Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books!

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  "What on earth?" I tilted Anya's head back for a better look. Mr. Orange Vest reappeared, probably to make sure I wasn't hurting my child.

  "She stuck something up her nose," Mert said, after one quick look. "Wonder what?"

  While I tried to calm Anya, Mert scanned the floor.

  Sure enough, half hidden by a shelf unit, she found the torn top of an M&M’s bag.

  "I got it!" Mert brought the evidence to me.

  Anya's panic mellowed into soft sobs.

  Derrick, the guy in the orange vest, shook his head. "Well, I'll be jiggered. I ain't seen a kid do that in years. Not since my Donnie stuck a crayon up his nose."

  Mert daintily covered her mouth and snickered. "My kid done put a Lego brick in his. Liked to never get that out."

  "Shhh," I said, as I rocked Anya. "It's okay, honey. I'm going to pinch your nose like —"

  But I never got to finish. She tossed back her head and screamed bloody murder. "Noooooo!"

  I couldn't blame her. Having a nostril pinched shut was unpleasant in the best of times. Scary stuff.

  "Emergency room here we come," I said, fighting Anya to put her into the kid's seat of the shopping cart.

  "No way." Mert laughed. "We can get that there candy out in two shakes of a puppy dog tail. Ever' thing we need is right here."

  I gulped. Should I trust this woman?

  Then I thought about explaining this to George. What would he say when he learned I wasn't watching our child more closely? Wasn't vigilance Job One?

  "You really think you can get it out?"

  "I know I can. But I'm gonna need a little help from this nice hunk. Derrick, hon? You got a shop vac? There’s one hooked up over by the saw, ain't it? Can you grab me a roll of duct tape?"

  Mr. Orange Vest nodded eagerly. Being called "a hunk" had cause him to perk up like a plant thirsty for water. "The shop vac is right this way. You follow me. I'll grab the duct tape while we're walking."

  Anya continued to boo-hoo, but the confident attitude of our new friends intrigued her. Mert slipped off a bracelet and gave it to my daughter to play with. Since Mert was wearing ten on one arm, the loss didn't detract from her look at all. While we strolled to the shop vac, I noticed she collected once-overs from admiring men.

  "Shop vac?" I repeated. "That makes me feel faintly queasy. You aren't going to, uh, suck that candy out of her, are you?"

  Mert put a finger to her lip. Anya busily tried on the bracelet and clanged it against the metal handle of the cart.

  "Hush. It'll be all right. You'll see. I won't do nothing without your permission."

  That was mildly comforting.

  Derrick signaled for us to stop at Aisle 15. He raced away and returned with a roll of silver duct tape.

  "Perfect." With a wink, Mert pulled a Bic pen from the plastic pocket protector in his shirt pocket. As her fingers brushed the fabric, I could see the man thrill to her touch. My face must have been as red as his vest was orange.

  "You don't mind if I take this here pen apart, do you?" Mert batted thick lashes at him. "You're such a gallant gentleman that I don't wanna take no advantage of you."

  "At your service!" Derrick clicked his heels in a mock salute, although the scuffed tennis shoes didn't make a sound.

  After parading a few yards farther along the center of the store, we arrived at the circular saw used to cut lumber for patrons. Anya's eyes widened in terror. She opened her mouth to scream, but Mert handed over yet another bracelet.

  Thus mollified, my child played happily, while Derrick scrambled under the table, burrowed through sawdust, and yanked free one end of a shop vac tube.

  Crushing the tip of the pen under the heel of her boot, Mert pulled out the ballpoint and spring. All that remained was the white tube. After tearing the cellophane off the duct tape, she wrapped the silver adhesive strip around the pen and the open end of the vacuum hose. A couple of deft twirls later, the nozzle had been reduced from an aperture of maybe 2" wide to the smaller tube of the ink pen.

  Leaning close to me, Mert spoke in a low voice. "I'm gonna touch this here small tube to the M&M and suck it out. To make sure I don't hurt her none, I'll grip the pen right down here at the opening. That way I can control it to suction better."

  Straightening, she gave me an even look. "Of course, I ain't gonna do nothing unless you're comfortable with it. If you decide you'd rather visit the hospital, that's good by me."

  Derrick stood off to one side, his eyes darting from Mert's cleavage to Anya's flushed face.

  I took the empty pen casing from Mert's hand. Given how small the tube was, I couldn't see any way it would hurt Anya.

  "Do it," I said.

  25

  I was cradling Anya in my arms, as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. She still sniffled, but mainly, she was totally fascinated by all the industry around her. Anya’s eyes followed every move made by the three of us adults. Her lower lip trembled with fear.

  I kissed her wet cheek. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’re going to help you breathe. I know that your nose hurts.”

  As I soothed my daughter, Mert wisely held the tube behind her back, the way my dentist always blocks the sight of his hypodermic needle. Derrick stood slightly behind Mert, filling the aisle and fending off other customers. We were seriously blocking traffic, but the operation was too delicate to leave to chance. What if somebody bumped Mert’s elbow as she pointed that tube at my daughter’s face?

  “Hey, buttercup,” Mert cooed to Anya. “You want another one of my bracelets?”

  After pulling off Gold Cuff #3, Mert handed it to my daughter. Anya solemnly added it to the pair already on her arm. The distraction kept my child from screaming her head off.

  As Mert advanced on her, Anya turned her face toward me. But I gripped her chin tightly, while Mert swooped down with the tube. Those blue eyes blinked up at me in shock — I could read the question, What are you doing, Mama? — but Mert was fully prepared. More importantly, she moved fast. In a flash, the white tube swooped down toward the target. The tip of the tube disappeared inside Anya’s nostril, right as my daughter opened her mouth to let go a startled cry.

  But in less than a second, the problem was solved. With a slurp, the vacuum sucked up the M&M candy. It stuck to the end of the ink pen tube, a trophy if I’d ever seen one.

  “Ta-dah!” Mert held up the prize for inspection.

  “Tan-dy” Anya grabbed for it.

  “No way, kiddo. It’ll be a cold day in August when I let you near another M&M. Maybe about the time you’re seventeen or so.”

  Mert snickered. Handing the nozzle to Derrick, she thanked him for his help.

  “I was thinking you might like to go out or something and grab a beer with me.” He pinked up as he issued this invitation, his complexion contrasting brightly with the orange vest. “But I’m gonna need your phone number, if you’re willing to make concrete plans.”

  “Here’s my card.” Mert wiggled her fingers inside her back pocket. Producing two business cards, she gave one to Derrick and one to me.

  On the left was a silhouette of a woman pushing a vacuum cleaner. To the right, a jaunty slogan, “Got dirt? Get Mert,” soared directly above her name and phone number.

  “Well, I’ve got dirt,” I said. “Lots and lots of it. In fact, my kitchen sink is the least of my problems. We moved into our house right as the construction workers packed up and left. You wouldn’t believe what a mess I have on my hands.”

  “Oh, yes, I would. I get lots of calls to do new construction cleaning. Don’t forget; I’ve seen that place of yours. You need lots of help. That place is huge. I’m the one who can get it spruced up for you. Shoot, I got a vacuum cleaner that can suck up a bowling ball. I’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

  She didn’t have her calendar with her, so I promised I would call her that very evening.

  “Anya? We need to give those bracelets back to Mert.” My daughter had quit crying and gotten down to t
he serious work of slipping the bracelets up and down on her tiny arms.

  “No!” The cherubic face turned mulish.

  Mert smiled at me and at my daughter. “I’ll get ‘em when I come to clean. There isn’t a girl on earth who’d willingly give up her bangles. No reason to fight her for them. Especially after she’s had such a rough morning already.”

  Amen to that.

  26

  Mert and I went our separate ways. She was on a cleaning supply run, which took her to the left; I guided our shopping cart to the garden area, off to the right. There, a glorious selection of seasonal flowers begged to come home with us.

  “Flo-ow-ees!” Anya clapped her tiny hands with joy.

  The display sent my senses into overdrive. Vibrant maroon, bright yellow, and robust orange blossoms competed with each other for attention as they sat on top of a bale of hay. Forming a ring around the bale was a lineup of asters in various shades of purple. Pumpkins of all sizes flanked the flowers, while multi-colored bunches of Indian corn were hung from peg board to create a patterned backdrop.

  I went a wee bit nuts. First, I buried my nose in a gathering of spicy blossoms. After I’d had a good sniff, I loaded our cart with as many mums and asters as it would hold.

  We might not have grass, but we sure as shooting were going to have lots and lots of flowers. I couldn’t wait to see how they perked up the sea of brown mud that framed our house.

  Once all my prizes were safely jam-packed into my car, I hit the button and lowered the top. There wouldn’t be many more beautiful days like this. Why shouldn’t Anya and I enjoy the fresh air? Rather than going straight home, I decided we should stop at McDonald’s. Anya had been carefully trained by me to scream with joy whenever she saw those golden arches.

  As we approached the drive-up window, she chanted, “Appy-eel. Appy-eel.”

  “Yes, Mama will get you a Happy Meal.” When the squawk box greeted us, I placed an order for my fish filet and her Happy Meal.

  “Boy or girl?” asked the disembodied voice.

  The word “girl” was on the tip of my tongue, until I noticed that the boys’ toys were much cooler than the girls’ selection. “Boy,” I said.

  At the window, a cute young man in a server’s uniform did a double-take, when he saw Anya sitting in her car seat. Her cute orange bow had drifted to just above her left ear. “Just a minute, ma’am. We’ve got you the wrong toy.”

  “I asked for a boy toy.” Instantly, I blushed. “I mean, I want a toy for a boy.”

  “But you have a little girl.”

  “Yes, but your girl toys are boring. Come on, buddy. Who wants a Miss Kitty statue? But a plastic bug? That’s totally cool.”

  Sticking his head all the way out of the window, he said, “Hey, I’m with you, lady. Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting. Most moms would go bananas if we didn’t hand over the gender appropriate toy. You’d be amazed. Give me a sec, and I’ll grab a plastic bug. Or two.”

  He returned with a Happy Meal box and an iconic white paper bag printed with those golden arches. “Be careful. I just handed you a bag full of bugs.” He grinned and added, “Considering you’ve got a car full of plants. They’ll probably fit right in.”

  Giggling, I thanked him and pulled into a parking space. I tore Anya’s burger into smaller pieces while I ate my fish sandwich. She munched on fries, and I enjoyed my ice tea. When we’d eaten our fill, I tossed out the garbage. I’d left the bag of bugs for last, but now I opened it up to find plastic models of a locust, a fly, a centipede, and a spider. Ripping off the packaging, I handed Anya the centipede. The toy earned a loud crow of approval.

  Pushing her favorite tape into the cassette player, I listened for the cheerful sounds of Anya’s favorite song, The Wheels on the Bus.

  The other bugs went into the glove compartment to save for a rainy day. While Anya examined her centipede with the sort of concentration only a toddler can have, I pulled out of the parking space and headed for home. Overhead, the turning leaves formed a canopy of autumnal shades. A light breeze lifted my curls. Anya talked up a storm to the bug, probably explaining exactly why she’d decided to poke an M&M up into her nose.

  All was right with my world, until I paused at a four-way stop sign and a squirrel fell into my car.

  27

  Landing with a thunk on the console, the furry critter was as shocked as I was. Those tiny brown eyes locked onto mine, and I swear he let out a gasp as he stared up at me.

  I shrieked.

  His little mouth quivered.

  We were both scared out of our minds.

  From the back seat, Anya had watched the drop. At first, she was stunned, too. Then she yelled, “Quirrel! Quirrel!” and fought to climb out of her car seat. Fortunately, even I have trouble latching and unlatching all those straps that keep her secure. Otherwise, she would have scrambled from the back seat to the front in a flash.

  I don’t know how I had the presence of mind, but I managed to shove the gear shift into park. Otherwise the BMW would have rolled into the intersection. Because I couldn’t run off and leave my baby, I could only huddle against my side of the car. The squirrel shook his tiny head, trying to work out what had just happened.

  “Help! Eeek!” I screamed. It was an involuntary response. I didn’t expect anyone to come to our aid.

  The disoriented rodent chattered. His tiny teeth clacked. His bushy tail twitched in annoyance. Taking two steps, he wobbled like a drunken sailor. He grabbed at the dash and tried to climb it. He succeeded cranking up the volume of the tape to a roar.

  “Round and round!” shrieked the chorus.

  Of course, the squirrel couldn’t get a purchase on the slick knobs and buttons. About halfway up, he toppled over backward. After bonking into the stick shift, he tumbled sideways into the passenger seat and landed in a pot of mums. Using his miniscule toenails, he shredded the maroon blossoms into confetti.

  “Leave my flowers alone!” I yelled, over the singing from the cassette tape. “Get out!”

  Out of nowhere, a man appeared at my side. “Lady? You okay?”

  “Squirrel!” I pointed. The song on the tape switched, and a woman sang loudly, “The farmer in the dell, the farmer in the dell.”

  The moment was surreal. I quickly cranked down the volume, while the furry intruder tried to dig his way into the pot of mums.

  “A what?” The man asked. One hand smoothed his tie to keep it from dragging against my dirty car. With his nice suit and white shirt, he belonged behind a desk in a bank, not in the middle of a Ladue side street.

  I cranked down the volume, but “farmer takes a pig” still came through loud and clear.

  “There’s a squirrel in my car! I have to get him out! What if he bites my daughter?”

  My would-be rescuer followed the direction of my finger. A fuzzy gray head popped up in the pot of mums. “Whoa! What the heck?”

  Confronted by two humans, my unwilling passenger panicked. He decided to scramble up the back of the seat. His tiny claws sank into the leather, but only barely. His little legs were moving double-time, like a hamster on a treadmill.

  “Get away from my daughter!” I yelled, and, with a quick brush of my hand, I swept the rodent off the headrest.

  He landed in the mums again.

  “I’ll get him.” The man raced around to the passenger side of the BMW. As he jogged, his tie bobbed up and down. But, once he rounded the bumper and came face-to-face with the squirrel, my rescuer froze. It finally dawned on him he’d have to grab the squirrel with his bare hands.

  Meanwhile, the squirrel was getting his wits about him. He glanced around and realized freedom was overhead. With a mighty leap, he threw himself at my passenger door. Seeing the furry fuzzball race toward him, Mr. Businessman backed away from the car.

  I took action.

  I pressed the button that rolled down the side window. Recalculating the wind speed, distance, and necessary velocity, the squirrel lung
ed forward once again. Using his back legs as a springboard, the squirrel managed to heave himself up and over the passenger side of my car.

  As my rescuer, Anya, and I watched, the squirrel streaked across the street, and raced up a nearby tree.

  28

  Never had one child experienced so much excitement in a morning.

  Anya begged the squirrel to come back, but thankfully, the rat-with-a-fluffy-tail was not interested in exploring our car further. After making sure that Anya and I were unharmed, Mr. Businessman climbed back in his car. I figured he’d be telling his story to his office co-workers for years to come. It would be the stuff of legends.

  The mums in my passenger seat looked like they’d been caught up in a weed whacker. More importantly, Anya was safe. So was I. No squirrels had been harmed in the making of this memory. Also my car was still drivable, which would not have been the case if we’d tangled with one of the many deer that lived in the St. Louis area.

  Although I shook like one of the leaves in the maple trees overhead, I got us home in one piece.

  Experience is a cruel, but effective, teacher. As I pulled into our garage, I thought about going next door and asking after Sven. I worried about that feeble cry for help he’d made. His bike was still resting on its side, there in the Nordstroms’ yard. But why invite trouble? If Sven was fine — and I figured he was — then he wouldn’t want me to make a fuss about his tumble. If he was ailing, Leesa would answer the door, and that would mean a close encounter of the negative kind.

  I didn’t see any signs of life at the house across the street. Maybe I should leave well enough alone. I’d certainly had enough excitement for one day.

  Rather than check on my neighbor, I hauled Anya out of the car, gave her a snack, changed her diaper, and put her in her crib for a nap. Once that was done, I went downstairs and lifted our new mums out of the car. Rather than put them into the garage, I positioned all of them on the lawn in the locations where I hoped to have them planted. Maybe we could even do it tomorrow. In my mind, I conjured up a fun family activity that would bestow lovely memories on us for years to come. George would dig the holes, I'd plant the flowers, and Anya would see her parents working together as a team.