Page 26 of The Wrong Track

Chapter 6

“Oh…just another minute. This is Bjarni saying that he locked his little brother in the shed and no one knows how to get him out. The elementary school is closed for a teacher workday and it’s a little bit hectic at home. But this problem is easy to solve, because I’ve hidden several crowbars around the property for exactly this situation. I had to hide them, because crowbars make great weapons if you like to do sword fighting. They do.”

Annie Whitaker-Gassman typed furiously into her phone and then put it down again and smiled at me. “Problem solved. Sorry about that! I have six kids and sometimes—often they need me. That’s part of why I really want to hire an assistant. Also, I’m getting more business than I can handle.”

She had a remodeling and home-staging company, Whitaker Properties, yet another successful branch of this family. But there was something wrong in what she’d just said.

“Tobin told me that you’re looking for help with sewing,” I said, “not an assistant. I actually only need a job for the next few weeks until his leg is better. Then I’m moving, so I couldn’t be an assistant for you. Even if I were capable.” Which I wasn’t, having no education or skills.

“Oh, that’s too bad! I was thinking that we’d get along great…hold on.” She typed on her screen again but then said, “I’m going to need to call.” She held the phone to her ear. “Hi, honey! No, absolutely not. Even if there are keys inside, it doesn’t mean you can drive it. Where’s the babysitter?” She listened. “Untie her immediately. Ok, love you!” She blew kisses into the phone. “Sorry,” she told me. “What were you saying? You’re moving to Kuwait? Why?”

What? “No, not there. Probably California,” I said, because I was still researching, but that place was definitely big enough to disappear into.

“That’s where I went to college,” she offered. “How about you?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t go to college. I didn’t graduate from high school,” I said plainly. She wouldn’t mind now about losing out on me as a potential assistant. “Tobin told me that you need help with sewing, but I only have his grandmother’s machine to use and it’s not professional,” I warned further. “And I don’t have space for really large projects, so this probably doesn’t make sense for me.” I picked up my backpack from her office floor, preparing to leave.

“Believe me, I still have plenty of things you can take on. I’ve been overwhelming all the upholsterers and seamstresses around here…I have to answer this one.” She held the phone to her ear again. “Macdara, I’m so glad you’re home. What happened to the babysitter?” She listened. “Oh, great! I’m happy that she’s free. How was your calculus test, honey?” She listened to that, too, and then told the person on the other side of the call that she loved her so, so much and she was so proud.

“My daughter is practically a math genius,” Annie bragged when she hung up. “It’s terrible how I talk about them all, but you’ll get it.” She nodded at my stomach, invisible under my big shirt. “Tobin told me about the baby. It’s so exciting! When are you due?”

“April.”

“That’s when Tobin will get out of the big cast, right? So that’s when you’re thinking of moving? Cutting it close,” she noted.

“No, I have plenty of time.” Because I wouldn’t have to deal with this until almost the middle of April, which was practically May. A long time away.

“Do you have family in California?” she asked next, and I gritted my teeth. Another person who thought I needed handholding. But then Annie shook her head because a kid was calling, and when she hung up, she’d forgotten about her question. “Let’s go into the back so you can see what I’m dealing with for sewing projects,” she offered. I followed as she led the way and wondered how she’d ever had six children and come out looking so elegant and beautiful.

But her workroom was a mess, worse than Kilian’s apartment had been back in Virginia before I’d moved in, before we’d moved on to Maryland, then West Virginia, then South Carolina. “Clean it up,” he’d told me, and I had the urge to do the same thing to Annie Whitaker-Gassman’s storage space. There were piles and piles of material, fabric swatches and yardage and whole bolts, tiles in all different colors and shapes, pieces of wood that looked like flooring, samples of marble and stone that could have been countertops like the nice one that we’d had in the townhouse that I’d hated. There was also furniture everywhere, bedding, what looked like tablecloths, dishes, vases, plants, baskets, rugs, and children’s toys, and there was no order to anything. It was a disaster.

“Christ,” I said, and then felt a little guilty because I’d blasphemed out loud. Since we’d been talking about sewing, I’d been thinking of my grandma a lot and she didn’t like swearing. I also knew that I shouldn’t have criticized a possible employer—but this was overwhelming.

“I know,” Annie agreed. “My husband Neil can’t even look in here because it makes him too anxious. I really need help.” She sighed a little. “But let me show you the sewing.”

It took her a long time to find the different fabrics and then even longer to find the client files on her laptop, which seemed to be infected with a lot of viruses or malware or something because ads for lawn treatments and pornography kept popping up. “My son Ellis is going to work on this for me. He’s such a smart boy,” she told me, and quickly closed the image of an engorged penis. “I’ve just been a little worried about him seeing these pictures, but he’s in college now so he’s probably seen it all.” As she hunted and clicked closed unwanted windows, she kept chatting. “Why didn’t you finish high school, Remy? Do you mind me asking?”

I’d had to explain this when I’d interviewed at the botanical gardens, too. “I dropped out after my junior year. I wasn’t interested in school anymore.”

She nodded sympathetically. “It’s not for everyone,” she agreed. “My son Bjarni is just miserable.”

“Why?”

“We’re not sure. We’re having him tested for learning differences and attention issues and anything else anyone can think of. But that makes him feel terrible, too, like something’s really wrong with him.”

“It’s better to find out.”

She nodded vigorously. “I know Tobin struggled a lot without a diagnosis and learning plan. We didn’t understand that he had dyslexia until he was in high school. He’d been able to get by on his own for a long time, making up his own strategies and dealing with it, so no one had caught it. And you know, with his father ill for all those years, it was hard for him anyway so his bad grades made more sense.”

“What was wrong with his father?”

“Cancer,” she said. “When they finally tested Tobin, his mother felt just terrible. I remember hearing that Aunt Charlene was practically inconsolable. So we’re trying to be proactive with Bjarni.” She blew a strand of hair away from her eyes. “Ok, here we go! This is the client who needs those pillows for her patio. It’s hard to believe that we’re talking about outdoor living right now, but spring will be here before we know it!” I felt a little tremor at her words.

She found more projects, too, and we discussed what my rate would be and how I’d prefer payment in cash. Then she printed everything out, all the measurements and specifications, because I still didn’t have email and my phone wouldn’t take texts.

I looked at the large pile of fabric she’d assembled. “You’re just going to give this to me?”

“Oh, of course you can’t carry so much! I’ll take it to your car,” she said, jumping up.

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