Annie's Answer (3 page)

Marie moaned,
and Annie hoped the busboy would help with place settings and water. She
realized it was a treat for elderly customers to come for the evening special,
pancakes with a choice of sausage or bacon and a side from the menu, but it was
going to be a long evening.

It was close
to eleven when Annie quietly entered the house. Officially she only
worked—and got paid—until ten, but Bob always insisted the
waitresses set the tables for the morning crowd after he closed for the night.

“You’re late,”
her grandfather said, rousing himself from the recliner where he’d fallen
asleep reading.

“You didn’t
need to wait up for me,” Annie said.

“I wanted to
hear how your interview went,” he said, pushing down the green upholstered
footrest and getting to his feet.

“I got the
job.” She was too exhausted to celebrate, but she gave her grandfather the
details.

“I hope you’re
not biting off more than you can chew,” he said, one of his favorite sayings
about her multiple jobs. “Reminds me, can I warm some soup for you?”

“All I want
right now is sleep,” Annie said with a yawn. “I have to meet Nathan Sawyer at
his house at seven tomorrow morning.”

“That’s pretty
early to start work,” Gramps said.

“It’s only to
meet his Aunt Mattie. Other days I can go there at nine, and the schedule is
flexible. I should still be able to sell ads and help in the church office.”

Her
grandfather gave her a skeptical look, but blessedly he didn’t comment. She
knew how hard it was going to be to balance all her jobs, but buying the flower
shop was the opportunity of a lifetime. After an evening of Bob’s micromanaging
at the restaurant, the chance to be her own boss doing something she loved
would more than compensate for lost sleep and exhaustion. The Lord would give
her the strength she needed to realize her dream.

“Good night,
Gramps,” she said, hurrying up to her room.

After laying
out her second-best jeans and a loose fitting turquoise tunic, she set her
clock for six a.m. and literally tumbled onto the narrow bed she’d used since
fifth grade. An hour in the morning would give her time to shower and have a
bowl of cereal before driving to the Sawyer house on the other side of town.
She prayed for those she loved as she did every evening and was asleep almost
instantly.

The next thing
she knew, her alarm was ringing, a strident sound that made her grope to turn
it off before it woke her mother and grandfather. The one good thing about
Mom’s job was she didn’t have to be at the bank until 8:45. She liked seeing
customers all day, but the pay wasn’t much better than what Annie made at the
pancake place. When she had her own business, Annie hoped to contribute more to
the running of the household, another plus if she could make a success of the
flower shop.

Fifty-five
minutes later Annie parked in the circular drive in front of the Sawyer
mansion, as residents of Westover called it. She couldn’t seem to stop yawning,
but hopefully the meeting with Aunt Mattie would jolt her to full wakefulness.

She could hear
musical chimes when she pressed the bell, and less than a minute later Nathan
opened the door.

“Good, you’re
right on time,” he said, ready for work in a lightweight beige suit with a
coordinated dress shirt and a patterned brown silk tie. He was tall and
slender, but his shoulders were broad under his tailored jacket.

Yesterday
she’d been too nervous about the interview to react to his good looks, but this
morning it was obvious why he was the town’s most eligible bachelor. His sandy
blond hair fell over his forehead on one side, slightly shaggy--maybe that was
the latest style for successful young men. She met his eyes and couldn’t decide
whether they were green or hazel, then he was ushering her into a foyer with a
checkerboard pattern of black and white tiles on the floor. A broad carpeted
staircase led to the second floor, and she could imagine sweeping down it in a
full-length gown.

What she
didn’t see was her charge.

“Aunt Mattie
will be out in a few minutes,” Nathan said. “It’s too dangerous going up and
down steps with her crutches, so we fixed up a bedroom on this floor. A live-in
maid used it some years ago, but now we have a professional cleaning service
that comes weekly. Let me show you the house.

“This is the
den,” he said, taking her to a paneled room with an ornately carved fireplace
and a long brown leather couch with a pair of matching armchairs. “I’ve
encouraged Aunt Mattie to spend time here because there’s a flat screen TV, but
she’s no couch potato. You’ll learn her opinion of television programming soon
enough.”

“It’s very
nice room,” Annie said as she admired the oriental carpet and landscapes
hanging on the walls.

“I’ll just
show you the rooms Aunt Mattie might be using,” he said. “The kitchen is
through this arch.”

“Wow!” She put
her hand over her mouth, embarrassed by her reaction. Her whole house could fit
into the huge kitchen. It had stainless steel appliances and a flagstone floor,
not to mention a scrubbed pine table with chairs for a dozen people. Enough
pots and pans with shiny copper bottoms hung from the ceiling to prepare meals
for a hundred people.

“The floor is
a little uneven, so I’ve tried to discourage Aunt Mattie from coming in here
with her crutches. Good luck on that,” Nathan said, hurrying her into the
formal dining room, an awesome room unlike any she’d seen in Westover. In the
unlikely event the Sawyers ever needed another income, they could open an
antiques shop with the contents there.

He didn’t give
her time for more than a glance, hurrying her to a sunroom at the rear of the
house. It ran the length of that wing of the house and was furnished with
vintage wicker furniture made comfortable with big floral patterned cushions in
shades of green, yellow, and orange. She tried to identify the plants in huge
ceramic planters, but Nathan didn’t give her time.

“How lovely,”
she said, looking through the screened windows on three sides. The garden was
the stuff of her dreams. Several small ponds and a waterfall shimmered in the
morning sun, and meandering paths were paved with large, flat stones. The
colorful array of plants and flowers took her breath away, and she wished her
job included caring for the meticulous beds.

“Our gardener
does a good job,” Nathan said, hurrying her out. “Aunt Mattie should be up by
now. She’s an early riser.”

After what
he’d told her about his relative, Annie braced herself to meet a fire-breathing
dragon.

They caught up
with her as she thumped her way across the kitchen on rubber-tipped metal
crutches.

“Aunt Mattie,
this is Annie Williams,” Nathan said, nodding at the tall, slender woman.

She stood
ramrod straight, even on crutches, and Annie was a little surprised to see her
wearing faded jeans and a brightly flowered cotton blouse, not the housedress
she’d imagined on an Iowa farm wife. Her thinning salt and pepper hair was
pulled back in a ponytail, and her long face was creased by age and darkened by
the sun. She had thin lips and a sharply pointed nose, but her features were
more regal than homely.  Her only concession to age was one clunky
taupe-colored orthopedic shoe. Her sprained ankle was wrapped with an elastic
bandage with her foot encased in a terrycloth slipper.

“Does she make
coffee? I see you didn’t put the pot on this morning,” his great aunt said,
sounding a bit perturbed.

“Annie will
make it,” Nathan said, trying to sound patient but not quite succeeding. “We
talked about her last night.”

“My
babysitter,” Aunt Mattie said in a disapproving voice. She turned and looked
Annie up and down with laser-sharp eyes behind bright blue-rimmed glasses.
“Kind of little, isn’t she?”

“Small but
mighty,” Annie said, determined not to be intimidated by the older woman.

“Be nice, Aunt
Mattie,” Nathan said. “Annie is here to make your lunch and keep you
entertained.”

“I’ll put the
coffee on,” Annie said, hoping she could figure out the complicated new
appliance on the counter.

“None of those
fancy flavors for me,” Aunt Mattie said. “I like coffee that tastes like
coffee, not dessert. Black as sin and no sugar or nasty substitutes.”

“I’m sure
Annie can brew a good cup,” Nathan said, opening one of the many cupboards to
show her a large assortment of beans and ground coffee. “I’ll be in court most
of today, so you won’t be able to reach me. Is there anything I can do before I
leave, Aunt Mattie?”

“Just close
the door on the way out,” the older woman said. “I’ve been on my own for nearly
seven years, and I can take care of myself.”

While Annie
figured out the coffee maker, Aunt Mattie thumped to the front door for a few
more words with Nathan. She didn’t know what he said to her, but his aunt
looked a little less ferocious when she came back to the kitchen.

“So, I guess
we have to put up with each other,” Mattie said. “Have you done this sort of
work before?”

“I started
babysitting with neighborhood kids when I was thirteen, but you’re my first
senior,” Annie said, picking out the most traditional looking package of ground
coffee. “Is this okay?”

Mattie took it
and read the label before giving her the go-ahead. “Real Colombian with none of
those silly flavors added.”

She sat down
at the table and watched with eagle eyes while Annie measured the grounds into
a paper filter and followed the directions she found taped on the inside of the
cupboard door. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who found the black plastic
coffeemaker a little confusing to use.

Under Aunt
Mattie’s watchful eyes, she was beginning to miss her babysitting days, even
the time one of the Miller twins hit her over the head with a plastic bat.

“Well, I’m not
a baby, and I don’t need a sitter,” Mattie said after a few moments of silence.
“But Nathan insists, so we’ll both have to make the best of it. What are you
supposed to do for me?”

“Whatever you
like,” Annie said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. “For now, can I fix
your breakfast? What would you like?”

“The day
hasn’t dawned when I can’t feed myself,” the older woman said.

“I’m sure
you’re perfectly capable,” Annie said, trying to be as diplomatic as possible.
“But since Mr. Sawyer is paying me to hang around, I need something to do.”

“So you don’t
like being idle? I thought you’d be some young thing who’d spend the day
watching soap operas on the television.”

Annie didn’t
bother to contradict her. She wasn’t going to be confrontational, no matter how
much the woman baited her. If her job at Yum Yum’s had taught her one thing, it
was to listen but not argue. She didn’t for one moment believe the customer was
always right, but courtesy won more battles than sharp retorts.

“Let’s see
what’s in here,” Annie said, opening a double-doored fridge as large as the one
at the restaurant. “Plenty of eggs. How do you like them? Scrambled, fried,
boiled? I could try a cheese omelet, but I can’t promise it will turn out
well.”

“Oatmeal.”

“I beg your
pardon?” Annie said, the word muffled because her head was deep in the fridge.

“I always have
oatmeal for breakfast,” Mattie said, seating herself at the table. “With whole
milk, none of that watery stuff, and a little brown sugar. I don’t like it
runny, but I don’t want it so thick I have to cut it with a knife.”

“My
grandfather makes good oatmeal,” Annie said, noticing that the coffee was
ready. She poured out a full mug and put it in front of Mattie. “I think I can
do almost as well. Do you want cream or sugar?”

“No, I drink
it black. Your grandfather lives with you?” Mattie sounded interested for the
first time since they’d met.

“Yes, he has
for nearly ten years. He’s a widower and a retired minister. Mom and I would
probably live on cold cereal and sandwiches without his cooking.” She checked
cupboards until she found a familiar red and blue container of fast-cooking
oatmeal.

“Your mother
is on her own?” Mattie asked, her eyes following every move Annie made.

“Yes, my
father died when I was quite young.” Annie hadn’t expected Mattie to ask
personal questions, but she was there to keep her entertained. A conversation
was a good start, although Annie wasn’t comfortable talking about herself with
a stranger.

She could
barely reach the pans hanging overhead, but she managed to snag a small kettle.
Filling it with a random amount of water, she put it on to boil after figuring
out which knob went with a front burner on the gas stove. She’d never cooked on
anything but electric, but how hard could it be?

When the water
started boiling—and Mattie had extracted her reason for taking the
job—she threw a handful of oats into the water.

“So you don’t
measure,” Mattie said in a challenging voice. “How does that work for you?”

As it
happened, it didn’t work nearly as well for her as it did for Gramps. The bowl
she put in front of the older woman was thick enough for the spoon to stand
upright, and all she could find was white sugar and two percent milk. Mattie’s
only reaction was a muffled huff.

“So what do
you think of my nephew’s son?” she asked after frowning over a few bites of the
hot cereal.

It wasn’t a
question Annie was prepared to answer, and she had to think for a few moments.

“I’m sure he’s
very nice.”

“Nice? That’s
a lukewarm word if I ever heard one.”

“I really
don’t know him.” She stood watching Mattie take reluctant bites of her rubbery
oatmeal.

“Do you mean
to tell me he hired you without knowing you?” She poured more milk on the
cereal and mixed it in.