Secrets of the Tulip Sisters

In bed.

The words weren’t said aloud, but they hung there all the same. Holy shit. They were guys. They didn’t talk about that kind of stuff. Not without being drunk first. No one wanted to know what his buddy was like in bed. Gross. How was he supposed to get “not quiet” out of his head?

“I think this picture,” Sven said, tapping one of them. “And the other one.”

“I agree. I’ll get them printed up. You want me to send you the pdf file?”

“Thanks. It’ll give me content for my web person.”

Sven left and Griffith collected the rest of the pictures. He was still stuck on the quiet in bed remark. What did that mean? That she wasn’t a screamer? He was okay with that. Not everyone had to tell the world everything what was happening. Or was it more than that?

Before he could decide, Leo knocked on his open door. One look at his foreman’s face told him there was trouble.

“What’s the problem?” he asked, motioning to the chair by his desk.

“We have two late deliveries this week. I’ve already talked to the suppliers. They have good excuses, but I’d rather have the material. I want to look for other vendors.”

Griffith nodded without speaking. He’d worked with Leo long enough to know that when bad news was delivered, his foreman started with the easy stuff first, which meant there was more coming.

“We’re behind on one of the homes we’re building,” Leo continued. “If I put on an extra shift, we’ll be close, but I’m not sure we can meet our deadline even then.”

Griffith felt his jaw tighten as frustration swept through him. Dammit all to hell.

“Which house?”

“Two twenty-seven.”

Griffith had considered a number of ways to keep track of the homes he built and had settled on the simplest of systems. Year two, house twenty-seven. The house Ryan worked on.

“It’s my brother, isn’t it?”

Leo glanced at the papers in front of him. “He’s a good guy. Everyone likes him.”

“Sure. He’s always willing to talk or take an extra ten minutes at break, turn lunch into an hour and a half. The other guys see he gets away with it, so they start doing it, too. You can’t just discipline Ryan, so the whole project goes to hell.”

Leo didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Maybe giving Ryan a job had been a mistake. Maybe what his brother needed instead was a kick in the ass.

“I’ll talk to him,” Griffith said. “His free ride is over. From now on, you treat everyone the same, Leo. Ryan doesn’t get special treatment. If he’s not back from his break or lunch on time, dock his pay. If he mouths off, give him a warning. If that doesn’t help, suspend him.”

“You sure, boss?”

“Yes. I should have done this a long time ago. I’m sorry I put you in a difficult situation.”

Leo relaxed. “No problem. I’ll tell the guys that I’m going to be on them and we’ll take it from there.”

“Thanks.”

They both rose. Griffith went in search of his brother. He found the entire crew standing around, laughing. When they saw him, they all scurried back to work—all except Ryan who stretched and walked toward him.

“Hey, Griffith. What’s up?”

“We have to talk.”

His brother rolled his eyes. “You sound like a woman, bro. What’s up with that?”

Griffith stepped into the utility closet where they kept cleaning supplies, a couple of buckets on wheels and several brooms. Ryan stopped in the doorway and raised his eyebrows.

“What’s up?”

“You need to do your job,” Griffith said bluntly.

“Jesus. I put in my eight hours. What more do you want?”

“You put in about four. You’re paid for eight. Two twenty-seven is behind and you’re the reason. You’ve been getting away with goofing off because you’re my brother and that’s going to stop. You’ll show up on time, work your full shift or your pay will be docked. If you’re going to work part-time hours, you’ll get a part-time paycheck.”

Ryan folded his arms across his chest. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

Griffith took a step toward him. “I realize what happens here isn’t important to you, but it is to me and the people who bought the house. They’re waiting for it. Every day they wonder how construction is going and they’re telling their friends and family about it. I’m not calling them to say it’s going to be late because my lazy-assed brother can’t bother to show up. I have a business to run, bro.” He emphasized the last word. “Either participate or quit. Am I clear?”

“You’re a dick.”

“That may be but I’m also your boss. I mean it, Ryan. I gave you this job to help you out. If you don’t want it anymore, you know where to find the door.”

“Go to hell.”

Ryan turned and walked away. Griffith had no idea if his brother had just quit or not. He figured they would all know in the morning. If he had to bet, he would put money on Ryan showing up. His younger brother needed the money and Ryan wasn’t one to do without.

*

Helen sat at the piano, but instead of playing, she turned to look at the living room. Everything was in its place—the surfaces were all clean. She liked her house—it was convenient and suited her purposes. So why did she feel so restless?

She got up and went to the kitchen and got a glass of water, then returned to the living room, but didn’t sit down. For some reason sitting down felt like giving up, and wasn’t that the weirdest thing?

She had to snap out of this, she told herself. While the café wasn’t her dream job, she enjoyed working there. She had security and modest financial freedom. Shouldn’t she be doing something with that? Planning a trip? Falling in love? Taking a two-week road trip to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame?

She heard a knock on the front door a second before it opened and Jeff stepped inside.

“It’s me,” he called, then smiled when he saw her. “Ready to tackle Miley?”

“Hi. Sure. Let’s have at it.”

He came to a stop and studied her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“There’s something. I can see it in your eyes.”

Seriously? He could see that she was upset but hadn’t once noticed her almost throwing herself at him? Was the man dense or simply giving her his answer in a very gentle way?

“I’m restless,” she admitted. “About my life and what I do.” She held up a hand. “It’s not any one thing and I can’t explain it more than that. When I pick things apart, they’re all fine. I do like the café. I enjoy my employees and the customers. There’s a sameness, but that comes with every job. Routine is part of getting things done. I’m just...”

She drew in a breath. “I hate the master bathroom.”

“I know a good contractor. You could get it redone. What else?”

“Nothing.” Nothing because she was a coward who couldn’t say what she was thinking about the man she was in love with. “I think that’s pretty much all my whining. We should work on our song. Did you finish with the arrangement?”

He set sheet music in front of her. “I did. It’s a really good song.”