Showers in Season Read Online Free

bonehead—”
    “Oh, I’m not over-educated,” she cut in, realizing she had made herself look too good. “Really. I don’t even have a degree.”
    “Then where did you work all those years?” he asked, flipping through her application. “Says here you were a housewife…” His voice faded off, and he looked up at her as the light dawned. “Wait a minute. You were being cute, weren’t you? Making yourself out to be some kind of genius when all you are is a lousy housewife.”
    Her smile crashed. She thought of defending herself, telling him that she had not overstated her qualifications, that she had home-schooled her four children until this year, that she had nursed her child when he was at death’s door, that she had managed the bills and the finances in their home, that she cooked and cleaned and decorated on a shoestring, that she was her husband’s biggest supporter and helpmeet. But this man would not be impressed.
    She got up and smoothed out the creases on her skirt. Her voice trembled as she said, “Mr. Berkley, I don’t think I want this job after all. I’m sorry I wasted your time.” She started to the door, her knuckles turning white as she clutched her purse.
    “Wait,” he said.
    She didn’t know why she stopped, but she did, and slowly turned around.
    “Sit down,” he ordered.
    She hesitated.
    “Come on,” he said impatiently. “If you come back in here and sit down, you’ve got the job.”
    Her eyebrows shot up. She wasn’t sure if the emotion flooding through her was relief or dread. Slowly, she went back to the chair and sat down.
    “I don’t care if you were a housewife or a princess in Peru. Can you work seven to midnight?”
    “Yes,” she said. “But…who do we call that late? I mean, aren’t people in bed?”
    “We reserve our West Coast calls for the later hours, since they’re three hours earlier.”
    “What exactly are you selling here?” she asked.
    “Lots of things. We have a number of accounts. We sell everything from magazine subscriptions to diet programs. When can you start?”
    “Uh…well, maybe tonight.”
    “All right,” he said. “Report here at seven. I’ll get you set up before I leave for the day. And don’t be late. I hate people who are late.”
    As she headed back out to her car, Brenda tried to tell herself that she was excited about her new job. It would bring much needed income into the household, and take some of the pressure off of David, who made furniture for a living. She would be there all day for Joseph, and still get to spend three and a half hours with Leah, Rachel, and Daniel before she had to report to work. She and David could make up their time together on weekends. It would all work out.
    But as she got back into her minivan, she sat there for a moment, making a valiant effort not to cry. When she was certain she had her emotions under control, she started the car and headed home. She wished Sylvia was still living in Cedar Circle. This was one of those times when she would have called her neighbor and asked her to pray. But Sylvia was in Nicaragua, working as a missionary. Noble work. Purposeful work. Godordained work.
    She wondered what Sylvia would say about Brenda reentering the work force this way. She would probably blame herself because she and Tory and Cathy hadn’t raised more money to pay Joseph’s hospital bills. The truth was that her friends had raised more than enough to pay for Joseph’s transplant. But now the costs of the drugs he took, the frequent visits back to the doctor, and the weekly biopsies to head off his rejection of the heart were phenomenal. She had wondered more than once overthe last few weeks if they had done the right thing when they took their house off the market. Maybe they should have sold it after all.
    But as she began to sink into depression, she began to sing the soft, clear chorus of “I Love You, Lord.” As always, her spirits rose back to bearable heights. She was blessed,