Switched

Switched - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 

"Oh, no." Jessie Wyndom suppressed a groan. Nearly nine at night and she had another customer. She'd already turned over the 'Closed' sign to the Ms. Fix-it Shop. She was even walking out of the garage she converted into her workshop when the gold Lexus whipped off the road and roared up her drive in a cloud of dust. "What did she break now?" Jessie muttered. 

In the eighteen months since Gloria Cherella moved into the new seniors-only condos down the road, she gave Jessie a lot of things to repair-four lamps, three oscillating fans, two hair blowers, a blender, a coffee maker...and 'a partridge in a pear tree.' Good grief. I'm so tired I'm loopy. 

Mrs. Cherella jumped out of her car with the agility of a much younger woman. "Oh, dear," she exclaimed. "Are you closed?" 

Jessie pasted on a bright smile. "Not for you, Mrs. C. Whatcha got?" 

The woman leaned into the luxury car and brought out a toaster. She bustled up, cradling the appliance like a child. "It broke this morning and I completely forgot about it until just now. You are so sweet to stay open for me." 

Jessie had been up since five that morning doing accounts and figuring her estimated taxes. Her hours were Monday through Saturday, 10 am to 8 pm. Still, her customers knew she was in her shop well before and long after her posted hours. If she wasn't, they could just troop across the yard and knock on the back door of the old farmhouse, her grandmother's legacy. Jessie would have to put a stop to that. But, not tonight. 

When she started her business, Jessie knew hard work was essential. Sixteen-hour days were the norm. After six years, she thought she could slack off to, maybe, twelve hours a day. Not a chance. Word of mouth advertising-the best kind-ensured she never lacked for work, despite Dad's dire warning about the remoteness of the location. According to him, nobody would drive out to the country, on a dirt road, just to get something repaired. She should've rented space in a strip mall near the university. 

Wrong. She amazed even herself with how well the business was doing. 

"I feel so bad that you're staying late just to help me." Mrs. Cherella mustn't have felt too bad since she held out the two-slice toaster. "I can't push down the lever." 

Jessie took the toaster into the workshop. Despite the unseasonably warm September day, it had cooled right down. Sleeping would be great. But, sleep would have to wait a bit. "I'll take a quick look. If it's nothing major, you can have it right back." She put the appliance on the work surface. A trail of crumbs followed. She held the toaster over the large trash barrel and released the bottom plate. A shower of crumbs fell into the barrel. 

"Oh, my goodness," Mrs. Cherella exclaimed. "I never knew that was there. Tony, my late husband, always took care of everything." 

Jessie had heard that refrain before. Mr. Cherella's passing was a boon to her business. She shook the toaster before turning it over. "Here's the culprit." She winked at Mrs. C. then pulled out a chunk of very well done bagel. Still holding the toaster over the barrel, she worked the lever up and down. More crumbs fell out. "If you shake out the crumbs once a week, you won't have this problem again," she said gently. Tired as she was, she never lectured. Besides not wanting her customers to feel bad, it made good business sense. If customers were insulted, they might not return. 

"My daughter, the teacher, thinks I'm such a ditz," Mrs. Cherella said. "She doesn't have much patience with me." 

Another oft-repeated refrain. Jessie used a small brush and, taking care not to damage the heating elements, flicked away at least two years' worth of toasted debris. She wiped down the appliance. "Let's see if it works."