Birdie met Lucinda’s smile with one of her own. “We like it.”
“I can see why!”
Sammy and a small, furry, low-to-the-ground dog came tearing down the hall. Catching sight of Lucinda, he stopped dead in his tracks, then scrambled behind his mother’s legs, suddenly shy.
The dog had no such compunctions but tumbled straight into their visitor.
“Swiffer, down!” Birdie said.
To his credit, the fluffy fur ball actually listened. A silly grin on his doggy face, he plunked down on his behind, tongue lolling, short, stubby tail wagging.
“Swiffer?” Kneeling, Lucinda held out her hand. When he nosed it, she rubbed his head.
“Seemed appropriate,” Birdie said. “The little rascal’s so short and fuzzy, he cleans a patch of the floor every time he moves.”
Lucinda studied the dog and laughed. “Yeah, it fits.”
Birdie looped an arm around her son. “Sammy, tell Lucy good morning.”
“Morning.” He ground the toe of one worn sneaker into the floor.
“Lucy’s going to stay with us for a while. Won’t that be nice?”
“Uh-huh. Can me and Swiffer go outside till you’re ready to go, Mom?”
“Sure. But stay in the yard.”
“’Kay.” Boy and dog made a beeline for the backdoor. It slammed behind them.
“So much for trying to teach him to close the door carefully. And quietly.”
Lucinda heard the whoops, barks and laughter out back and felt a little twinge of envy. Nope. Money surely couldn’t buy happiness. And it certainly wasn’t a prerequisite for it.
Chattering a mile a minute about her day’s appointments, Birdie showed Lucinda to her room. A double-duty guestroom and office, it was a no-frills, utilitarian space. No time or money had been spent on it, no attempt made to decorate it. This room was clearly the house’s workhorse.
“You’re actually the first to use this room to sleep in, although I admit to dozing over the computer a few times late at night, trying to wrap up quarterly taxes by deadline.” Birdie pushed a box closer to the wall. “I changed the sheets after Jake called, but that’s about all I had time for. I can crate up this paperwork and haul it to my room tonight.”
“No, please, don’t do that. It won’t bother me at all. Honest.” She turned to Jake’s sister. “Birdie, thanks so much for taking me in. I—” At a loss for words, she couldn’t wrap her mind around an explanation.
What could she, should she, tell Birdie? Everything had spun out of control. A few short days ago, she’d been living the life of Lucinda Darling, the heiress, the business executive. And she’d taken it all for granted. Now… Heck, now? She simply wasn’t sure of anything. How could she even begin to explain this whole convoluted mess to Birdie?
Jake’s sister patted Lucinda’s hand, which rested on her luggage pull. “No explanations are necessary, sweetie. Sammy and I are glad to have you.” She checked her watch. “But I do have to get going. Vonnie Mae Swanson is coming in early today.”
“Okay.” Lucinda scrunched up her nose. “I have one more favor to ask.”
She spilled out the offer she’d made Marsha the night before at the Dixie Dog.
“How’s she doing with Shorty?” Birdie asked.
“Not good.”
“That girl’s over the moon for him. The whole town’s been wondering when those two are gonna get hitched.”
“I’m hoping sooner, rather than later, if this makeover goes well,” Lucinda said.
Birdie grinned. “I’d love to help.”
When Jake’s sister left ten minutes later, not only had she given Lucinda a home for the next couple of days, but she’d agreed to fit Marsha in for color, condition and a cut. The rest, Lucinda could handle on her own.
Once the house was empty, she poured herself a glass of orange juice and carried it to the breakfast nook. Funny how every house had its own vibes. Sitting here at Birdie’s table felt nothing at all like sitting at Jake’s. Which, of course, felt nothing like breakfasting in her own modern, brand-spanking-new upscale Florida condo.
She plucked a torn-out coloring book page from the side of the refrigerator and smiled at the purple-and-orange tree. Inside-the-lines was obviously a skill Sammy was still working on.
A restorative sip and she deemed herself ready. Pulling out her cell, she phoned the waitress from the Dixie Dog, waking her from a sound sleep.
“Sorry, Marsha. Guess I should have waited a little longer to call. You work late, sleep late, right?”
“You got it,” a groggy Marsha answered. “Who is this?”