Whenever I thought of beauty and ugliness in the same sentence, I thought of one of my high-school classmates. Hope was beautiful on the outside but ugly on the inside. I used to think she didn’t fit her name at all. Dope would’ve been more fitting than Hope. She was mean and her sense of entitlement destroyed any friendships she ever had. Shonna and I used to wonder how the most beautiful person in school could also be the ugliest. The last I heard, Hope was alone. But then so was I.
I finished sewing on the patch and wrapped Tory’s present in pink paper and topped it with a white bow. Like me, pink was her favorite color, as evidenced by the preponderance of pink quilt squares.
I picked up Muffin and let her outside to go to the bathroom. If I lived in the city, I might not be able to do this. Chances were I wouldn’t have much of a yard, if one at all. I remembered seeing a lot of paid dog walkers back in my nanny days. Often they’d end up at the park like me. I felt badly for the dogs, especially for the big ones. I wondered if they missed running through open fields and flowery meadows. But then I realized they couldn’t miss what they didn’t know. They were used to city life and had no idea it could be better.
I wondered if it was better not to know things. Like the future. If I’d had a crystal ball with the power to show me my tomorrows, I don’t think I would have looked in it. For me, the most important part of life had always been the journey. The mountains we climbed, the valleys we crossed, and all of the swaying bridges over troubled waters that turned our knuckles white as we held on for dear life. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes want to know the future (ahem, did I have breast cancer?), if only because of the peace of mind it would provide. Especially when it came to the kids.
I thought when they became older I’d worry about them less, but that never happened. In fact, the older they got, the more anxiety I had. If they weren’t home by curfew I’d convince myself they were lying dead in a ditch. It had been much easier to keep them safe when they were young, when I was the one in control. But as they grew, my control lessened. Eventually, I just had to let go and pray. I still prayed a lot. And I didn’t think I’d ever stop worrying about them. But I’d found some peace in knowing I’d done the best I could. It might not have been good enough, but it was my best.
Speaking of the kids, I could tell by the ringtone on my phone that David was calling. I had different ringtones for David and Tory. His was techno and Tory’s was classical.
“Hi, David.”
“Hey, Mom. Did you get the flight itinerary I sent you?”
“Yep. Can’t wait to see you.”
“Likewise. Anything new?”
I told David about the gym.
“I know. Tory called and told me.”
I shook my head. “I figured she would.”
David laughed “You ought to try CrossFit, Mom. It’s a great workout.”
“Not sure I’m ready for that.”
“How’s Muffin?”
“Good. She’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure. Work going okay?”
“Not bad. Been putting in some long hours. It’ll be good to have a weekend off. Most weekends I’m working.”
“Are you sure working for this tech start-up is what you want to do?”
“I know it sounds crazy because I could be making a lot more money doing something else, but I love being a part of building a company from scratch. Yes, the hours suck. Yes, the money sucks. There’s no time clock or recognition for working overtime. It’s an expectation rather than an exception. And yet the thrill I get when solving a problem and the high I get from seeing the company I work for succeed keeps me pumped.”
My heart sang as I listened to David talk about his job. The thing I’d always wanted most for my children was for them to be happy. Truly happy. And I could tell David was. I guess that’s why I blurted out I was thinking about quitting my job.
David coughed. “Whoa! What? Why?”
“I just think it’s time for me to do something else, something fun, and something I’ve always wanted to do.”
I could hear the high-pitched uncertainty in David’s voice. “O-kay. So what is it that you always wanted to do?”
I raked my front teeth over my bottom lip and wondered how much I should say. “I was thinking about opening a boutique downtown.”
“Hmm, well that’s not what I expected.”
“It’s not? What did you expect?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mom. Maybe go back to school and get your teaching degree.”
“Teaching degree. Really?”
“Yeah, I mean, you always liked kids and enjoyed teaching Sunday school and being my and Tory’s scout leader.”
“True, but I don’t feel called to teach. When I hear you talk about your job, David, I can hear the excitement in your voice. Even though the hours and pay aren’t what you’d like, you love what you’re doing and see it as an investment in your future. I want to feel that jazzed about my job. I’m tired of my Sundays being dominated by that sinking feeling the workweek is looming.”
“There’s actually a name for that, Mom. It’s call the Sunday Night Blues.”
I laughed.
“I’m pretty sure, Mom, that people who like their jobs experience a little of that, too. They see the weekend fun coming to an end and the start of five days of pressure.”
“And poor you,” I interrupted. “You don’t seem to have much fun, even on weekends.”
“Well, next weekend I will. I’ll text you when my plane lands. Is Dad driving up with us?”
“No, separate. But he’s staying at the same hotel and said you can sleep in his room if you want.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Mom. Love you.”
“I love you more!”
I couldn’t wait to see David. While I loved both of my children equally, David and I shared something special. Maybe it was that mother-son thing people talked about. Or because he was my firstborn and I almost lost him when I slipped on a patch of ice and fell. I wasn’t sure, but if there was anything I’d learned from David, it was that you shouldn’t let money stand in your way of doing what you love. He’d followed his passion and talking to him made me want to follow mine.
Chapter 7
I stood in the locker room in my cream-colored granny panties and black sports bra as Renee measured my biceps, waist, hips, bust and thigh areas.
“This will help us track your progress,” she said. “We’ll take photos, too. I usually recommend we use the client’s cell phone so they’re able to access the photos any time. It helps to see how far you’ve come when you’re struggling to continue.”
“Great idea!” I dug my cell phone out of my gym bag and handed it to her.
I stood still while Renee took several photos from different angles. “Remember, we start slow. In my experience, between weeks three and four you’ll feel like quitting. That’s when motivation usually wanes. Be aware of this so you can get through that tough time.”
“How’d you get through it?”
“I decided to reward myself by getting a mani-pedi after the sixth week. Believe me, there’ll be times when you don’t feel like exercising and you’ll have to remind yourself how good it makes you feel. If you can associate exercise with feeling good as a result of it, you’ll have a better chance of sticking with it. Habit is seventy-five percent of the challenge.”
I pulled on my gray workout tee and sweat pants. I knew Renee was right. I’d been down this road a time or two and always dropped out. I’d miss a day, then two, and suddenly a month would pass and I’d just give up. “I’ve never been so determined to succeed,” I told her.
Renee pumped her fist. “That’s the spirit. And if you slip once, don’t let it become an excuse not to exercise at all.”
“I made a promise to myself this time.”
Renee nodded. “The funny thing about promises we make to ourselves is that we somehow always negotiate. Think about it. I
f you made a promise to your daughter or son, you’d stick to it. But because it’s you it’s somehow different. You wouldn’t let important people counting on you down, so why do it to yourself?”
“Man, you’re tough.”
Renee patted my shoulder. “No, I’ve just been where you are lots of times and I’m trying to pass on my wisdom.”
Renee asked me what activity I enjoyed, explaining that if I chose something I liked I’d be more likely to stick with it.
“Back in the day I did aerobics and I used to like biking and running. But it’s been a while since I’ve done any of that.”
“How about starting out on the treadmill?” Renee said. I nodded and followed her up the stairs to the second floor. As I walked between rows of machines, treadmills on one side and elliptical trainers on the other, I felt out of place. Everyone seemed fit and I worried I’d stick out. I kept hearing that song Tory used to sing in preschool: One of these things is not like the others. One of these things just doesn’t belong.
I felt a dull ache in my stomach and it reminded me of the stomach pangs I used to get in grade school. Our gym teacher, Mr. Williams, would pick two people to be captains and they’d take turns picking who they wanted on their kickball team. I was always one of the last to be picked.
“You’ll be fine,” Renee said. “Believe me, no one is watching. They’re focused on their own workout.”
I sucked in a huge breath and exhaled. I knew she was right. I’d just had to keep telling myself that.
I stepped up onto the treadmill and Renee explained the controls. An hour later, I walked out of the gym feeling pretty good about myself. I knew I had a long way to go before I was capable of running a marathon, but I’d taken the first step.
On my way home, I passed by a skin-care clinic that was advertising twenty percent off of injectables. I ran my fingers over my lips. I’ve always hated my lips. They were too thin. I made a mental note to call the clinic and check out its prices. Maybe I’d treat myself to some filler as a reward for making it past the red-flag period, just as Renee rewarded herself with a mani-pedi.
When I got home, Muffin was at the door. I let her out and then showered. I had two hours before I had to meet the real-estate salesman downtown. I was meeting Ed at the property, but I wanted to get there ahead of time to check out the neighborhood. Walking a couple blocks in each direction would give me an idea of what the neighborhood was like.
I stood in front of the wooden storefront and imagined looking through a sepia-tinted lens, watching those who had shopped at what was once a TV store. The chestnut door with transom sash was sandwiched between two large display windows with wood bulkheads beneath. I gazed up, noticing the stone window hoods and decorative cornice molding at the top, below the roof.
“You must be Scarlett.”
I turned to see a handsome middle-aged man with dark hair wearing a black suit. “And you must be Ed.”
We shook hands and I waited for him to retrieve the key from the lockbox.
He opened the door. “She’s a beauty, that’s for sure. There aren’t many storefronts that look as nice as this one.”
“Has it been on the market long?”
“About five months,” Ed said.
The wood floor creaked as we walked inside and I felt as if I’d been transported back in time. Advertisements for vacuum tubes, record-player needles and TV antennas covered the walls. An old display case stood along the right wall.
Ed looked around. “Back in the day this was a busy place. I remember coming here with my dad to buy my mom sewing-machine needles. The owner, Gene Smith, opened the shop in the early fifties. He was a character.”
I smiled. “How so?”
“He was a bombardier on a B-29 Superfortress during World War II. Flew nearly twenty combat missions, including bombing Tokyo in 1945. He was a tough cookie but a softie when it came to kids.”
Ed saw an old red tin sitting on top of the glass counter and walked over. He picked up the dented tin and pried open the lid. “Old Gene always kept this tin filled with lollipops just for the kids. Even when times got tough and business slowed, he still kept the tin filled – just in case.”
I loved listening to Ed’s stories as he showed me the property. Turned out the owner had lived upstairs and never married.
“Do you think over-the-air TV will ever come back?”
Ed shook his head. “Not like it once was, that’s for sure. Most people watch shows over the Internet. But who knows? Vinyl records are becoming popular again. And there’s been a lot of cord cutting, people canceling their cable and satellite service because it’s so expensive.”
As I wandered from room to room, I saw potential, but also a boatload of work. And yet, it felt like home. The store, about a half block north of the square, was in the thick of the downtown revitalization, and I had a chance to be part of that. On one side was a renovated store that had once been a camera shop but now sold vintage clothing. On the other was a used book store that specialized in first editions.
I tried to visualize what my store would look like. I definitely wanted to keep its vintage charm, but perhaps I’d integrate some bright modern pieces to make it a place where past and present met. Whenever I thought about history, I felt sad I’d never known how it would turn out. I wondered if that was what Gene, who’d recently passed away, had felt. I liked the idea that I would write the next part of this store’s history, and I couldn’t help thinking Gene would be proud.
“So, what do you think?” Ed asked. “It’s a pretty cool place, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yes, it’s beautiful. But it would take a lot of work and money to fix it up.”
“What are you thinking about putting in here?”
To be honest, I’ve always wanted to open a gift boutique, but I think there’s enough space that I could incorporate a coffee bar as well.”
Ed scanned the room one more time. “I could see that in this space. Do you have any investors?”
I shook my head. “I’d have to sell my home to be able to buy this. But I’m ready for some changes in my life.”
I could tell from the puzzled look on Ed’s face he was probably wondering what I meant, but I’d said more than I’d intended and bit my lower lip to keep myself from saying more.
I followed Ed outside and watched as he locked the door and put the key back in the lockbox. He handed me his card. “Call me if you want to chat. Obviously, I can sell your other property and have you in this one, hopefully by the fall.”
I nodded. “Thanks for showing it to me, Ed. And I’ll definitely be in touch. I have a lot to think about.”
A bell jingled as I opened the paneled door and walked inside the used book store adjacent to the property. A young twentysomething with a wisp of pink hair framing her heart-shaped face glanced up from behind the counter. “Hi. Are you looking for anything in particular?”
I shook my head. “Just browsing.” I walked through the store, crowded with wooden tables piled high with books. Shelves hugged every inch of wall space. A black book about two inches thick caught my attention. I walked over and picked it up. It felt like it weighed five pounds. I traced my finger over the title, written in gold ink: Eugenics.
I opened it and saw a 1904 copyright by the S. A. Mullikin Co. and started reading the introduction by Bishop Samuel Fallows. “Know thyself” were his first two words. Thumbing through the book I couldn’t help but smile. It’d been written more than a hundred years ago and contained advice on everything from how to be beautiful, to sensible courting, to diseases peculiar to men.
It was almost surreal, standing in the middle of this bookshop, filled with thousands of old books I’d never have time to read even if I wanted to. Just like the one I held in my hand, each book was locked in its own era. Bound and dated, tombs long-since forgotten.
And that’s when it hit me like one of David’s fastballs in the gut, knocking the wind out
of me. I’d come to the realization that the plot of my life didn’t make sense to me anymore. I wanted to rewrite it, to care less about things and live life a little more playfully. Like a beach ball that bobs about during a game of volleyball with brief encounters, I wanted a life that was buoyant and unexpected but always in play.
I wanted that store, and I bought the book as a reminder that, while I couldn’t know how history would turn out, I did have the power to write my own.
Chapter 8
I called Mom before I went to bed to ask for the millionth time if anyone in our family had ever had breast cancer. I’d decided to tell her about my abnormal mammogram because I wanted to know if there was any family history.
“Scarlett, the answer is the same as it was when you called this afternoon. No. But I suppose it has to begin with someone.”
“Mom!”
“Oh my. That came out all wrong.”
“No kidding.”
“Listen, sweetie. I’m sure everything will turn out. You always did worry too much. Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you to see the surgeon?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Well, if you change your mind, call me tomorrow before seven. I promised the girls I’d meet them at the diner for breakfast.”
“I don’t need you to go along, Mom. Go to breakfast. If I have cancer I’ll call you.”
“Scarlett Elizabeth! Stop talking so dumb. Call me afterward and let me know what Dr. Edwards said. I’ve been checking around and I’ve heard a lot of good things about him. He worked on Ethel Musser’s breast and she was happy.”
“Jesus, Mom. Worked on? Really? You make it sound as if my breast is a damn car.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Scarlett. You’re too sensitive. Dr. Edwards removed Ethel’s breast and it looks better than I thought it would. Flat with a scar right across the middle.”
I had to get off the phone with Mom because I really didn’t want to hear any more details about Ethel Musser’s breast. I was already freaking out about seeing Dr. Edwards the next day and I didn’t need Mom fueling my anxiety. I was thankful my appointment had been moved up after someone else had canceled.
A Year of Second Chances Page 5
