Forever Home. Allyson Charles
Izzy stood, watching her go. This move to central Michigan, full of small towns and bucolic landscapes, had been the right decision. Lansing had been getting too expensive and too crowded. It had been a little over a year since their move, and Ana was adjusting nicely to the new way of life. New friends, fresh air, and now Izzy wasn’t afraid to let Ana go home to an empty house after school.
“Hello, Isabelle.”
Crap. Izzy shouldn’t have stood mooning about. Now there was no escape.
Stomach churning, she slowly turned to face one of the women who tried to make her life hell. “Hi, Sandra. How are you doing?”
“Busy busy. We’re getting ready for that field trip to Binder Park Zoo.” She bent down and gave her son a hug goodbye. He trotted off to class with a smudge of lipstick on his cheek. Sandra straightened. “We’re still looking for volunteers to come along with us to help supervise the kids.”
“Sorry, but I already told you I have to work.” Izzy kept a pleasant smile on her face even as she ground her back teeth. Sandra was the president of the PTA and an aggressive recruiter of parent volunteers. Well, of the mothers at least. The fathers she left fairly well alone, respecting that they had jobs they couldn’t up and leave.
Sandra shook her head and shoved her tortoiseshell Gucci sunglasses up onto her crown, the frames holding her hair back. “We haven’t seen much of you this year. You know how important it is to Ana’s development that she have a mother who’s involved and interested in her education.”
Anger warred with guilt. She wished she had more time to spend with Ana. But she was plenty interested in Ana’s school. She went over her homework with her every night, much to Ana’s annoyance, spent weekends helping with school projects, even bringing Ana along to her showings and letting her work in the houses Izzy was trying to sell. While Sandra might mean well, as a stay-at-home mom she didn’t understand the time pressures Izzy was under.
“I think it’s more important to Ana’s development that she have a mother with a job so she can get fed and clothed and have a roof over her head.” Izzy grabbed the strap of her purse and squeezed her fist around it. “You know, all that stuff a growing human needs.”
Sandra shook her head, pity in her eyes. “I know it must be tough for you. All alone. Barely scraping by. And poor Ana only getting the dregs of your time.”
Izzy cracked her neck. They were a far cry from barely scraping by. She made a good living, but she had to prepare for the future. Ana’s college expenses and her own retirement would all come out of her salary, so she didn’t buy designer sunglasses and vacation in Europe like Sandra. Or trade a paid day at work to herd a bunch of kids around a zoo. “Ana and I are doing fine. But thanks for the concern.”
She must have sounded as insincere as she felt, because Sandra narrowed her eyes. “If you’re doing so well, then you can take a day off work and help out with the field trip. You don’t want it to be known that you’re the only mother not doing her share.”
And there it was, the thumbscrews were coming out. Manipulation by guilt and threat of social shaming. The local leaders of the PTA had a nickname around town: the Mothers’ Mafia. They used social media to praise the mothers who fell in line and to drop sly recriminations on those parents they felt weren’t up to snuff. If Don Corleone had had Facebook, he wouldn’t have needed to sever a horse’s head.
“I can’t take a day off work for a field trip.” Izzy’s shoulders slumped. She knew she was going to regret this offer. “But is there something else I could do to help? Make phone calls, or…” She stopped, realizing she had no idea what all the PTA did besides harass her and make her feel two inches tall.
Sandra pressed her lips together. “We really need bodies on that field trip.” She blew out a breath. “But we also need help with the fund-raiser for it. We’re planning a bake sale—”
“Yes! I can make something for the bake sale. Cupcakes.” She liked baking, Ana liked licking the bowl clean, and it would help the kids. All in all, a tidy solution.
“That isn’t quite what I had in mind. We’ll need a coordinator, a treasurer, a—”
“Nope, I’ll bake cupcakes. That’s my best offer. Take it or leave it.” She hadn’t become the number one agent at Goldstar Realty by backing down.
“Fine,” Sandra gritted out. “I’ll put you on the list. Now, about the field trip—”
“I’ve got to get to work.” Izzy hiked her bag higher on her shoulder. “I’ll see you at the bake sale.” And without waiting for the next guilt trip, she hurried across the crosswalk and to her SUV.
The high of winning that small battle with the Mothers’ Mafia stayed with her until she stepped inside Goldstar’s office. And met a smirking Tariq.
He leaned against her desk in the large open-concept office. Sunlight streamed down from the skylights and gilded his dark head like a mini crown. He thought he was the prince of Goldstar Realty, so it seemed fitting he’d look like one. “Hey,” he said and cocked his head in fake sympathy. “Sorry again about needing the drone yesterday. It turns out my client wasn’t ready for the aerial footage of his house after all. You could have used the camera for your project.”
Sure he was sorry. Tariq had been the number one seller for Goldstar until Izzy had been hired. He didn’t take kindly to being relegated to number two. He took every opportunity to sabotage Izzy.
She put her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk and gave the younger Realtor a bright smile. “No problem. I got some great shots of my own. I know boys like their toys, but I can get the job done the old-fashioned way just fine.”
His eyes telescoped to pinpricks. Tariq was a good-looking man in his early twenties, but he knew his youth was a disadvantage and hated to be reminded of it. He’d been successful at making clients comfortable with letting someone barely out of college handle their transactions, but he couldn’t beat the trustworthiness of a shrewd single mother.
“Hey, everyone!” Liz Greenberg, the owner of Goldstar, leaned out of the conference room. “Meeting time. Grab a cup of joe and get your butts in here.”
Taking her tablet from her purse, Izzy headed for the weekly meeting. She skipped the coffee but zeroed in on the platter of doughnuts sitting in the middle of the conference table. Her boss knew caffeine and sugar were the keys to productivity and kept her real estate agents fully supplied. Along with Tariq and Izzy, three other agents sat around the table, and they all turned to look at their boss, waiting for her to start the meeting.
“Okay, status updates.” Liz stirred a little tub of creamer into her coffee. “Let’s go around the table.”
Every week Liz wanted to hear what had sold, what had offers, and what wasn’t moving. If anyone had any tips or help to offer, they did. Aside from her rivalry with Tariq, Izzy had found Goldstar Realty to be a great environment to work in.
Cindy Perkins started them out. Her latest client hadn’t disclosed a mold problem from five years ago, and she wasn’t having any luck finding a remediation specialist in time for the house to close.
Tariq spoke up. “I know someone who owes me a favor. I’ll call him for you and he’ll get his company over to your listing tomorrow.”
Cindy smiled at him gratefully, and Izzy raised an eyebrow. For the agents who weren’t competing with Tariq’s sale numbers, he could be a fairly decent coworker.
“Well, I have a new client this week,” Tariq said, his turn up next. “They had started working with Izzy but felt that she didn’t have enough time for them, so turned to me.” He lifted one shoulder and tried to look apologetic. “Sorry, Izzy, but I didn’t want Goldstar to lose them.”
“Who?” Izzy drummed her fingers on the table.
“The Gilberts.”
Son of a bitch.