Leave It to Chance (3 page)

Chapter 3

Midafternoon Sierra pushed the glass door open and hurried through the drizzle to her van. She plopped down in her seat and pumped her fist. “Yes! Mission accomplished!” With a flourish, she tossed the empty folder on the passenger seat and started the car. Natalie Grant’s beautiful voice drifted through the speakers. “I like you, Natalie, but you’re just a little too tame today.” She pressed a button and dc Talk’s “Jesus Is Just Alright,” jetted into the car. “That’s more like it!”

She dialed Elise.

“Yessss, darling?”

Sierra glanced up the street, then turned out of the parking lot and toward home. “You may be speaking to the new associate manager for Garland Treasures.”

Her friend squealed. “I
love
that store!”

“
And
they have full benefits. I should hear back tomorrow.”

“So, who cares if Michael pays!”

Sierra laughed. “Well, I’m not
quite
there, but I’ll give you points for optimism.”

“I’m sure he’ll pay.” Her voice came out low and gravelly. “One way or another.”

Sierra made a face. “Nice hit-man voice.”

“I try.”

Sierra’s house came into view. “Oh, crud.”

“What?”

“There’s a repair van in my driveway.” Sierra tried to read the logo, but a tree near the street obscured her view. She slowed and turned into her drive, squeezing into the space next to the large white vehicle.

“At least it’s not a fire truck.” Elise continued to spread her joy. “Or an ambulance.”

“Let’s not go there.”

Sierra’s phone beeped. “I’m getting another call.”

“You get ’em girl!”

Sierra stared at the side of the white van. The bold logo was attention grabbing at least. “Black Knight Plumbing Service—We’ll do your dirty work.”
Wonderful
.

She pressed a button on her phone. “Hello?”

“Sierra? This is Ron Flannery. October’s rent was due ten days ago. When can we expect payment?”

Sierra paused, at a loss. “I called on the first of the month, Mr. Flannery, and spoke with your wife.” She glanced around the front seat, trying to gather a coherent thought. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“Madge didn’t tell me you called.” He hollered to the background. “Madge, did Sierra Montgomery call about the rent?” Whatever Madge said seemed to annoy him; he huffed into the phone. “Next time, call me; I take care of the rentals.”

“I’ll be happy to. I didn’t realize Mrs.—”

“Will you be paying the rent? Because we have an applicant who needs housing immediately.”

She had a sense that the sympathy Mrs. Flannery had showered on her two weeks ago wouldn’t be forthcoming from her husband. “I lost my job and my ex—”

A disgruntled sigh sounded in her ear. “That is unfortunate, but if I don’t have the rent by Wednesday, I’ll have to evict you.”

The words were like a dousing of cold water. “All right. I’ll do my best.”

“Fine.”

Sierra leaned back against the headrest and stared at the white van. Almost immediately, the phone rang again. She checked the screen. Same number. A sense of hope rose.

“Hello?”

“Sierra?” It was Madge speaking in an urgent whisper. “I’m so sorry, dear. I thought Ron wouldn’t mind if you stayed a month or two until you got back on your feet, but I didn’t know our grandson, Ronnie, would need the house.”

Ah.
“That’s okay, Madge. I understand.”

“Stay in touch, dear.”

Sierra smiled, imagining the woman hunkered in a corner of her kitchen, nervously listening for Mr. Flannery’s footsteps. “I will. Bye.”

Apparently it was her lucky week. A horse she couldn’t keep, her kids reeling emotionally, a plumbing issue, and now the threat of eviction.
But
she might have a job! Maybe Mr. Flannery would let her stay until her first paycheck.

Sierra found her mom and youngest son in the upstairs bathroom, crouched behind a plumber who was intent on winding a cable down into the toilet.
Ick!

“Hi. What happened?”

Her mom started, but the plumber barely gave her a glance. Two little crow’s-feet made perfect indentations between her mother’s brows. They’d been there forever, even in Sierra’s baby pictures. Today the furrows burrowed a few millimeters deeper. “Trevor flushed a ball down the toilet.”

Sierra raised her eyebrows at her four-year-old. “You did, Trevor?”

His blond head nodded sadly. “I thought it would float.”

Sierra squished through the wet towels covering the vinyl floor and wrinkled her nose. Those would need a lot of bleach. She held her arms out. “Come here.”

Trevor burrowed his face against her neck when she picked him up, his body tense. She carried him out to the hall.

He raised his head. “Grandma got mad.”

“She did?”

He nodded. “She said, ‘That was naughty!’”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Grown-ups get angry sometimes.”

“I wanted you to come home.”

She kissed him. “I’m here now.”

“Got it.” The male voice rang with satisfaction.

She set Trevor down and peeked into the bathroom. The toilet gurgled as the man wound the cable free.

“You know which ball it was, don’t you?” The crow’s-feet made an intense “V” above her mother’s nose. “Montgomery Dental Office.” The words were said with a flourish, as if Michael had planned on having their son plug up her toilet with one of his dental giveaway toys.

“Figures.” Today nothing would surprise her.

“Call him, honey. You shouldn’t have to pay for this.”

The absurdity of her mom’s comment struck her, but she tried not to let it show. “Michael didn’t put the ball in the toilet, Mom.”

Her mom’s eyes snapped fire. “No, but he gave it to Trevor.”

“I need to pay the plumber.”

Her mom’s thin lips tightened, tension bristling in her frame. Then her shoulders dropped. “I’ll clean up here.”

Sierra gave her a quick smile of thanks and headed downstairs for her purse. The plumber finished scribbling on the form clamped to a metal clipboard, ripped off the top copy, and gave it to her.

A fine bead of perspiration broke out across her forehead. She wrote the amount in her register and did a quick tally before writing the check. Michael had better get her a check, one that actually had funds to back it up.

Her fingers were loath to let go. The plumber gave her a funny look as he tugged the check out of her hand.

When Sierra walked back into the kitchen, her mom emerged from behind the louvered doors that housed the washer and dryer. As the rumble of the washer gyrated into action, her mom washed her hands at the sink using brisk motions and a healthy squirt of antibacterial soap, rubbing the towel with meticulous precision into the crevasses between each finger, then turned toward her.

Sierra knew that look.

“Honey, I came across something I think we need to discuss.”

“Oh?” Sierra swiveled toward the fridge to pull the last package of hamburger from the freezer and popped it into the microwave. It bought her a few moments.

“I found this behind the flour canister.”

Sierra knew exactly what she’d found. She’d stuck it in the cupboard behind the flour when Braden had come into the kitchen a few days ago and she’d forgotten to retrieve it.

Her mother waved the small piece of paper.

Sierra squinted. Yep, it was the check. The one that had been stamped repeatedly in black and red. Sierra nodded and walked to the cupboard. “Michael’s check.”

The ridges in her mother’s forehead deepened. “You don’t sound the least bit concerned, Sierra. This is getting ridiculous. How will you pay rent? Feed the children something besides …” She eyed the box in Sierra’s hand with a grimace of distaste “… Hamburger Lickins?”

Sierra set the package of cheesy enchilada next to the stove. She’d been chewing her fingernails for days over the same questions herself, but discussing them when her mom had her cannons loaded would only feed the feral headache she felt coming on. “Wednesday is Emory’s night to pick dinner.” She hefted the box. “Hence the Lickins.”

Her mother peered into the same cupboard Sierra had pulled the box from. “Letting a nine-year-old choose the menu isn’t the wisest decision, sweetheart. You can’t expect a child to understand that the nitrates and sodium in those boxed meals will eventually kill you.
Oprah
just had a segment on the damage that occurs at the cellular level when you fill your body with nitrates.” She pinched her bottom lip in thought. “Or was it
The View?”
She waved her hand. “Not that it matters. Boxed meals are toxic.”

Sierra smushed the raw burger into edible bites and gave in to the impulse to roll her eyes. Her mom and her penchant for touting the latest talk-show headline.

“I think you and the children should move back home.”

“What?” The spatula clattered against the side of the pan, swiping a large chunk of burger onto the floor. “Back home? With you?” Sierra stared at her mom. Then she thought about the phone call from her landlord, and her stomach turned over. She retrieved the spatula with numb hands.

“Really, sweetie, you need to be more careful.” Her mother calmly moved to the sink for a paper towel, ripped off a couple of squares then bent to the floor, her movements efficient and controlled as she mopped up the meat. “Of course
with me
. Surely you can see that this is too much for one person to handle. You don’t have time to clean. You barely have enough decent food for the kids. I think the Lord is trying to tell you that you need help.” She dropped the wad into the trash under the sink and poked the few bottles standing like sentinels next to the garbage can. “Where do you keep the bleach? With Trevor still sucking his thumb, you need to think about these things. That’s all you need is to be worrying about a kidney transplant.”

A kidney transplant?
“What are you talking about?”

Her mother turned in exasperation. “E. coli, honey.” She sprayed some Lysol on the floor and wiped it up. “If he ran one of his Matchbox cars over that spot then sucked his thumb? The least of your problems would be Michael’s check bouncing.”

Sierra dearly loved her mother, but there was a reason children grew up and moved
out
of the family home. If she moved home, one of them would be dead within the week, and it wouldn’t be from E. coli. Her gaze roamed over the scattering of Cheerios that lurked under the edge of the stove. Better not to tell her that Trevor had stuck his hand on a raw chicken thigh last week then popped a finger in his mouth to taste.

Sierra hoped her smile showed how much she valued her mom’s desire to help them. “I appreciate the offer, but I think we’d do better living in our own houses.”

Hurt crossed her mom’s face. “If you say so. It’s your life.” She washed her hands with fervor again, shaking them over the sink before grabbing a towel. “I’m just concerned that you’re not looking at this rationally.”

And
that’s
why they couldn’t live together. Her mom’s “concerns” and germ phobias would drive Sierra insane within weeks. She shuddered.

“Are you cold, dear? I thought it was chilly in here.” Abbey rubbed her arms. “One more thing you wouldn’t need to worry about. My thermostat is set to 72 degrees.”

“Things are tight at the moment.”
That was an understatement.
“But I may have gotten a job today.”
Please, God!
Not that she ever prayed anymore. But desperate measures and all that.

Her mom whirled from wiping down the counter, anticipation in the widening of her eyes. “Harlow’s Nursery?”

“No, Garland Treasures.”

The edges of her mouth flattened out. “What did Harlow’s have to say?”

Sierra turned down the sizzling meat. “Nothing. I just dropped off my résumé.”

A disgruntled frown formed on pinched lips. “Garland’s refused to donate to the ladies’ banquet auction last year.”

“Well, if I’m hired …” She leaned toward her mom with a grin. “As associate
manager
, I’ll be happy to donate something.”

Her mom allowed a small smile. “That would be nice, honey.” She rested a finger on Michael’s deficient check and scooted it to the edge of the counter. “What are you going to do about this?”

Sierra stared at the check. If she didn’t get a chunk of the funds Michael owed them, she and the kids would be packing their lives into boxes with nowhere to go … except her mom’s. One more upheaval for them to deal with. Shoulders set, she grabbed the check and headed for the door. “I’m going to take care of it.” Shrugging into her coat, she turned back. “Do you mind staying?”

Her mom crossed her arms with a satisfied look. “Oh, no. I’ll take care of dinner. Give him a kick in the pants for me.”

“Mother!” Sierra couldn’t help but laugh as she picked up her purse. “Oh, and I left a message for Sally to call me back with some details so I can place the ad about the horse. Just let the machine get the phone.”

Her mom waved her off. “I’ll handle it.”

Braden hopped off the bus and stood on the sidewalk, waving back to Emmett Peterson behind the darkened window as the yellow bus rumbled away from his stop.