear in front of her like a mirage.

Heartache spread through her like a disease. Her mother had stolen money meant for Theo. Each breath hurt like a stab to the chest. She and Theo had survived, she reminded herself. Survived, but not thrived. Things could have been worse.

Her whole life she’d never been able to make her mother happy. As a child, she’d grown up feeling like a burden. She had a lingering memory of her mother’s warning that Ben would dump her as soon as he’d slept with him. Her mother had told Helen, ‘Boys like Ben didn’t keep girls like her’.

Helen inhaled a deep breath. Wallowing in anger wouldn’t help. She couldn’t change the past, or turn her mother into a caring person. She could only govern her own feelings and deal with the present.

And in her present, was Ben. He’d invaded her and Theo’s lives trying to appease his own guilt. She didn’t want his help or his money. What mattered, all that mattered, was her son. Theo was at a pivotal point in his life, and his idleness scared her. Maybe the money from Ben would open up options Theo hadn’t considered. Maybe money could spurn Theo into action.

If Ben was bent on paying her, she’d put the funds into an account for Theo’s future.

Outside, the Home Depot truck rumbled to life. Something clunked and there was a rev before the engine’s roar grew faint. Helen pushed off the door and carried her book bag and purse to the couch where she dropped onto the soft cushions.