Be My Neat-Heart (7 page)

M
y idea of good working conditions does not involve an irate brother hovering around, breathing steam down the neck of my client. But, by the look of things, that is Jared Hamilton's plan. I tried to tactfully dissuade him but it didn't work.

“You don't have to stay, Mr. Hamilton. Molly and I will get along beautifully. It's Monday morning. I'm sure you must have dozens of things to take care of at your office.”

He didn't bite. Instead he appeared to dig his heels in a little deeper. “I'm here for the duration” was written all over his face.

I glanced around the room and my gaze fell on a family picture. Jared and what were obviously his parents stared pleasantly out of the frame, he and his father in dark suits, his mother in a tailored navy dress, her hair done to perfection and the smile on her face serene. And then there was Molly.

Molly, noticing what I was looking at, told me the story.

“What a day that was! I was late for our family picture. I'd thought I'd have time to launder the dress I planned to wear, but—silly me—I didn't read the tag or think about the fact it con
tained wool. I discovered the hard way that I should have taken it to the dry cleaners. So I just wore something from my closet that was clean. It worked out fine, though, don't you think?”

What was clean in her closet was a bright turquoise sweater covered with beads in the design of a parrot. In contrast with the rest of her well-dressed family, the photo looked less like a family picture and more like a snapshot of three Supreme Court Justices and Dolly Parton.

I glanced around her living room and made a mental note to have her clear places for us to sit down. The places she'd cleared last time had already disappeared.

Molly was admiring the colored laundry baskets I'd brought to sort items into. “By the way, call my brother Jared, otherwise I won't know who you're taking about.” She, who might have been angry or bitter about her brother's heavy-handedness, was happy and chirpy as a bird in spring. Jared, however, resembled a fractious vulture that hadn't seen road-kill in a very long time.

“Jared, then. Molly and I will be just fine sorting through these—” I turned to look at the breathtaking display of clothing, books, blankets, DVDs, dishes, food cartons, tapes, art supplies, ski equipment and papers decorating her living room “—for quite some time.”

“No, I'll stay.” His brows furrowed. “You may find something important that I need in this mess.”

I turned to Molly for direction.

Molly sighed. “I'm afraid he's right, Sammi, I have lost a few things that we really do have to find…my birth certificate, for one. And an agreement between Hamilton and Hamilton and another company that's necessary to move ahead with some business Jared is working on.”

“And you brought it here?”

Molly brightened. “Now
that
much I remember. I was
planning to look it over one evening.” She looked around the room. “I just don't know where I could have put it.”

Was that what Jared was so angry about that he'd brought me in to help his sister restore order to her life? She'd lost something vital to the company? It would explain some of his temper. Whatever it was, it had to be important, or he wouldn't be insisting on overseeing this whole process like Sherlock Holmes with a magnifying glass in hand.

“Books in the red basket, magazines and newspapers in the blue, sporting equipment in the green, pizza boxes in the trash can…” Molly was reiterating what I'd told her, making a game out of the sorting. “Laundry in the white and…where did you say the loose papers should go?”

Jared pounced on the stack of papers she held in her hand. “I'll take those.”

“And all papers to Darth Vader, scourge of the messy.”

We were able to keep Jared out of the picture most of the morning by feeding him stray papers and mail to sort. By noon, other than the heaping laundry baskets lined along the walls and seven huge trash bags bulging at the seams, the living and dining spaces revealed actual flooring and flat surfaces.

“I love it!” Molly squealed, as if I were a designer on the Home and Garden channel and she were a happy home owner looking at her newly decorated digs. “I'd forgotten how nice it is in here.” She studied the room. “I thought my carpet was a different color, too. I'm going to keep it this way from now on.”

I heard a strangled cough from the kitchen where Jared had taken a post to do his sorting, but, to his credit, he didn't voice what he was thinking.

Molly, reminded that he was there, went to him and threw her arms around him. “This was a great idea, Jared. Thank you.”

I saw a faint flicker of amusement and affection in his expression before his default expression of stern disapproval returned. “You're welcome, Molly, but we aren't done yet. You know what I said…”

“Oh, you won't have to fire me now, Jared. I know you won't. I'm trying very hard. Can't you tell?”

I, an outside observer watching the pair from a distance, was not so sure.

I'd never before realized how annoying a perfectionist could be. Did people think of me the thoughts I was thinking about Jared Hamilton?

He stood up and came with Molly back to the living room, pausing to straighten a stack of books on the coffee table.

“Don't
do
that,” I said, firmly directing his hands away from the books. “They'll be fine.”

“They'll fall over and make another mess.”

“They'll be fine,” I insisted, although I knew that they were likely to tumble over for me to pick up again. If I felt a little rebellious at being told how to do my work, I could only imagine what Molly had put up with.

“You two go to lunch,” Molly instructed before our conversation could escalate. “I'm going to stay here and sit in my beautiful, tidy house.”

“You aren't done for the day, are you?” Jared said with a frown. “You've barely scratched the surface.”

Molly's eyes had the glazed, unfocused look of the emotionally exhausted. To Jared, the morning had been about sorting through junk. To Molly, it had been a hike up an emotional Mount Everest.

“She needs a break. Besides, you have homework, right, Molly?”

She looked a little stricken, but nodded. “Get boxes, label them ‘Give Away,' ‘Throw Away' and ‘Store.' Sort through all
this stuff and, if I don't love it or use it, put it in one of the first two boxes. If I'd end up having to replace it if I give it away now, put it in ‘Store.'”

“Most of it will be thrown away, I hope.” Our resident storm cloud reappeared.

Thanks for the input, Jared. Now be quiet!

She shooed us toward her front door. “Get out of here, both of you. Sammi, I have to plan a funeral for all this stuff of mine.”

 

Left standing on the front steps, Jared and I stared at each other dazedly. He has a Pierce Brosnan sort of handsomeness, though he is broader in the shoulders and more muscular. His complexion is duskier, too, as if he's just flown in from a weekend in Cancun. He carries himself in the same confident 007 swagger and self-assured set of his shoulders. Fleetingly I wished we hadn't met under such thorny circumstances. I'd never seen him when he wasn't angry about something or other. Or maybe this was the sum total of his personality—surly.

I don't understand either Jared's anger or Molly's willingness to admit he has every right to be upset with her. There is an unspoken agreement between them to keep me in the dark about that. Even Ethan Carver danced around the outskirts of the subject. This isn't a situation I enjoy. Neither, apparently, is it one I'm willing to abandon.

I shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I'd better go.”

He cleared his throat. “Molly's probably right, you know. You deserve a nice lunch after what you did in there this morning. Frankly, I've never seen her place so picked up—or her so happy about it.”

As I watched, he seemed to readjust his mood and attitude to something more appealing. “Do you like seafood, Ms. Smith? I know just the spot.”

 

The cozy, out-of-the-way place couldn't have been more perfect. Far from lobster traps and deep-sea fishing here in Minnesota, the Gourmet Angler managed to make me think I was eating lobster rolls and fried clams on a bridge overlooking Kennebunkport, Maine. Even the fishing net and splintered oars on the walls seemed just right.

“Nice. I like it.”

“Good. Try the sampler platter,” Jared suggested. “You can't go wrong.”

The good food almost made up for the not-so-good company. Jared was a million miles away. He burst out of his reverie every few minutes to ask me if I had enough cocktail sauce or if I liked the clams and then he would sink back into some deep dark pit of his own making. After one long silence, I cleared my throat and rapped on the table with my spoon to remind him of my presence.

“Wha—” He shoved himself a little straighter in his chair and shook himself as if to clear away the cobwebs.

Hard as I tried to study and comprehend his expression, I couldn't get a handle on it. I'm usually adept at reading people. Perhaps I knew a little too much about Jared to be objective. Or, more accurately, I knew too much about his relationship with his sister.

I've become truly fond of Molly in the short time I've known her. She's bubbly, bright and, much like my friend Wendy, a delight to be around if one can stand the jungle of disarray she tends to create in her vicinity.

“Sorry. I have some pressing things on my mind right now.”

“Oh?” I leaned forward slightly.

“I've taken over Molly's files, and it involves some extra work, that's all.”

“I'm sure you're missing Molly's presence at Hamilton and
Hamilton. As soon as we sift through her home, we'll be able to apply the same strategies to her office.”

The words I'd meant to be consoling seemed only to put him into a deeper funk. He sunk lower in his seat and I felt as though I'd just poked a stick at a sleeping grizzly.

“Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry if I was out of line.” I felt a blush redden my cheeks.

“You didn't. You said a perfectly logical thing.” He leaned forward and, as if for something to do with his hands, grabbed the small pitcher of cream and dumped it into his coffee. “Unfortunately, I'm not sure if Molly is the cure or the problem.” Then he stared into his cup as if surprised to see the milky whiteness of his coffee.

After he'd called the waiter and ordered new coffee—he apparently doesn't even use cream in his coffee—he pulled himself to attention and looked directly into my eyes. “I'm sorry I'm so preoccupied today. You didn't meet me in my best hour. Sometimes I can actually be rather pleasant to be around.”

For a millisecond I saw some of Molly's inherent charm in him. “Is there anything I can do? I'm a good listener.”

That offer of help shocked him to his senses, and he plucked himself out of the doldrums. I'd edged a little too close to his emotions, and he pulled back with a swiftness that surprised me.

“No, no, not at all. Can I interest you in dessert? The peach crisp is good.”

I put my elbows on the table and crossed my arms. Leaning forward, I willed him to look at me. “We'd better talk, Mr. Hamilton…Jared. I don't know what's going on between you and your sister or if you want me butting in, but getting Molly to turn around and shape up in a day or two isn't likely to happen. Possible? Yes. Likely? Not really. That means that you and I will be spending some time together, since you insist on being present as Molly works.

“If there's something I need to know or if you are expecting something more of this than is for Molly's benefit, please tell me. I know you are footing the bill, but you hired me for Molly and she's the one I have to be concerned about.”

He looked at me as if I'd just slapped him. “Hidden agendas, you mean? Thanks for your vote of confidence. The basic problem is that my sister can't keep her act together. I can ignore that when we aren't working in the same office. However, since we are, she has to learn how things work at Hamilton and Hamilton and follow protocol, that's all there is to it.

“If Molly were anyone but my sister she'd be have been dismissed already—with no chance of a good recommendation from me.” The hardness in his voice surprised me.

Absently he lined up the items at the center of the table—bud vase of flowers, sugar and artificial sweetener holder and ashtray—in a straight line. Then he made sure the used utensils poised on the edge of his plate were straight and refolded the napkin he'd had in his lap.

An avid perfectionist. I know the type. I probably
am
the type in certain circumstances. I could see now that Molly and I were in for it.

 

On Tuesday morning, I impulsively invited Molly to attend “God's Reflection,” a group I've organized at my church. The concept is based on Genesis 1:26:

And Genesis 9:6:

Those words stir something very elemental and powerful in me. Imagine
me
created in His likeness as a reflection of His glory, His representative on earth. How awesome.

And humbling.

Thursday afternoon my phone rang. “Samantha Smith speaking?”

“Jared Hamilton here.” When I can't see the scowl on his face, his voice is a symphony. “I understand that you've invited my sister to attend a class you're having tonight. I'd like to know more about it.”

He was micromanaging again, but Molly had given me full permission to discuss her case with him. Molly, even in this time of seeming trouble, took everything lightly. How those two had been birthed and raised by the same parents is beyond me. It's like a hummingbird and a grizzly bear being blood sister and brother.