The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug

didn’t want anyone talking to me? Maybe for the same reason Neil didn’t want me picking up his phone, having an opportunity to scroll through the incoming and outgoing calls—
    “Stop it!” I shrieked at my runaway thoughts, the sound doubly loud inside my tiny car. Damn Dr. Bob and his well metaphor and Eric and even Marty for cheating and watering this ugly seed of doubt.
    Needing to hear Neil’s voice, I plucked my cell phone out of my bag and hit speed dial number one. His phone must have been off because my call went straight to voicemail. I didn’t bother leaving a message, just hit speed dial number two, and waited while the line rang at his desk. Five rings later I was about to hang up when an unfamiliar male voice answered.
    “Um, hi, I’m looking for Neil Phillips?”
    “Sorry, lady, he ain’t in yet.” The guy who’d answered replied.
    My queasy stomach flipped over. My dashboard clock ready 11:08. Neil had left the house shortly after seven. “I thought he’d be at his desk, you know, trying to pick up some overtime?”
    The guy with the south Boston accent laughed. “Didn’t you hear? The company shelved all overtime, due to the economy. Why pay us hardworking stiffs extra when third party can do it for less?”
    ‘No overtime,” I echoed; my voice hollow in my ears.
    “Nah, but he’ll be in for his regular shift at two. Or you could try him at home, if you’ve got the number.”
    “I have the number, thanks.” Not like he’d answer that line either.
    How many times had Neil left the house claiming he was going to pick up a little overtime? Just since the holidays, at least two dozen I could call to mind. How had I missed this?
    Shoving all of my emotions away, I turned on the car and pointed it toward home. I’d made it about a block when I pulled over at a Cumberland Farms, hopped out and stuffed Dr. Bob’s homework in the trash. I had cleaning to do and an unwilling partner to light a fire under; homework was just not going to happen this week.
    Breezing into the house on the prow of the North Wind, I slammed the door and bee-lined to my war pantry. The new customer, a divorced man new homeowner, had been utterly clueless about what kind of cleaning he’d needed. “Can’t you just come over and clean?” He’d whined.
    That was exactly what I planned to do. Exhaust myself, not thinking about Neil, his movements, his phone or any other depressing thoughts. Just clean and make some money, little Mary flipping Sunshine with a Swiffer.
    “Is everything all right?” Penny’s flat vowels and lack of g’s grated on my last nerve.
    “No, every thang is NOT all rite. Did you get an appointment with an obstetrician yet?”
    Penny nodded and glanced away, but not before I saw the hurt in her eyes. Damn, what was I thinking? Mocking a pregnant woman, when had I become a bully?
    I exhaled between clenched teeth. “I’m sorry, Penny. Please ignore ninety-five percent of what comes out of my mouth. I’m not upset with you, okay?”
    She nodded, but I knew it wasn’t okay. Was it the girl’s fault that I was used to being queen bee around here and had taken serious umbrage to being displaced by the pregnant princess? And she was a girl, barley out of her teens, if I was any judge. “How old are you, Penny?” I asked.
    “I’ll be twenty-two in April.” Her chin jutted out and I smiled.
    “That’s about how old I was when I took over caring for Josh and Kenny.”
    “Good for you.” Penny spun on her bare heel and marched off to the bedroom. Apparently, I had some serious fence mending to do there.
    “Marty!” I bellowed. No answering shout. After stuffing every spray, foam and squirt bottle I could think of into my carrier, I opened the garage door. Marty and the boys were in the middle of weight bench reps. I waited for Josh to finish a set before speaking. “Hey Marty, we need to leave in ten.”
    Kenny traded with Josh and Marty moved to the spotter’s position. “I’ll be ready as soon as we finish here.” He waved me off.
    Loading my supplies only took a minute. Restless, I stomped to the den and flicked on the computer. Neil had promised to look into the property rights for the advertising sight, but I didn’t want to think about what Neil had or hadn’t done right then.
    The website was still saved under my favorites and after a quick scan, I didn’t pick up any copyright protection on company names or slogans. So why hadn’t the dead bird sender