Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 27

"Oh." I do have an office at The Cardinal. Like everything else, it's larger and more luxurious than anything else I've worked in. There's plenty of room for pictures on the walls. "Sure, honey. That sounds great."

"I'm going to draw you so many, Mom. Gotta decorate your walls." He flings himself down at his little desk in the corner and sends all the crayons flying out of their box. "Oops! But I'm going to draw one for Mrs. Gabbard, too," he announces proudly. "Do you think she'll put it on her fridge?"

"She might." I grab a pack of meat from the fridge that's been defrosting. Stew it is. "Don't forget she has her own kids to show off, honey."

"Yeah, but they're old." He says it with so much scorn you might think they were in their fifties.

As far as I know, they're younger than I am, and way more successful. "Maybe they still draw their mom pictures," I joke.

"No way! She never has pictures on her fridge. She has magnets." He holds up his hands. "Like so many magnets, Mommy. All from weird places."

"I think that's because she's traveled a lot, sweetie." "Why don't we go lots of places?"

Oh, boy.

I stop, staring at the knife in my hand.

The answer is simple—I don't have the money or time.

It kills me that I've never been able to just grab my son and whisk him off to a beautiful national park or even to the ocean.

A little ironic, considering the grandparents he's never met live in California. But my parents were happy to send us into exile and I'm just as glad to stay the hell away.

"I wonder," I say with fake enthusiasm, "can you draw me a picture before I finish dinner?"

"Are you crazy? You bet I can!" He whoops and starts to scribble, head down and frowning at the paper. His tongue sticks out the side of his mouth and his chubby hands mash the crayon against the paper with unnecessary power.

It'll only buy me a few minutes of peace, but I savor them. I put on my favorite playlist on my phone and cut up the vegetables, adding them to the pan with the stock and potatoes.

Sometimes Arlo fusses over beef stew, but it's cheap, it fills you up, and it always leaves behind leftovers.

Tomorrow, I can come home and put my feet up without any worries about fixing dinner. Some TV time would be wonderful.

As I'm thinking about my evening off and enjoying the savory smells of dinner, my phone buzzes.

The name ‘Grumpybutt' shows on the screen. I resist the urge to hurl it at the wall.

Why does he bring out the most violent urges? And can't he leave me alone for one dang evening?

Everybody makes mistakes.

Ugh, yeah. But not everybody winds up making them with their future boss.

"I'm just calling because I had an idea. I'd like you to throw together a survey," he says. "We want customer experiences from our other properties. Something broader than the automated survey that goes out after every stay. We'll take suggestions for improvements and look at integrating them into The Cardinal."

I narrow my eyes at the wall. "I see," I say.

This feels like our conversation earlier, where my vocabulary topped out at two-word replies.

"Mommy! Look," Arlo whispers, holding up his picture and shaking it. "Just a minute." I point at the phone. "Mommy's busy. Please keep it down."

"I won't ruin your evening by keeping you glued to the phone," Patton says. "I'm just curious what the data shows. You're right about one thing— there's always room for improvements in a space like ours. With the market being what it is, we can't afford to sleep on any opportunities, however small, to enhance The Cardinal's service and atmosphere."

Atmosphere, huh? So he is reconsidering those boring paintings?

He doesn't expand on that, but I know what he means. Highly competitive.

Higher Ends might be a scrappy rising star for now, but that doesn't mean they can't lose their edge in a tight market.