Chapter Two
Amariah
The smell of coffee and bacon pulled me from my sleep, causing my eyes to flutter open.
The pale pink ceiling above me wasn’t my condo.
A slight bout of panic thumped in my chest as confusion crinkled my forehead.
Then I saw the purple comforter, and it all came rushing back.
Home. My mother hadn’t changed a thing in my room since I was fourteen.
She always loved pink, and I wanted something that showed I was a teenager.
Our compromise was a mix of pink and purple colors.
My adult mind yelled to give this room a makeover, but I knew it reminded my mother of me, so I wouldn’t complain.
My very adult house was in D.C., so that was the new compromise.
I stretched and slipped my feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers I’d found at the bottom of the closet, along with an old pair of flannel pajamas. In my haste to get home, I forgot to pack bedclothes. As I trekked through the hall and down the stairs, I rubbed warmth into my arms.
“Ahh, good morning, sweetheart,” my mother greeted me as I entered the kitchen. Her brows furrowed. “You cold?”
“How could you tell? Still keeping it chilly in here, I see.”
“Pish posh.” She waved off my comment. “This is lightweight weather. I’d think you can handle it, living in D.C. and all.”
She handed me a cup of coffee, which I gladly accepted. I opened the sugar container and added three scoops to my cup before opening the refrigerator to search for milk. I pulled out the container to find it was whole milk.
“By chance, do you have any non-dairy creamer?”
Mama shifted her eyes to me and giggled. “We’re still old-fashioned around here, sweetheart. Whole milk, all dairy.”
Opening the drawer and grabbing a spoon, I stirred my coffee. “It’s okay. I’ll stop by the grocery store later on.”
My mother took the whole milk from the refrigerator and poured some into her cup. “I forgot you’re into that alternative lifestyle craze that’s going around. Before you ask, the bacon is regular. No vegan or turkey.”
Inhale and exhale. Let my mother tell it, I’d gone to the big city and became a bougie hipster. She didn’t understand that not everything you grew up partaking in was good for you, just as not everything new was bad. Sitting in the chair at the kitchen island, I took a sip of my coffee.
“It’s not a craze, Mama. It’s a healthier choice.”
She approached with a plate in her hand and slid it to me. “You trust the FDA and the CDC and all those data and statistical reports from the government. You know who I trust?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
She narrowed her eyes and pointed. “Mr. Hammon at the farmer’s market. He’s been farming since these government officials were their father’s little swimmers. If he says it’s good, then it’s good.”
“Mama!” I gasped, nearly choking on my brew. She shrugged as she set her plate on the island. “That’s not fair. That’s like saying, because I’m young, I don’t know my job.”
“Not saying you don’t. Them either. But there’s something to be said for time and experience.”
“I know that, Mama. There’s also something to be said about proven data.”
She waved her hands. “I don’t want to argue with you. It’s your life. You do what you think is best for you. We’ll have to agree to disagree on some topics,” she said, calling for a ceasefire. “Can we still agree that we should pray over the meal regardless of what it is?”
I extended my hands, and she took them and led us in grace. When she finished, I grabbed a piece of bacon. My mind drifted back to the décor in my bedroom. “We don’t have to disagree,” I said, eating the piece I was holding, “when we can compromise. There’s space for a little old and a little new.”
The corners of Mama’s mouth turned up. She went to the refrigerator, came back with a bowl of fresh fruit, and rinsed it in the sink. Plucking a grape from the bunch, she popped it into her mouth. “Compromise.”
She slid the fruit to me, and I loaded my plate with it. Piercing a stemless strawberry with my fork, I lifted it, and we clinked our forks together. “Compromise.”
Crisis and cow’s milk averted.
As we ate breakfast, Mama caught me up on all the town gossip, mostly about the older ladies her age.
Who would have thought, in their grand, seasoned golden years, that there could be so much drama?
Granted, it was over trivial issues like who stole whose pie recipe and who outdressed whom with ladies’ church hats.
It was as comical as it was nonsensical, but it was enough to rival any daytime soap opera—As Skye Ridge Turns.
As she kept updating me on town news, I slid out of my seat to pour more coffee.
When I reached for the carafe, I spotted a bill on top of the mail basket on the counter with red lettering.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw my mama was focused on her plate, so I tiptoed closer to see that it was a late payment notice for Daddy’s store, proving that it wasn’t just a bill; it was a warning.
What in the world? My breath hitched at the implications of what that notice meant.
Seeing his legacy reduced to the threat of financial ruin pitted my stomach.
I discreetly added more sugar and sat back at the island.
When the conversation paused, I decided to ask about the business that concerned us.
“With Daddy’s illness and health concerns, how have things been at the hardware store?” I stirred my coffee to feign innocence in my questioning.
The sigh she let out told me all I needed to know before she said a word. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. We’ll be all right.”
“Respectfully, Mama, that’s not what I asked you.” Her head cocked to the side, and I raised my hand to stop the rampage she was about to start. “You all are my parents. Our lives are connected. I’m here. How can I help?”
I felt the heaviness of her burdens as she rubbed the worry lines in her forehead. “Business has been declining over the years, and we had to take out a loan to cover the taxes on the store. With your father falling ill, we’ve fallen behind on the loan payments.”
“Mama! Why didn’t you all tell me?”
“You have your life in D.C.—”
“Please don’t do that.” I raised my hand in defense. “I know I have my life there, but that doesn’t mean I’m not concerned about what goes on here.”
Mama scoffed. “Well, that is news to me.”
I tilted my head. “What’s that supposed to mean, Mama?”
She fanned her hands. “Amariah, you rarely come home, and when you do you fly in and out of here faster than Air Force One can get that man to Mar-a-Lago.” I slinked down because she was right, but she also knew the reason. Mama lifted an eyebrow. “But you don’t want to discuss that.”
Huffing, I rubbed my temple with my fingertips. “Mama, don’t do that.”
She tossed her hands up before she offered a half-smile as she patted my hand. “You’re right, sweetheart, but don’t worry. We always land on our feet. We have help at the store, and I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“And I am going to make sure of that.” I slid out of my seat and loaded my dishes into the dishwasher; a luxury I had to insist they accept.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to get showered and dressed, visit Daddy, and head to the store.” Before she could protest, I stormed up the stairs and added, “And you can’t stop me, Mama.”
After checking on my father, I headed straight to Luke’s Hardware, as I promised.
My father had been a business owner long before I was born.
He worked at that store when he was a teenager, back when it was called McArthur’s.
After high school, he worked at Skye Ridge Mills, the local factory, and earned decent wages, while my mother was a home economics teacher and a seamstress by trade.
By the time he was twenty-five, my father had become a manager, and he married my mother.
Since they didn’t have kids, he saved a substantial amount of money and approached McArthur with an offer to buy his store.
Old McArthur didn’t refuse since he was getting older.
My father bought the store and renamed it Luke’s Hardware.
Throughout my life, my father had been his own boss, and I refused to let that dream die.
He bet on himself and instilled that belief in me.
I was determined to bet on that same strength and the education he helped me attain to save his store.
The light snow crunched under the Jeep’s tires as I pulled into a parking spot at the store.
Sitting in the car, I looked around. Not much had changed.
There were a few new businesses, but the same cozy feeling remained.
People were bustling about since it was a Saturday, but one thing I noticed was the lack of Christmas decorations in the stores.
Sure, the city had done its usual job of hanging lighted decorations on the street lamp poles.
A few of the older businesses were decorated, while the newer ones looked plain.
They all seemed to have gone with fall décor instead of a full holiday display.
Still, rustic brown, burnt orange, and deep burgundy didn’t evoke the same spirit of Christmas.