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

herself,
and she’d pay the money back. So get up and get over
there.
    She laid her head down on the desk again. Tomorrow. Like
Scarlett O’Hara, she’d think about it tomorrow.
    Except the clock was ticking and she couldn’t afford the luxury
of waiting until tomorrow. She took a deep breath, stood and strode out of the
office.

Chapter Four
    No one is perfect. It’s important to remember this when working
with family.
    â€”Muriel Sterling, Mixing Business with
Pleasure: How to Successfully Balance Business and Love
    M uriel was in a swimming pool full of
melted chocolate, competing in a swim meet, doing the butterfly stroke and
trying desperately to catch up with her competition in the other lanes. Waldo
stood at one end of the pool holding up a giant silver trophy cup brimming with
fudge, and Cecily and Bailey were at the front of the throng, cheering wildly.
“Go, Mom! You can do it!” But the chocolate was so thick that no matter how hard
she pulled against it, she couldn’t make any progress.
    She was halfway across the pool and heavily winded when in
swept the Wicked Witch of the West on her broom. The witch wasn’t wearing her
usual black garb. Instead, she was in an old-fashioned bathing suit from the
early 1900s and she looked suspiciously like Samantha with hazel eyes and long
red hair flying out from under her pointy black hat.
    â€œTsunami! Quick, everybody out of the pool,” cried the witch.
She flew out over the water, reached down and yanked Muriel out by her hair.
“Mom, you can’t stay here. Mom. Mom!”
    â€œMom?”
    Muriel opened her eyes to see Samantha leaning over her, a hand
on her shoulder, her expression anxious. “Are you okay?”
    Of course she wasn’t okay. Muriel shoved her hair out of her
eyes and sat up. “What time is it?”
    â€œEleven forty-five.”
    Almost noon. Here she was, sleeping away another day.
    â€œHave you eaten?” Samantha asked.
    â€œI’m not hungry, sweetie.”
    â€œWhen was the last time you ate?”
    What did it matter? Muriel waved away the question. She slipped
out of bed and went into the bathroom and shut the door on her daughter.
    Samantha’s voice followed her. “I’ll make coffee.”
    Coffee, ugh. Muriel had always loved a good cup of coffee but
her taste buds, like the rest of her, seemed to have given up on life.
    She stood at the bathroom counter and stared at her reflection.
Beneath those artificially brown curls the face of an old woman looked
mournfully back at her. The dark circles under her eyes showed how poorly she
was sleeping in spite of all the mattress time she was logging in.
    She flipped off the light and left the bathroom. The bed called
to her, but the smell of brewing coffee reminded her that Samantha was expecting
her in the kitchen. She put on her bathrobe and sat on the edge of the bed,
willing herself to get out there. Her body refused to obey.
    Finally Samantha entered the room bearing a steaming mug. At
the sight of her mother she managed a tentative smile. “How about I draw you a
bubble bath and make us an omelet?”
    Muriel took the mug. “Is that a hint?” That sounded snippy.
Well, she felt snippy.
    Samantha’s fair skin glowed like an ember. “No, I just…”
    â€œGo ahead and make yourself something. I’ll be out in a few
minutes.” Muriel returned to the bathroom with as much dignity as she could
muster. She was too young for her daughter to be telling her what to do.
    Although Samantha was right. She needed a bath.
    Twenty minutes later she emerged to find her daughter huddled
on a stool at the kitchen counter, nursing her own mug of coffee. Muriel joined
her and they sat side by side, looking at the empty kitchen.
    â€œI can’t seem to get my feet under me,” Muriel murmured.
    â€œYou will,” Samantha said.
    And, if her daughter had anything to say about it, the