Remembering Christmas by Dan Walsh Page B

the doorway.
    “You have a phone call in the waiting room. Your son, Rick.”
    “Thank you.” Rick didn’t call often. She hoped everything was okay. She walked quickly to the waiting room, glad to find it empty. “Hi, Rick. How’s it going, your first day on your own?”
    “Pretty smooth. It was a little slow in the morning, but very steady during lunch. Those ladies came in again, Molly and Fran.”
    Leanne smiled, imagining the scene. “They are quite a pair.”
    “They brought me up to speed on Dallas .”
    “Did they?”
    “Did you know someone shot JR?”
    Leanne laughed. “I’d heard something about that.”
    “Yeah, well . . . guess I better get to why I called. I had some time before Andrea comes in, thought I’d reorder some things today, hoping they might get here by the weekend.”
    “Thanks for doing that. Did you find everything you need? I know Art’s got his own system. I’ve never understood it.”
    “Well, that’s the thing. I ran into some snags. One pretty big one.”
    “What’s the matter?” She sighed. She knew so little about how Art handled the paperwork.
    “Did Art say anything to you about how much money the store has in the bank?”
    “I don’t . . . well, I know we pay everything but the book vendors on time. He has some kind of system worked out about when to pay them. Why, what’s the problem?”
    Rick spent the next five minutes explaining the mess he’d found trying to make sense of Art’s “system.” Her stomach was starting to turn. She didn’t need this right now. “What can we do?”
    “I’m pretty good at this, Mom. If you’ll trust me, I think I can dig out of this, then let you know where things are at.”
    “Oh, Rick.” She was tearing up. “Of course, I trust you. Do whatever you have to.”
    “What about when Art wakes up? He might not like me messing with his system.”
    “Don’t worry. I’m going to do everything I can to keep his mind off anything like that. If you can make sense of it, and get to where you can write checks to the vendors, go right ahead and I’ll sign them.”
    “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

     
    Rick had been staring at the ledger, trying to decipher Art’s riddles for over an hour. A headache had started to form in his temples and behind his eyes. He heard Andrea come in. He got up, glad for the distraction. The Christmas music had shut off at some point, so he quickly hit the play button as he walked by. “Afternoon,” he said.
    She set her purse on the counter and took off her heavy coat. She had her hair pulled back like the first day, with barrettes. She wore a thick white sweater over blue jeans. Rick thought he saw some makeup around her eyes, and her cheeks were a little redder. He flattered himself that this might be for his sake. “How’s your first day going?” she asked.
    “Slow morning, very busy at lunch. Just a handful coming in between now and then.” He walked up to the front side of the counter. Felt a little like being at a bar. “I’ll have a White Russian,” he said.
    “What?”
    He shook his head. “Bad joke.” She seemed to think a moment, then nodded as if she got it. “Those two sisters came in.”
    “Molly and Fran?”
    Rick nodded. “So, I need to ask you . . . did you figure out who shot JR?”
    Andrea laughed. “Actually . . . I couldn’t care less. Never watch the show. Comes on too late.”
    “Too late?”
    “Television’s in the room Amy sleeps in. What else they talk about?”
    Rick spent a few minutes filling her in. “Something else came up after lunch, something pretty serious.” He explained what happened when he’d called the vendors on her reorder list, then what he’d discovered wading through Art’s bookkeeping system. It was hard to hide his frustration over the mess Art had made of things. But he did his best, knowing how Andrea felt about Art.
    “I’m not shocked,” Andrea said. “Art is the sweetest, kindest man I ever met,