Page 15 of The Witching Hours

Last, in a Hail Mary play, she drove to Steve’s office and left the boys in the parked car occupied with electronic devices while she went in to have a chat with the president of the company. Pressed close to her metaphorical vest, she had a card to play. If necessary.

“Hi, Glen.”

“Hi, Brigid. Please sit.” He motioned to a chair in front of his desk. “How’re you doing? Gotta tell you, we really miss Steve around here.”

She couldn’t quite manage a smile, but said, “Same with the boys and me. Look, Glen, I’m here to talk about the matter of Steve’s residual commissions.”

Glen’s expression changed. He went from reasonably friendly to on guard in an instant. “Like I told you already, Brigid. There’s a longstanding company policy governing thismatter. Your husband was fully aware. I’ve welcomed you into my office as a courtesy, but…”

“Oh. I know. I’m not questioning whether there is a policy in place or how long it’s been standing. I’m here to question whether that policy is the right thing to do. Steve earned those commissions, Glen. His kids need the income. We’re selling the house and looking for a rental we can afford. The boys will probably have to change schools. We’re taking a big hit, lifestyle wise and aren’t asking for a handout. We’re asking for the residuals that Steveearned. It’s the one thing that might keep his family above water until I can find a job and get established somewhere.”

“Steve didn’t have life insurance?” He sounded incredulous and she couldn’t blame him.

With a brief shake of her head, she simply said, “No.”

“That’s… a shame. And you know I’m sorry, but the policy…”

It was time to play her hold card. “Steve worked hard for Promontory and made this company a lot of money. This company will continue to make money from Steve’s extraordinary efforts for decades to come even if you pay the residuals. You know it and I know it. We’re only asking for what’s fair, what’s right, and what squares with the practice of our faith. We go to St. John the Divine, too, you know.”

Glen sat back in his chair looking a little stunned that someone might have the nerve to introduce principles of right and wrong, much less church membership, to a business meeting. After a few minutes of silently cursing her audacity, Glen relented on residual payouts and agreed the company would pay for an extension of six months of health insurance.

Brigid left with a grudging handshake from Glen, a big smile on her face, a deep sigh of relief, and most importantly, acheck for commissions accrued since the last check had posted. Promontory’s president knew he’d lost a battle, but for some reason he didn’t feel bad about that. After he’d accepted defeat, he actually felt good about the outcome.

In the parking lot, Brigid found another surprise to add to her run of good luck. The boys were actually playing with their individual game devices. She’d more or less expected the car to look like a barroom brawl had occurred there.

After settling behind the steering wheel, she looked over at Judd, who had won the “shotgun” call for the day.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

She grinned. “Better than I dared to hope.”

He gave her a lopsided grin in return. “Big girl pants?”

She laughed. “I highly recommend them.”

Judd shook his head. “Nothing you can say will make we want big girl pants.”

With a laugh, she turned to include the backseat gallery in the conversation. “Hey. We have a reason to celebrate. Cheeseburgers or tacos?”

“Cheeseburgers!” was the answer in unison.

“Burgers have it,” she announced, backing out of the parking place reserved for Promontory visitors. She was thinking it would be more than fine with her if she never had to set foot in there again.

Brigid told the realtor to hold off posting a For Sale sign in the yard until she gave the okay. There was a matter of calling to order and presiding over a family meeting like none before.

As the foursome trailed in the back door, she hung her coat on the bank of hooks installed for just that purpose and threw her keys at the kitchen island basket.

Blake gave her a thumbs up. “She shoots! She scores!”

After a cute curtsy to acknowledge the praise, she said, “See if you can occupy yourselves until dinner in an activity that doesn’t bring the sheriff to our door. Outside would be good. It’s a nice day.”

“Mom! It’s a freeze-your-willy-off-day!” Kenny protested.

Blake and Judd both sniggered.

“I’m not going to ask where you heard that expression.” She gave Blake and Judd a pointedly stern look. “Cold doesn’t mean not nice. People spend billions to go skiing. There’s a reason why you own a fortune’s worth of cold weather clothes, boots, hats, gloves, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I’ve got some big girl stuff to do.”

She winked at Judd, who smiled back enjoying the inside joke he alone shared with his mom.

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