“It’ll look fabulous,” Jenna had said, detecting second thoughts in her mother’s eyes. Jenna was still astounded her mom had initiated the appointment, a tough yet much-needed decision. Just like Jenna’s career.
According to Sally, the teapot boasted a value upward of forty grand. The single antique piece would have ensured Jenna’s partnership—at the cost of her conscience. I’m not being stupid, I’m not being stupid, she’d told herself, entering her boss’s office. Quitting anything went against Jenna’s nature, let alone a job with an enticing payday. But when she walked away, a burden she hadn’t known existed lifted from her life.
“You can come see her now,” the receptionist announced.
Jenna tossed the magazine aside and followed with the anxiousness of a father about to view his newborn.
“She’s over there.” The receptionist pointed toward the farthest hair station before skittering away. Jenna hoped that wasn’t a sign the lady was taking cover.
Past wafts of styling sprays and chemical dyes, Jenna threaded through the room. Hair dryers boomed, mimicking a 747 at takeoff. In the corner, a row of hunched manicurists tended to ladies with fancy updos. Sparkly hair clips and berry red polish screamed of holiday parties.
Finally, Jenna hooked gazes with the stylist. If her mom hated the results, there would be no second attempt.
In a magician’s move, the stylist yanked off her customer’s cape and swiveled the chair one-eighty, presenting her creation.
Jenna gasped. She just . . . couldn’t believe . . .
Her mother’s brow knotted in fear. “You don’t like it.”
On a solid note of honesty, Jenna shook her head. “Nope,” she told her. “I love it.”
Her mom giggled in relief. Like a little girl wobbling in heels, an air of excitement outweighed her uncertainty. She touched the shortened sides that ran just below her jawline, sloping longer toward the front. All frizz and gray had been banished from her sleek, straightened hair.
“And Doobie’s going to love it even more,” Jenna added.
Her mom brushed off the comment, betrayed by her reddening cheeks. Already, Jenna could see the awe in his face while picking her mother up for their weekly lesson. Personally, Jenna wasn’t a fan of country-western dancing, but she’d recently joined them anyhow, and was glad she had. Witnessing the devotion in every look he sent her mom was well worth the boot scoots and grapevines. Most of all, her mother’s returning confidence continued to swell Jenna’s heart. New jeans to replace the woman’s stretch pants were a mere bonus.
“How about some lunch to celebrate?” Jenna asked. “I say we show off our new looks.”
Her mother fingered her flattened bangs, as if deciding. Then she smiled with a youthful giddiness and nodded. “My treat this time.”
Reluctant, Jenna agreed. Until she found a job, and could afford more than her own TV dinners, she wasn’t in the position to argue.
“I just need to freshen up first,” her mother said.
“I’ll meet you in front.” Jenna headed to the reception area. While waiting, she glanced out the window. She spied a familiar face in the store across the street.
Could it be . . . ?
Antique stores traditionally ranked as her least favorite hubs. She dreaded the musty air, cramped spaces, and clash of displays. For the potential reward, however, she was willing to endure.
She turned to the receptionist. “Please tell my mom I’ll be right back.”
At the window display, her nose an inch from the pane, Jenna delighted in her find. Once more, it was the squatty monk. Make that lots of squatty monks.
Side by side they stood, like a village of holy men. Varied in size, they wore wreaths of gray hair, brown robes, and rosy cheeks. She scanned the queue with hope. A large water pitcher and gravy boat. Salt and pepper shakers. A sugar cup and . . . there it was! A fully intact creamer, handle and all. It was a perfect replacement for the set inherited from Aunt Lenore. Silly or not, Jenna felt like it completed the memory of the sweet old woman. She couldn’t imagine a more meaningful gift for her mother.
If she wanted to keep the surprise, she had to hurry.
A bell on the door jangled as she entered. She prepared for a dusty waft. Instead, the lemony scent of polished wood welcomed her. At the sales counter, she joined the line of two other customers. The cashier’s gentle eyes matched his Santa beard, and his knit snowman pullover could sweep a national contest. For ugly Christmas sweaters, that is.
Cha-ching, cha-ching.
The antique register, while pretty to look at, wasn’t the fastest way to do business.
She started tapping her toes, hoping to subliminally rush the guy along. Soon she realized she was keeping time with the tune playing on the speaker. “Jingle Bell Rock” had a pretty catchy beat—
She stopped mid-thought and rolled her eyes. Yet she couldn’t help smiling. Aliens must have replaced her grinch-like heart while she slept.
The first customer finished and the line moved up.
Cha-ching, cha-ching.
Tamping her impatience, Jenna glanced around the store. A baby buggy was parked nearby, its oversized wheels weathered from walks. On the maple vanity lay a silver shaving kit, beside it a mother-of-pearl hairbrush. How often had they been used to primp for a special occasion?
As if transformed by a wand, the old, worn items surrounding Jenna became anything but “junk.” They were storytellers. Rather than price tags, she now saw their tales. A wedding knife and server had shared a couple’s first cake. A jukebox had played records for a patron-filled diner. An army jacket had witnessed triumphs and tragedies. Come to think of it, the chocolate-hued uniform, fit for a woman, was used during World War II.
Topped with a cap, the mannequin enticed Jenna over. She touched the stripes sewn onto the sleeve. Her heart cinched at the thought of Estelle and not seeing the family again. The sale was only two days away.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” The clerk gestured toward the uniform, eliminating the possibility that he was speaking of Estelle. “Hard to find a ‘Hobby hat’ in such good condition. Are you a fan of memorabilia from World War Two?”
“I guess you could say I’ve become one.”
His face lit up. “Got lots of stuff sprinkled around. More things from the Women’s Army Corps, too, if you’re interested. Most are priced well below value. People just don’t realize what they’re worth.”
“No,” she said sadly, “I bet they don’t.”
“You know, my mother-in-law served with them over in Europe. Never spoke about it much, though.” As he rubbed his beard, Jenna perked.
Was there more to Estelle’s secrecy than Tom Redding? The mystery continued to nag at Jenna. She hoped she wasn’t prying by asking, “Do you happen to know why she didn’t talk about it?”
“Oh, I dunno,” he said. “I imagine it wasn’t the most acceptable job at the time. Taking care of the kids, having dinner on the table by five—back then, that was the role women were proud of. Or were supposed to be, at any rate.”
As a modern woman, independent and career-driven, Jenna hadn’t thought of it that way. It seemed almost too simple, and yet made absolute sense.
The man jerked his thumb to the side. “Would you like to see more stuff like this?”
Yes prepared to spill from her mouth when she remembered her mother. “Another day would be great.” Jenna would definitely be back. “For now, I’ll only need the monk creamer from the front window.”
“Oh, sure, sure. Even got the original box for it in the back room. Be back in a jiffy.”
Jenna watched him scoot off, rounding a table of porcelain dolls. As he reached into the display, her cell phone rang. She expected to see the salon’s number, calling on behalf of a concerned mom. To her surprise, again it was Sally.
“Tell me you didn’t do it,” she demanded, obviously about Jenna’s career.
“Afraid so,” Jenna replied.
“So wha
t’s next?”
“I’m figuring it’ll come to me, hopefully sooner rather than later.”
The clerk, creamer in hand, pointed toward the back room. Jenna lifted her hand in acknowledgment as he traveled through the store, neatly displayed and packed with enough valuables for a museum.
A museum . . .
A display . . .
Valuables . . .
The idea materialized, a scattering of threads being woven. With all of Jenna’s connections to brokers and collectors, why hadn’t she thought of it before?
“Hey, Sally. Is the history museum still trying to replace that exhibit? The one that was going to be on Jackie O.”
“Um—yeah. Why’s that?”
Jenna’s excitement bubbled up like champagne, a celebration in the making. She prayed Terrence hadn’t donated that shoe box.
“Hold on,” she said, and held the phone to her chest. She called out to the clerk now emerging from storage.
“Sir, how much would you charge for the Women’s Army Corps items?”
“From World War Two?”
“That’s right.”
“Depends.” He scratched his head. “Which ones?”
Jenna smiled. “All of them.”
Chapter 16
Christmas Eve had arrived, and Reece still couldn’t decide whether or not to go. In the shadows of his car, parked downtown, he remained a block away. He rolled his key over and over in his palm. According to his mom, the museum had made a point of confirming the family’s attendance. A variety of his grandma’s estate items had been added to their permanent collection. As a holiday treat, they’d all been invited to the premier showing.
Well, not Reece necessarily. With Jenna Matthews somehow involved, he doubted the invitation was meant for him.
Since parting ways with Tracy, he’d once gotten up the nerve to give Jenna a call. The message he’d left her, a belated thanks for her help at the hospital, felt pathetically transparent. How do you slip into a casual voice mail that you’re no longer in a relationship? Answer: you don’t.
Not surprisingly she didn’t call back.
What a jerk he must seem. Reece was probably a major reason she had cut ties to the estate, to prevent crossing paths. By now, she’d surely moved on to another sale and left thoughts of him behind. And yet, the possibility of seeing her again had been powerful enough to draw him here.
Though maybe not to the front door.
He envisioned his family just now walking in: his sister with her husband, his mother and grandma. And his dad. Since their hospital run-in, his breakup with Tracy must have provided even more ammo. The awaiting lecture was as appealing as tonight’s show—personal elements of his grandparents’ lives, laid out for gawking strangers. Despite the honor of a museum’s acquisition, a public display made him uneasy.
Again, Reece flipped over his car key. The ignition slot like a magnet, it urged him to start the engine. He could face his dad in the morning, before the family gathered for Christmas....
He vanquished the thought. Too often, where his dad was concerned, Reece found himself acting like a kid.
Enough. Now more than ever, his grandma deserved the family’s support. If he’d learned nothing else—from the accident, from her secret past—it was how to put the needs of others first. Tonight was a perfect opportunity to act on that lesson.
Reece straightened the necktie of his suit and exited the car. Within minutes, he was climbing the concrete steps toward the pillared entry.
“Welcome,” a woman said at the door. “Your name, please?”
“Reece Porter.”
“Ah, yes. The rest of your party’s already checked in.” She ran a yellow highlighter through his name, listed alphabetically on the sheet. “I hope you enjoy your evening.”
So did he.
“Thank you.”
Inside, behind a USO banner, three ladies in vintage uniforms stood on a low, miniature stage. They harmonized about yuletide carols being sung by a choir. Red, white, and blue bunting decorated the walls. A waiter with a tray of champagne offered Reece a glass. Microbrews were more his style.
“No thanks,” he said, a moment before he spotted his dad alone, depositing an armful of jackets at the coat check. “On second thought.”
The server handed over a half-filled flute that Reece finished in two gulps. Through a scattering of guests, his father glanced over. The look on his face confirmed he had plenty to say.
Reece set aside his glass and waited, steeling himself. He suddenly wished he’d swallowed his pride and reached out before now, so their confrontation would already be done.
“Reece,” his father greeted evenly.
“Dad.”
A tense beat passed, the unspoken like shards, clear and sharp.
“So where is everybody?” Reece asked.
“In the other room there.” His father gave a nod toward the end of the hall, where murmured discussions floated out over the tiled floor. Then he peered at Reece and spoke firmly. “But, I’d like to have a word with you first. . . .”
Here it came.
“It’s in regard to what you said, about me not supporting you.”
“Dad, please. I know where this is going.” To have peace in the family, especially at Christmas, Reece was willing to apologize. Certainly there were things he, too, could have handled better.
Yet his father charged on. “I’ve pondered it a whole lot, and the thing you need to hear is—”
Strangers strolled past, hopefully out of earshot.
“—I’ve been wrong.”
Reece blinked. He reviewed the words, a shock to his senses.
“Fact is, in my line of work, I’ve been trained to prepare for the worst. And I guess that’s made me a little . . . overprotective.”
Baffled, Reece continued to stare.
“I hope you can at least see why I acted like I did. After getting that call to come to the hospital . . .” His dad shook his head, trailing off. Color rose in his neck, and his eyes gained a sheen.
No question, for both of them, his grandma’s recent collapse had ratcheted up their last confrontation.
“It’s okay,” Reece offered, barely audible. He cleared the emotion from his throat. “I think we were both on edge, worrying about Grandma.”
“No, Reece. I meant when I got the call for your trip to the ER.”
The second twist again took Reece off guard.
His dad released a breath, hands on his hips. “I know I’ve been tougher on you since then. But you have to understand, that drive to get there . . .” He finished in a near mumble. “Well, it was about the longest of my life.”
Reece had been so terrified over Tracy’s condition, he hadn’t thought of how strongly his parents, namely his father, had been affected by the scare. How much his father must have always been unnerved by Reece’s reckless stunts, for fear of a phone call no parent wanted to receive.
The stress of waiting for word on his grandma’s episode had given Reece a taste of that fear. He didn’t see until now how alike he and his dad were. Both had been trying so hard to control things they couldn’t.
“For what it’s worth,” Reece admitted, “I’ve been wrong too. About a lot of things.”
After a thoughtful pause, his father nodded. “Guess we’re not always as brilliant as we give ourselves credit for.”
Reece’s mouth curved into a smile. He placed a hand on his dad’s shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he assured him, “I won’t tell Mom you said that.”
They shared a laugh, slicing through the remnants of tension. Clearly, many more discussions would be needed to strengthen their relationship. But for now, Reece couldn’t think of a more promising beginning.
Chapter 17
Almost showtime, but still no sign of him.
A good thing, Jenna reminded herself as she surveyed the reception hall. She needed to stay alert in case of any snags. Families of elderly guests and major donors congregated ab
out her. The ribbon cutting would commence at any minute.
She lifted her posture, savoring the confidence of her burgundy cocktail dress and pumps. Utmost professionalism was essential to her new boss, the director of the private museum. Jenna still couldn’t believe her good fortune. She wasn’t about to let Reece Porter indirectly ruin it. In his presence, she never failed to revert to a teenager—full of blushes and giggles and too easily tempted to cross the line of morality.
“They’re such nice people,” Jenna’s mom exclaimed, returning with Doobie, whose western sports coat dressed up his jeans and boots. “That Estelle woman, she’s just so charming.”
“She’s definitely an amazing woman,” Jenna agreed.
“And Sandy and her daughter, Lisa? Just fabulous.”
Jenna had no idea introducing her mom to the three Porter women would have surpassed basic, cordial greetings. Rather, it became a fifteen-minute exchange from which Jenna had to excuse herself, for fear Reece would join them when he arrived.
Skirting the notion, she again admired her mom’s black pantsuit, as modern as her hairdo. She’d never looked lovelier, or happier. Granted, a gaudy peacock brooch glimmered from her collar, an accessory that oddly put Jenna at ease. An improved mom was great—not an altogether new one.
“Rita, tell her the news,” Doobie encouraged, sweetly touching her chin.
“Oh, yes! I almost forgot.” She angled toward Jenna. “Apparently”—an inserted pause to build suspense—“since Sandy’s on the auction committee for the Children’s Cancer Association, she’s going to call me next week about their gala. They’re not happy with their photographer, so she wants to talk about working together.”
“Mom, that’s wonderful.”
“I really have Doobie to thank for talking me up, even though he’s actually the one they should be hiring.”
“Ah, bologna,” Doobie said. “You’re gonna do such a good job, you’ll be gettin’ calls from all over town. Won’t she, Jenna?”
“Absolutely.”
Doobie was right. A prestigious event like that had the potential to rapidly boost her mother’s career.
A Winter Wonderland Page 38
