by Delia Parr
Ginger raised her gaze and shook her head. “When I first met Charlene at Sweet Stuff, I thought she had the most fascinating business philosophy I’d ever heard. Now that I’ve heard your reasons for wanting to own and operate Pretty Ladies, I’m not sure that yours isn’t even more amazing. I do know I feel humbled, and I’m so proud to be able to call you my friend. Buy the salon. Take the risk.”
Barbara sniffled and reached into her purse for a tissue. “I wish I had half your faith in God and in people. I think you should buy the salon. I really do. Maybe if I had a different business, I could have…Well, it doesn’t matter. Now is as good a time as any to tell you both, I guess. I’ve decided to close Grandmother’s Kitchen at the end of the year.”
Judy sat back in her chair and lifted both brows. “You’re closing your shop?”
“But why?” Ginger asked.
“Lots of reasons. Foot traffic has never been better, but nobody’s buying. I get the feeling a lot of the people who stop in are more curious about meeting a murder victim’s mother than they are about antique canister sets. Last week, I even had to leave by the back door to avoid a reporter posing as a customer.” She paused and crumpled the tissue in her hands. “I need all my energy to last through this never-ending investigation, let alone if an arrest is ever made, but I doubt anyone in town will be disappointed when my business closes.”
“Can’t you hire someone to run the shop for a while?” Judy asked.
“Not really. I’m only one of three or four dealers on the East Coast who deals strictly with the canister sets. Trying to train someone or find someone knowledgeable in the field just wouldn’t be productive.”
“What about selling the shop?” Ginger suggested.
“I don’t own the building, and my lease is up in February. Selling the stock would take a while, and I’m not sure I want to sell it. I’d like to think I could reopen someday, but the twins need a great deal of my time right now. John’s looking into renting space in one of those new storage facilities that have been popping up everywhere. That way I won’t have to make a final decision until much later, assuming I manage to get through the holidays.”
She sniffled again and got another tissue from her purse. “I’m sorry. I—I try not to get weepy, but sometimes it just sweeps over me and I feel like there’s a concrete block of sadness crushing down on my chest. With the holidays coming and waiting every day to hear of an arrest, I seem to get weepy more and more often. It’s getting harder and harder for me to go to the shop every day and hope I won’t break down in front of a customer. And to be honest, it’s a little hard for me to get excited about china canister sets that are over a hundred years old when my son didn’t live to see his thirty-second birthday.”
Ginger reached across the table and patted Barbara’s hand. “You won’t always feel this way. At least that’s what I keep telling myself when I feel like I’m neck-deep in quicksand.”
“You always seem so cheery and positive, Ginger,” Judy countered.
“And you’re always smiling or…giggling, like tonight,” Barbara added.
Ginger shrugged with both shoulders. “That’s right now. You should have seen me yesterday afternoon. Charlene had an errand at the bank so I told her I’d make up the last gift basket. It was for Nicole Blinstrom. She just had a baby girl.”
“So I heard,” Barbara noted.
“After three boys, she must be thrilled,” Judy whispered and forced back her own memories of having Candy.
Ginger nodded. “New babies are a blessing, so I thought making this gift basket would be fun. I started filling the basket with frilly pink filler and wrapped up tiny boxes of chocolate and tied them with pink ribbons and bam!” She smacked the table with the palm of her hand. “I started crying like a baby myself. I tried, I really tried to stop, but I couldn’t. I kept remembering when Lily was born and how excited we were to have our little girl and all the hopes and dreams we had for her…and how she grew up to be a woman so coldhearted and so callous, she’s turned her back on her own child.”
When tears started trickling down her cheeks, Ginger motioned to Barbara, who took a tissue from her purse and handed it across the table. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she attempted to smile and made a sound, much like a giggle caught up by a groan. “I couldn’t even finish that gift basket, and poor Charlene! When she got back from the bank and found me sobbing in the back of the store, she almost called 911. She settled for making me a plate of chocolates that I had to eat before she finished making the basket.”
Judy listened and empathized with both Ginger and Barbara, but held silent. When the two women looked at her and waited for her to make a similar confession, she shook her head. “I cried all the tears I had for Candy a long time ago. I don’t cry for her anymore. I worry about her, and I think about her. I even pray for her, but I don’t cry for her. Not anymore. I used to get angry at her, a lot more often than I do these days, but mostly now, I just feel empty and numb when I think of her and wonder where she might be.”
She bowed her head. “Sometimes I think I’m possibly the worst mother in the world. Then I tell myself there are a whole lot of mothers in line ahead of me, including my own daughter.”
“And Lily,” Ginger murmured.
“And Steve’s ex-wife, wherever she is,” Barbara added.
“But we’d be among the first in the line for good grandmothers,” Ginger offered.
Barbara smiled. “I’d like to think so.”
Judy got to her feet. “Me, too, which is cause for celebrating, which means it’s time for the refreshments that I saved for after our meeting tonight.” She took a plate from the refrigerator and set it on the table. While her friends studied the plate filled with slices of tart green apples and several varieties of sweeter red apples with the skin still attached, she tapped the start button on the microwave, set out napkins and a small bowl of crushed nuts.
After she retrieved a bowl of fresh whipped cream from the refrigerator and put that on the table, she only had to wait half a minute before the microwave buzzed. She used a pair of pot holders to carry the bowl of bubbling caramel sauce to the table and grinned. “Help yourselves, ladies. There are a few rules, though. No plates. No bowls. No utensils. We dip, we eat and hopefully we’ll all have a good giggle or two before you have to leave.”
True to tradition, the women were quickly gabbing and eating and dripping caramel sauce and whipped cream on the table as well as themselves. To a casual observer, the three of them were acting like schoolgirls, complete with silly comments and more than a few giggles apiece. Judy knew, however, as she glanced around the table, that the silliness and the giggles would not last. They were mature women who were all struggling with crushing new responsibilities, frightening mood swings, or personal tragedies as best they could.
Unfortunately, Judy also suspected that the days and weeks ahead would bring new challenges to each of them. She had no idea what the challenges would be or for whom or that one would arrive so soon.
Chapter Seventeen
The elementary schools in Welleswood had many traditions for marking Thanksgiving as a national holiday. The annual “First Thanksgiving” feast prepared by PTA volunteers for the children to share the day before the holiday was much more of a favorite than the history lessons filled with Pilgrims and Native American Indians. In addition, the school had half days that shortened week so teachers could hold individual parent conferences and distribute reports cards for the first time that year.
Ginger left her appointment with Vincent’s teacher, Mr. Norcross, just before four o’clock with a bounce to her step and a smile on her face that deepened the moment she stepped outside and spied Barbara and Judy chatting together on the sidewalk in front of the school. “Are you two coming or going?” she asked as she approached them.
“I’m leaving. Barbara just got here. I guess I don’t have to ask how Vincent’s doing. You’re beaming,” Judy noted with a bit of envy in her vo
ice.
“He’s doing great. He got an S for satisfactory in all areas, except one. Art.”
“Art?” came the chorus of disbelief.
Ginger shrugged. “I don’t understand it, either. He loves to draw and he’s about ready for a new sketch pad, although he hasn’t been ready to share his drawings with us yet.” She wrinkled her nose. “Apparently, he doesn’t like drawing whatever Mr. Norcross tells the class to draw. But if that’s Vincent’s only way of rebelling, I’m not going to complain. How’s Brian doing?”
Judy let out a sigh. “Okay, I guess. I feel like I’ve stepped back in time. Honestly, I’m convinced at this point that there must be a gene for spelling. Candy couldn’t spell for beans and neither can Brian, apparently. We’re going to try making flash cards. For math, too. But his behavior is great, so I’m going to take that as a positive sign.”
Barbara checked her watch. “Oops! I’m late, and I’ve got a double appointment for the twins. I’ll catch up with you two another time,” she promised and hurried into the school.
Ginger nodded toward the avenue. “Tyler came home early to watch Vincent. It’s such a beautiful Indian summer day, I walked up to the school. Have you got time for a cup of coffee at The Diner?”
“I wish I did. I have to get to the bank to talk to one of the loan officers, George Winston, about getting that home equity loan, but I’ll walk with you.”
They fell in step and started toward the avenue, passing younger mothers on their way to Park Elementary. In the distance, the elevated train that bisected the community carried passengers back and forth from deep in South Jersey to Philadelphia. “Everything seems to be coming together for you,” Ginger said. “How soon will it be before you know if you can actually buy Pretty Ladies?”
“Unfortunately, I’ve still got a long way to go. Some days I’m so excited I can’t stand still. The prospect of owning my own business is such an unbelievable dream, I’m afraid I’m going to wake up and find out that’s all it is—a dream.” She shivered. “Today, I’m just really, really nervous. Putting my house on the line and risking the only thing of value I own…Whoa! That’s got me petrified. I just hope I can keep my head and answer all Mr. Winston’s questions today so the bank will agree to give me the home equity loan.”
Ginger nudged her friend’s arm. “You did your homework, so don’t worry. This is the right thing to do. I’m sure you’ll do fine and the bank will approve the loan.”
“Two hours ago, I would have agreed with you,” Judy countered. She stopped talking when they reached the curb, checked for traffic and crossed the side street. “Right now, I’m not so sure.” She pointed to a little girl swinging on a playground set in one of the yards they were passing.
“That’s how it’s been for me ever since we all met at my house. One minute, I’m up, close to feeling totally positive this is the right thing to do. The next minute, I’m back to thinking I’m making one of the biggest mistakes of my life.” She checked her watch. “In fourteen minutes, I have my meeting with George Winston, so I don’t have much time left to make up my mind, do I?”
“Not much,” Ginger conceded. “What does your gut tell you?”
Judy laughed. “My gut? Other than the fact that it’s telling me to eat a lot less chocolate and caramel apples, it’s saying to take a leap of faith and buy the salon.”
Ginger put her arm out to stop Judy, stepped in front of her and faced her eye to eye. “Then do it. Jump off the swing, land, plant your feet on the ground and don’t look back. Look ahead. You’ve had to do that to survive after Frank died, after Brian came to live with you, and ever since you found out Candy had run away from that halfway house in San Diego, haven’t you?”
“True.”
“Then why is this time any different?”
Judy’s gaze darkened. “Because I’m not alone any more. I have Brian to consider now.”
Ginger tilted up her chin. “Exactly. And all the more reason to recognize what an incredibly strong woman you are.” When Judy opened her mouth to argue, Ginger silenced her by holding up her hand. “You are strong. You have drive. You have talent. And you have clients who are depending on you. So jump, will you? Barbara and I will be there if you don’t land exactly right.”
Judy squared her shoulders and smiled. “You’re right. Thanks. For all the nice things you said, too.”
Ginger looped an arm with one of Judy’s and started them toward the avenue. “You’re welcome. Just do me one favor.”
“Which is?”
“Promise you’ll be in my corner when I think I’m ready to give up the fight.”
On her way home, Ginger stopped at the stationery store to buy a new sketch pad for Vincent. On impulse, she also bought a card for Tyler, one of the “I still love you because” cards she used to give him a lot more often. She hesitated for only a moment, then selected a card for Mark and Denise to reassure them that they were not forgotten, even though most of their parents’ energies had been focused on their baby sister lately. When she passed the Butcher Bloc, she turned around and went back inside to pick out three steaks to grill for dinner. McAllister’s Bakery was too far away in the opposite direction from home to get something special for dessert, so she scooted into The Diner and bought one of their cherry cheesecakes, Vincent’s favorite.
Ginger was troubled as she walked home, but hopeful that tonight’s surprise celebration would help to ease Vincent’s disappointment that Lily had not called him for weeks now. Ginger had only spoken to her daughter once since their meeting at the airport, but Lily had cut their conversation short, as usual. Although Tyler had spoken to both Mark and Denise, who had each called to say they would not be home for Thanksgiving, he had not spoken to Lily at all. He refused to discuss her, other than to say Vincent was better off without her, a sentiment Mark and Denise both shared.
Apparently, Lily had not made any plans to come home for Thanksgiving. Otherwise, she would have returned the message Ginger had left on her cell phone, with Tyler’s reluctant blessing, suggesting Lily and Paul might want to slip out of Boston and spend the holiday here with Lily’s family. Since they had already spent so much time with Paul’s family, Ginger felt her request was fair, and could be an opportunity for all of the adults to sit down and see if Lily would reconsider her decision not to make Vincent a part of her new life.
Loaded down with packages meant to recognize Vincent’s good report card, she managed to get home and inside her back door without dropping anything or running into Tyler or Vincent. She put the steaks and the cheesecake into the refrigerator, wrapped Vincent’s new sketch pad, wrote a personal note inside Tyler’s card and hid them inside one of the cabinets. Next, she wrote a note inside each of the cards for Mark and Denise asking them to be patient with Lily and reassuring them of their parents’ love, as well as sharing the good news about Vincent’s report card. When she heard heavy footsteps coming up the basement stairs, she set Mark’s and Denise’s cards aside, unfolded Vincent’s report card and held it out to Tyler when he joined her in the kitchen.
He wiped his hands on his work jeans and met her questioning gaze with a frown. “Good thing I was here. The hot water heater decided today would be a good day to die. I just finished cleaning up the mess. I called Joe. He can’t come to put in a new one until tomorrow, so it’s cold showers tonight. I sure hope this report card has good news for me.”
She kissed his cheek, and she was extra glad she had thought to buy a card for him. “It sure does. Take a look.”
He studied the report card and laughed. “He got an N, needs improvement, in art?”
She giggled. “I had the same reaction. Maybe you could have a talk with Vincent about following directions and drawing whatever the teacher wants him to draw?”
Tyler nodded. “Playing sports would be so good for him. He’d learn to follow the rules, follow directions, get a little more self-confidence—”
“He doesn’t like sports,” she reminded him.
“Maybe he would do better in school with art if he took art lessons. If he had some sort of assignment to do for his art teacher, he might be more inclined to do it, which might carry over into school.”
“And maybe he’d show his sketch pad to his teacher. I’m still not convinced it’s been such a good idea to let him keep it to himself or not to mention we know he didn’t lose those two backpacks, that he hid them in Lily’s closet.”
“We’ve talked about this before. He’ll tell us about the backpacks when he’s ready, and the sketch pad is all he has that’s completely his own. It’s like his diary. He’ll show us his drawings when he’s ready. It’s not like he’s been asking us to buy him another backpack or acting out in a way that would make us concerned about his drawings.”
Tyler let out a sigh. “Art lessons. I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”
She kissed him again. “You’re a dear sweet man. Do you want to ask him about taking art lessons or should I?”
He glanced down at his dirty jeans. “Why don’t you go upstairs and show him his report card while I get changed? We can ask him together. I won’t be long.”
“Good idea. Oh, I wrote a quick note to Mark and Denise, too. I left the cards out on the counter in case you wanted to add something. And I picked up some steaks for dinner,” she told him as they went up the stairs together.
“Do you feel like firing up the grill or should I—”
“I’ll grill the steaks after I jot something on the cards for the kids.”
When they got to the top of the stairs, she kissed him again.
