Read Online Sweet Dreams on Center Street by Sheila Roberts - Free Book Online Page B

from the loft as she talked
to Cecily and Bailey on the computer. Instead, she found her mother rooted in
her favorite yellow leather chair, nursing a cup of chocolate-mint tea. The
aroma drifted across the room to greet her.
    â€œI have a pot of tea on the counter,” Mom said as Samantha bent
to kiss her cheek, “and Pat brought over white-chocolate raspberry brownies.
Vitamin C,” she added, referring to the family joke that chocolate was the
equivalent of vitamins.
    At the rate Samantha was going, she’d wind up overdosing on
chocolate. She moved to the counter, poured herself some tea and took a brownie.
Just one. She’d make this the last fattening thing she ate for the rest of her
life. Okay, for the rest of the month. The week. The night, anyway.
    â€œHow are you feeling?” Mom asked.
    Like French royalty about to face the
guillotine. Samantha shrugged. “I’ve been better.”
    Her mother’s face was a picture of sympathy and regret. “I’m so
sorry, sweetie.”
    That made two of them. “Mom, about this morning. I’m sorry I
snapped at you.” Daughters were supposed to be a comfort to their mother. She
was about as comforting as a kick in the shins.
    Mom waved away the apology. “Don’t give it another thought. I
know you’re under a lot of stress.”
    Stress, the all-American excuse for bad behavior. Could she go
back to the bank and try that one out on Blake Preston?
    Mom gave her a motherly pat on the shoulder. “Somehow this will
all work out, sweetie.”
    Samantha had to find a way to make that prediction come true.
The weight of responsibility on her shoulders felt like twin elephants. How was
she going to get them out of this mess? Panic!
    No, no. No panicking. Stay calm and
think.
    â€œSo they haven’t called yet?” she asked, stating the obvious.
Suddenly she was eager to talk to her sisters. Even though there was nothing
they could do to help, a big dose of moral support would be good.
    â€œNot yet,” Mom said. “I was just about to go up to the loft. We
can start talking to Cecily. You know how to do this Skype thing, right? Waldo
always…” Mom’s sentence trailed off.
    Samantha simply nodded and led the way upstairs. At first it
looked like Mom had done some serious cleaning in the office, but on closer
examination Samantha realized her mother had only stacked all of Waldo’s
paperwork in neat piles.
    â€œI’m working through your stepfather’s papers,” Mom said as she
sat down and booted up the computer.
    â€œI can help you with that,” Samantha offered, pulling up a
chair next to her and clicking on the Skype icon.
    â€œIt can wait,” Mom said. “You’ve got enough on your plate.”
    Not as much as Mom had. Yes, Samantha was feeling responsible
for keeping the company going, but Mom was coping with the loss of a husband and
probably her house, on top of all this trouble with Sweet Dreams. All the
sparkle had drained out of her and she looked like a zombie with her eyes
bloodshot from crying. Samantha, with her ill-considered outbursts, wasn’t
helping.
    Their call went through and Cecily appeared on the screen. She
was perched on a brown microfiber love seat in her living room, looking comfy in
sweatpants and an old sweater, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. On the
wall behind her Samantha could see Mom’s 1979 Moskowitz print that Cecily had
taken with her when she’d moved to L.A. It depicted three pastel-colored
ostriches, one with its head in the sand, two staring out at the world with
perplexed expressions. Rather symbolic of most of the women in her family if you
asked Samantha. Not that anyone had.
    â€œBailey isn’t here yet,” Cecily told them. “She called to say
she’s running late.”
    â€œWhat a surprise,” Samantha murmured.
    â€œBaby of the family. What can we say?” Cecily said.