Page 1 of The Spotted Cottage By the Sea
One
Sheila never needed anyone’s help, and getting herself fired that morning was no exception. All it took was one out-of-place box.
Her kids liked to joke about her love of boxes. Their house was impeccably organized with them – long, flat boxes tucked under beds, stuffed with out-of-season clothes; clear plastic boxes stacked in the pantry, filled with rice or cereal or sugar; wicker boxes in the mud room, mostly empty, but there to complete the aesthetic.
The girls’ Christmas presents were never in bags, but instead in beautiful, patterned boxes wrapped exquisitely with ribbon. Sheila would stay up until three in the morning getting the hand-made bowsjustright.
So, of course, when the special corrugated pink bakery box she’d ordered came as a set of two, she couldn’t let one go to waste.
She filled the first box with her homemade donuts, as planned, neatly layering and dusting them with powdered sugar.
The second box was never part of the plan – any plan – but it was so perfect, so sturdy, she filled it with the potential solution to her longest-held problem. It was a secret she’d had for decades; it was the story her mind went to with every inane corporate icebreaker, but the one story she never could—nor did—tell.
Keeping them both in the trunk of her car had seemed logical at the time. She didn’t want the secret box to accidentally be discovered in the house. Though the girls had all moved out – her youngest just a few weeks ago, off to college – they could pop in at any moment and be tempted by the promise of baked goods.
No, the car was the right place to hide it, and that morning, in the parking lot at work, she threw the trunk open and butterflies took off in her stomach.
“How awful would it be if I picked up the wrong box?” Sheila thought to herself.
She laughed and laughed, then leaned over and did just that.
It was unfortunate. It wasn’t the sort of day to get fired, the lazy Tuesday after a holiday, the air sharp and cool, a relief from the heaviness of the recent heat wave. Labor Day had brought rain and the city breathed a collective sigh of relief, opening its windows to the wide cerulean skies.
Sheila loved Seattle in the fall, and even more so here in Lynnwood, which she referred to as Seattle to non-natives, though it was a little more north and a little less glamorous. It was where she’d raised her kids, where she’d watched her life crack to pieces, and where she’d found the strength to put it back together again.
This was her final act. These donuts were thekey.
She stood and took a deep breath, savoring the moment. Accounting wasn’t the most glamorous profession, she’d admit, but she was good at it. So good they’d promoted her right up to now, when she’d show them she deserved to be a senior manager.
The new office would be nice. The raise would be appreciated. But what she desperately needed was the bonus.
She’d never admit this to anyone, but she was broke. It was a miracle she’d made it this far, budgeting and scrimping to raise four daughters in the Seattle metro area, but she’d finally run out of tricks. The mortgage was overdue – the second mortgage was overdue, too – and this bonus was her only hope to pull herself out of disaster.
Life was expensive, especially with an ex-husband who thought the girls didn’t deserve any help while they were studying. He had a new family to maintain, after all.
Sheila stood and straightened her shoulders. She told herself being broke didn’t mean she was a bad accountant. Even if she didn’t believe it.
It would all be okay. This was the final step to fixeverything.
A familiar voice snapped her out of thoughts. “You’re all loaded up. Let me help you.”
It was Amy, her friend and next-door-cubicle mate.
Sheila smiled and shook her head. “I’m all right, but thanks.”
“Oh, come on, give me something!” She reached for the bag straps on Shelia’s shoulder and started to pry.
Sheila shimmied away. “Ah, stop. Fine! You can take the box.”
The box, pink and perfect in every way, except for what was inside of it.
A smile spread across Amy’s face. “What’s in here?”
“Donuts.” That was, at least, what she thought.
Amy tilted her head. “These are some heavy donuts. All for me?”
Sheila laughed and struggled against the straps of the bags as she shut the trunk. “Of course. I made them myself.”
