Regan Reilly Boxed Set 1

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “Is there someone there to take care of you?” he asked.

  Adele almost laughed. “No,” she answered. “I live alone. I rented a house up here for the winter. When I fell I must have landed on the beach and then was carried away by a wave, I guess . . .”

  “You’re going to get pneumonia,” he said fretfully. “You shouldn’t be alone. Go in the bathroom and take a hot shower. I’ll get you some clothes and a bathrobe to warm you up.”

  Adele didn’t protest. A moment later she was gazing in disbelief at her reflection in the mirror of the medicine cabinet. Her hair was plastered to her scalp. There were cuts all over her face and her nose was slightly swollen. What happened? she wondered. I was coming down the steps. How did I fall? She took off her soaking wet clothes and wrapped a towel around her taut frame. Her teeth were chattering.

  The man knocked on the door. She opened it a crack. “Here,” he said, handing her a sweat suit, socks, and a fluffy bathrobe. “Get in the shower. You must be chilled to the bone. There’s bacitracin in the cabinet. Dab it on those cuts on your face.”

  As if she were in a dream, Adele did as she was told. The man could be an ax murderer, but right now she didn’t care. The hot water felt so good on her achy bones. I could have died out there, she thought. I must have been knocked out when I fell. But I don’t want to go to a doctor. I want to stay right here. After several minutes she turned off the water, dried off, and got dressed. Not much I can do with my hair, she thought, applying the bacitracin to her face. Finally she opened the bathroom door and went out into the cozy living room. Bookshelves lined the room and a colorful crocheted rug covered the floor.

  “How about a cup of hot tea or coffee or a bowl of soup?” he asked.

  “I’d love a cup of tea. By the way, my name is Adele. What’s yours?”

  “Floyd. Now sit on the couch by the fire. I’ll get you that tea.”

  “Thank you,” Adele said, suddenly shy. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

  “I’ve got nothing but time,” he replied. “You’re the first visitor I’ve had since my wife died.”

  “I’m so sorry. When did she die?”

  “Four years ago. Those are her sweats you’re wearing. They fit you perfectly.”

  10

  Pippy Huegel fluffed up the pillows in the window of Pillow Talk, the shop she’d recently founded with her best friend, Ellen. It was hard to believe that less than five months ago they’d been living in a tiny apartment in Boston, both working at jobs that weren’t exactly making them rich but at least provided a little bit of excitement and the promise of future advancement. Within days of each other, the two childhood friends found themselves with no reason to set their alarm clocks in the morning.

  The trendy new seafood restaurant where Ellen had just been hired to plan special events went bankrupt. The owner had spent millions renovating the interior of a warehouse in an out-of-the-way location, hiring an architect whose vision was to have diners feel as if they were enjoying the delights of scuba diving while remaining dry. As it turned out, not many people wanted to travel out of their way to eat mediocre food in a room with fake seaweed hanging from the ceiling and a waterfall that sent a mildewy-smelling mist into the air.

  For Ellen, it was especially hard to take. Not only was she out of work but her boss had lured her from a job selling makeup at a department store, where she’d been doing well. In bad economic times, women didn’t stop buying lipstick and eye shadow. If anything, they bought more. Acquiring a new shade of lipstick became a relatively inexpensive way to lift one’s spirits. Ellen had gone to work at the restaurant because the owner had promised she’d be on the fast track to a big career at one of Boston’s future hot spots.

  “You have people skills,” he’d said when he’d bought makeup at her counter for his mother, who he said wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t get out to the store. Turns out his mother was having a grand time living in Florida and didn’t need any help in the cosmetics department. The trunk of his car was filled with every brand of makeup on the market, all purchased as a way to meet pretty girls and get them to go out with him. But when he met Ellen, he was looking for a hostess for the restaurant who would also work with clients planning private parties. Ellen was funny, feisty, and very attractive, with long highlighted hair, big brown eyes, and a great sense of style. He marveled at her sales pitch. She had easily convinced him to buy three hundred dollars’ worth of makeup that no one would ever use. He decided then and there that she’d be perfect for his venture.

  Before Ellen figured out that the guy was devious, she’d quit her job and become his employee. For a month she worked hard with his staff getting reading for opening night, which seemed to go well. Reviews of the food weren’t great, but her boss remained positive. Two weeks later she showed up at work to find the restaurant boarded up, a bankruptcy notice nailed to the door. Ellen was devastated. Forget severance pay—he wouldn’t answer her calls. Pippy did her best to console her friend every waking moment they were together. But a few nights later Pippy came home from her job, as an assistant at a public relations firm, with an expression on her face that would stop a clock.

  Ellen was stretched out on their secondhand couch, which in a few short days seemed to have acquired a permanent indentation of her body. Her head was resting against a decorative pillow embroidered with HOME OF THE RICH AND FAMOUS. “What’s wrong?” she asked wearily, sure that after a moment she’d be able to steer the conversation back to her sorry state.

  “I was cut loose!” Pippy wailed. “I gave them three years of my life, and they had a security guard make sure I didn’t take any files and then escort me to the door. What top-secret information am I going to steal? The names of their lousy accounts? You’d think they represented Lady Gaga!”

  Ellen, suddenly energized, jumped up. “I’ll get the wine.”

  They were twenty-five years old, with no jobs, no boyfriends, and no desire to go back home and live with their parents. The lease on their apartment was up for renewal. It was mid-November and the weather was cold and raw and as bleak as they felt.

  “You know,” Ellen said, as she opened a bottle of pinot noir, “that guy Todd really liked me. Maybe I should have given him a chance. He’s got a big job, as my grandmother says.”

  “No way!” Pippy replied. “You fell asleep in the car when you were on your way to dinner with him. What does that tell you?”

  “I was tired.”

  “No you weren’t. You were trying to escape. He wasn’t right for you. We’re only twenty-five. We don’t have to surrender our ideals. At least not yet.”

  “But what are we going to do?” Ellen asked. “Nobody is hiring.”

  The phone rang. Both girls were so depressed they didn’t want to answer it.

  “Maybe it’s someone calling with good news,” Pippy suggested as she picked up the cordless phone next to the coach.

  “Highly doubtful,” Ellen answered as she sipped her wine.

  The caller was a friend who had received a decorative pillow Pippy had embroidered and sent her for her birthday. “I love it!” Donna exclaimed. “Where can I get another one?”

  “Oh, Donna,” Pippy said hesitantly, sounding embarrassed. “Money has been tight. My grandmother recently taught me to embroider so I’ve made a few of these pillows for fun.”

  “You made it!” Donna cried. “That’s fantastic. Can I pay you to make a pillow for my cousin who’s getting married? I know she’d just love one with the names Suzy and Hank and the date of the wedding. I also could use one for a friend who just broke up with her boyfriend. You could embroider something funny about the search for Mr. Right. I’m telling you, these make great presents.”

  When Pippy hung up the phone, she turned to Ellen, who was staring at the television. “Remember that lemonade stand we had when we were kids?”

  “How could I forget? That crabby old woman down the block called the cops because we didn’t hav
e a permit. Who does that to ten-year-olds?”

  “Luckily the cops liked our lemonade, and we stayed in business. We made a decent amount of money until we got bored and closed up shop.”

  Ellen eyed her best friend warily. “Pippy, why are you bringing this up now?”

  “When life gives you lemons . . .”

  Ellen waved her hand. “I’m not setting up another lemonade stand. We’re a little old for that.”

  “I’m not thinking lemonade. I’m thinking pillows!”

  “Pillows?”

  Pippy pointed to the RICH AND FAMOUS pillow where Ellen had rested her head all afternoon. “Donna loves the pillow I made for her. She thinks pillows like that make great presents and just ordered two for gifts. Let’s start a business.”

  “I don’t know how to thread a needle.”

  “I’ll teach you. My grandmother will help us fill orders.”

  “Fill orders? What are you talking about?”

  “We’ve got to do something. People need cheering up. Our pillows can be funny. You walk into a room and a pillow with a funny saying makes you smile. The pillow is talking to you like an old friend.” She paused then cried out, “I know! We’ll set up a store that sells pillows and call it Pillow Talk! We’ll also sell cards and whatever else we can think of that will make people happy. We know you can sell anything . . .”

  “Which led to my unemployed status.”

  “Ellen, you just said there are no jobs out there. We have to try something. Selling objects that make people happy is what the world needs right now.”

  “A need for pillows?”

  “Yes. We’ll embroider whatever sayings people want on them.”

  “Where are we going to set up shop? Out front like our lemonade stand?”

  Pippy paused. “Cape Cod.”

  “What? In the middle of winter?”

  “We have to vacate this apartment soon anyway. I’m just so glad we never signed the lease renewal. If we get our business going soon, we’ll be all ready for tourist season. What do you say, Ellen? Are you going to take a chance with me?”

  Ellen looked at her lifelong buddy. “I must be out of my mind. But I wouldn’t let you do it without me.”

  The next morning they made a road trip down to the Cape, where Pippy’s cousin had bought a house that he only used in the summertime. He agreed to let them stay there rent free until June and he told them about a storefront that had been vacant for over a year. They called the owner, who showed them the building, then grudgingly gave them a deal for six months with an option to renew.

  They obtained a retail license, fixed up the small space with secondhand furniture, and posted notices on public bulletin boards all over the Cape. They opened before Christmas with a limited inventory. Pippy designed a website for online orders. Then they focused on Valentine’s Day, embroidering dozens of red pillows with every saying they could think of about love—good, bad, and unrequited. Ellen designed Valentine’s Day cards, which they reproduced at a bargain rate. She raided her grandmother’s closet, bringing back to the Cape fifty-year-old dresses, which she labeled as vintage clothing, that inspired romance. They all sold out. So did their pillows. Valentine’s Day sales kept their store afloat and gave them confidence they could make real money when the tourists started arriving in May. They started sewing Cape Cod pillows decorated with sailboats and expressions like GONE FISHING and HOW’S BAYOU? Their hands were cramped from embroidering pillows every night and they were starting to feel as if they’d always have to work eighteen hours a day to keep the store going.

  A week after Valentine’s Day they received a call from a reporter who worked at a local newspaper on Cape Cod. She was interested in writing a story about their resourcefulness and entrepreneurial spirit and desire to make people happy. They jumped at the chance to be interviewed.

  The next day, the reporter came to the shop at closing time. When the three of them sat down, she asked if they minded if she taped the conversation. Naturally, they agreed.

  “Let me ask how you got started,” she began with a smile. There was no way she could have guessed what would come next.

  “I’ll tell you how we got started,” Ellen said with enthusiasm, then recounted in great detail the story of her lying, conniving boss who had practically ruined her life. “Can you imagine how I felt when I saw that bankruptcy notice on the restaurant door? The man was a horror!” Ellen declared, barely pausing for breath. “If it weren’t for him I wouldn’t be doing this now, but still—”

  “You know, we used to have a lemonade stand,” Pippy interrupted.

  Ellen looked at her. “Forget the lemonade stand! Tell her about what your boss did to you!” she exclaimed, then turned to the reporter. “Pippy’s too polite, so I’ll tell you. Her company had a security guard show her the door when she was fired after three years of devotion and hard work. It was atrocious. Now tell me, does my five-foot-two-inch friend here look dangerous to you?”

  “What would you like to see happen to these people?” the reporter asked mildly.

  “I wish my old boss the worst of everything,” Ellen answered quickly. “You name it. For one thing, I hope that makeup melts all over the trunk of his car.”

  When the reporter left, Pippy, knowing the value of public relations, was terrified of how they’d be portrayed in the article. She reminded Ellen that they were supposed to be in the business of making people feel good and promoting positive thinking. “We don’t want potential customers to think that we’re bitter.”

  “I was only answering her question,” Ellen insisted.

  Pippy needn’t have worried. When the article was published, headlined “From Lemonade to Pillows” and quoting Ellen word for word, it struck a chord. More and more people started coming into the shop, many of them anxious to share their tales about how others had done them wrong. The article was then picked up by news outlets on the internet. Suddenly the store’s website was inundated with e-mails from people who had horrible stories about former bosses, teachers, coaches, anyone in a position of authority who used it as an excuse to be mean and nasty. Orders for pillows came streaming in via e-mail, the phone, and visitors to the store.

  They started making pillows that said YOU’RE NOBODY TILL SOMEBODY FIRES YOU. It was their best seller. They had to hire locals to embroider so they could keep up with the orders, which made them happy. They were providing work for people, many who really needed it. Ellen formed a social group that met once a week for drinks and fun and therapeutic storytelling. She posted news of the meetings on the Pillow Talk website. Requests for interviews were pouring in. They had been discovered.

  Their success was so sudden and overwhelming, it was a challenge to adjust to the rapid growth of their business and keep some sort of balance in their lives. But it was better than being unemployed.

  As Pippy finished plumping the pillows, Ellen came from the back with two mugs of fresh coffee. “With this weather I don’t think we’ll have too many people wandering in today. At least we can get other work done around here,” she said as she flipped on the radio.

  “Late-breaking news,” the anchor began. “This storm has caused a lot of destruction on the Cape. Just in is a report of a woman whose body is believed to have been swept out to sea. Her name is Adele Hopkins and—”

  Ellen and Pippy stared at each other.

  “I can’t believe it!” Pippy said. “Remember when—”

  Ellen waved her hand frantically. “Wait! I have to tell you something. Last night after you had fallen asleep I was doing work on the computer. Our website received an anonymous e-mail about a horrible rowing coach named Adele Hopkins. We get people venting about others who’ve been mean to them, but this one was really bad. It gave me the creeps. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was talking about our Adele Hopkins.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Pippy asked excitedly.

  “You were asleep!”

  “Show it to me now!” Pippy yelpe
d as they both ran to the back office.

  11

  Adele couldn’t believe how good it felt to be with a man who wanted to take care of her. She’d deliberately isolated herself these last six months, needing time to be alone after her divorce. All the things her husband had said to her, about how none of his friends or family could ever stand her, had been so cruel. “So why did you stay in the marriage for ten years?” she’d demanded. “It’s not as if we had children.”

  “I must have been insane,” he’d replied.

  “Is there someone else?” she’d asked.

  “I wish!”

  She’d fled to the Cape, where she knew you could keep to yourself without people thinking you’re strange. Not that it was easy. Those two sisters who lived on the block would drive anyone crazy. Adele didn’t want to spend two minutes with them. All she wanted to do was spend her days regaining a sense of self and figure out how to make amends with the people she’d hurt.

  “Here you go,” Floyd said, his fingers grazing hers as he extended a mug of tea. She was curled up on the couch, enjoying the fire, experiencing a feeling of peace that had eluded her for what seemed like forever.

  “Thank you,” she said, curling her hands around the cup, relishing its warmth.

  Floyd sat down in the rocking chair nearby. He was so sweet and caring, but at the same time had a powerful presence that was exciting. “Feeling better?” he asked kindly.

  “Much. Although I am a bit woozy.”

  He stared at her. “I’m not surprised. You could have drowned,” he said. “Drowned!”