Page 9 of Clean Sweep
Women probably processed divorces differently than men, but I couldn’t even fathom how.
Didn’t want to, either.
Instead, I continued my quick tour. More of the usual. General disarray. Dust in the corners, on the baseboards. Everywhere. A vacuum had clearly been run now and then, but only in the general living areas. She’d kept her living room normal enough, but the rest of the house had been left to its own devices.
But why?
Bills fluttered as I strode past the table. With a quick glance I saw something from the local attorney, a pay stub, papers from a bank—probably a mortgage statement—and receipts from the grocery store. Her divorce was, clearly, still apparent enough that it hadn’t entirely subsided.
Questions lingered in the back of my mind, burning there.
Why did Leslie stop caring?
What finally pushed her to call my company for help?
Why did she divorce Ethan?
The questions plagued me as I headed back to my truck. There were cleaning supplies to gather now, and a whole house to scrub all by myself. It had been awhile since Yessica hadn’t been able to take a basic job like this, and I looked forward to the feeling of setting things right.
3
LESLIE
The back corner of the Frolicking Moose had become my world-domination home base.
I didn’t love working in the middle of the coffee shop all the time. Too much noise, bustle, and distraction. If I had to accomplish a pile of sticky notes, I required silence and aloneness.
Thankfully, Bethany had included a decent-sized office into the renovation plans of the Frolicking Moose years ago, but I sometimes sat in the shop area just to remember what I really did here.
The Frolicking Moose was more than just a coffee shop. It was a community center. A place of refuge for many, particularly during the fire last summer. Pineville residents and tourists had slept in the parking lot and congregated in the store. Fire officials had eaten meals here and given quick updates during the mandatory evacuation of the north hills of Pineville.
People came to the shop for more than just nourishment, but connection. Mountain residents, starved for human interaction, craved the ability to see and talk to other people. Now, with the loft rented out as a HomeBnB, the Frolicking Moose also provided shelter and a safe place to sleep.
Caring for others was something I took very seriously.
While at work, I tuned out all the years of being a Mom, a wife, a homebody, a person that oriented herself around the lives of others, and stepped into my favorite role in the whole world: party organizer.
When it came right down to details, that’s all my job entailed. I coordinated every aspect of an ongoing party that rolled from one day to the next.
That afternoon, I sat in the corner booth with my back to the shop and let the world unfurl behind me. Most people didn’t talk to me when I sat like this, but it allowed me to keep a thumb on the general ambience.
Too busy? Okay schedule for the baristas? Check-ins for the loft at the right time?
As usual, Dahlia and the new barista, Katelyn, flowed through the long line of customers as easily as a gentle mountain stream.
In between inventory calls and texting Maverick details for his upcoming family reunion, my brain idly comprehended the fact that a girl named Yessica was cleaning my house. I’d be able to go home, take off my shoes, finish up the cornbread recipe I’d started, and have a glass of wine.
Why hadn’t I hired a housekeeper sooner?
A bright voice caught my ear.
“You’re here!”
I lifted my head as a ray of sunshine slid into the chair across from me. Celeste, a bright-eyed teenager with ultra-blonde hair, big braces, and an even bigger smile. She wore a subdued olive shirt with a pair of black pants. Her sprawling purse—she’d kill it as a mom with a bag like that already—dropped to the bench next to her.
“Hey,” I said with a smile. “How was school?”
Celeste gave a flippant wave of her hand, her wrist popping. “Fine. I can’t wait to be done. Senior year kind of sucks. But I submitted another college application yesterday, so that’s exciting.”
