Chapter 16
Look, but don’t touch. Look, but don’t touch.
I should have been ashamed, but I couldn’t pull myself away from the kitchen window.
Olla’s stilted house practically gave me a bird’s-eye view into Henry’s pool.
Enthralled, I watched his long, lean arms slice through the water.
Lap after lap. Look, but don’t touch. My elbow slipped, plunging me into the warm dishwater, effectively snapping me out of my gawking.
“Serves me right.” Shaking my head, I finished washing the last bowl in the sink and placed it in the dish rack. I grabbed a towel and tried drying off my sleeve but it was saturated. Giving up, I darted upstairs, swapped shirts, and hustled to the front door.
I searched my bag for lip balm while slipping my feet into my Birkenstock sandals.
My hand hit against the side pocket, making the contents inside rattle.
Taking a moment, I unzipped it and fingered through my brightly colored AA sobriety chips.
Eight in total so far. My counselor told me to keep them close to help remind me of how far I’ve come.
Tucked away in a side pocket wasn’t doing me much good.
An idea came to me but I was already running behind to meet Bekah, so that would have to wait until later.
I wrapped the strap of my bag across my chest, picked up the hatbox by the door, and headed outside.
Today I would only be bringing one hat and a dozen sets of earrings and an assortment of bracelets.
All the items fit easily enough in one hatbox, which could be placed in the oversized basket on the front of my sixteen-year-old mint-green beach bicycle.
No need to take the Caddy out for such a short trip.
After stowing my bike between the building and a big palmetto tree, I grabbed the hatbox and made my way inside.
Notes of fresh citrus mingled with the salty scent.
The designated perfume of all old buildings near the coast. How could any building sit this close to the ocean and not absorb its briny aroma?
Bekah waved, acknowledging me, but she was busy with a customer at the register, so I walked around and explored.
The boutique looked much the same as it did when I was a kid.
Coastal shabby chic aged well. The walls were still the faintest robin’s-egg blue and the windows were dressed in light-pink shutters, as if the sun had poured in and bleached away most of the color.
Bleached wood floors and driftwood chandeliers lent to the coastal theme without being so obvious.
“Aren’t you Olla’s granddaughter?”
I jolted, spinning around to find an elderly lady staring up at me. “Uh . . . yes, ma’am.”
“I’m Winona. Olla and I used to play bunco together over at Essie’s house at the end of Poe Avenue.” She placed a hand on her chest. “I sure miss the ole girl.”
“I do too.” I vaguely remembered Winona, mostly that she liked to talk nonstop.
“It’s a shame you lost your husband and her so close together like that.” She clucked her tongue. “Such a shame. But at least you have that baby girl, right? How old is she now?”
“Umm . . .” In my peripheral vision, I noticed Bekah come to stand beside us. “She’ll be three soon.”
“Aww, that’s just something. What’d ya name her? After Olla, I hope. That woman was so excited about becoming a great-grandmother again.”
“Her name is Fern Olla Wilder.”
Winona gripped my forearm with her tiny, wrinkled hand. “I love it! And I know your grandmother would have too.” Her cloudy blue eyes narrowed. “Why doesn’t she have her father’s last name?”
“He loved the name Wilder, so he changed his instead when we got married.”
“What was his last name?”
“Smith.” I shrugged, trying to keep the mood light when I felt far from it. Arlo’s personality was too big for Smith. Wilder fit that wild man perfectly, and just talking about him struck me with a profound sadness.
“Smith isn’t bad, but I like Wilder better too.” Winona squeezed my arm one last time and let go. “Bekah, dear, did you get my blue seersucker dress in for the Fourth?”
Bekah gave me a sad smile, then turned toward Winona. “Yes, ma’am. Would you like to try it on?”
The holiday was still three weeks away, but I guess some folks liked to be prepared well in advance.
“Nah. Just ring me up, honey.” Winona made her way to the register and said over her shoulder, “Junie, come see me sometime.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I didn’t have a clue where she lived and didn’t feel like asking.
I had more important things on my mind. I was pretty sure as soon as Winona left, Bekah would have lots of questions about what she’d just overheard and my answers would probably lead to this opportunity being snatched away.
Once Winona left, Bekah led me to a small round table with an empty hat display.
“I think we should set you up here for a test run. See how the pieces sell. We can do it on consignment to begin with and I’ll keep twenty percent commission.
I looked it up and that’s the going rate. If you’re good with it.”
“Sounds good to me.”
We made quick work of arranging my items on the table. Bekah added a vase of creamy white flowers and placed a few lace napkins underneath the sets of earrings to add texture to the table.
I straightened a bracelet. “I suppose you want to ask me about my husband and daughter.”
“I told my mother I ran into you and she filled me in a little bit. She said your husband died in an accident shortly before Miss Olla passed. I remember Arlo, sort of . . . I met him at that bonfire a long time ago. I’m really sorry, Junie.
” Bekah gave me a pitying look, one I didn’t want, especially if she didn’t know the part of my story that landed me in jail and rehab.
“Momma said you have a small child but didn’t know any more details than that. ”
“I . . . She’s staying the summer with my brother and . . .”
“We don’t have to talk about it unless you want to.”
“I . . .” I started again, but a group of young women walked over to the table. They were a garden of Lilly Pulitzer patterns with shiny sandals on their feet. Their oversized Kate Spade bags seemed to emphasize their shopping mission.
A very tall brunette plucked the hat off the stand and tried it on. “Oh my gosh. I need this hat!”
The others oohed and aahed as she modeled it. Then they each took turns wearing it and I feared they were getting makeup on the inner part. Surely, one of them would buy it.
“This is the designer, Junie Wilder.” Bekah placed her hand on my shoulder.
A redhead gasped as she took her turn modeling my hat. “The designer! What a treat!”
“Let us know if you have any questions.” Bekah motioned for me to follow her to the counter to give them some space to explore, but it was hard for me to look away. They were practically manhandling my poor defenseless hat.
In a tornado of giggles and loud chatter about lunch reservations, the women left the displays in disarray without buying a darn thing.
I hustled to the table and put my items back to order, checking for makeup on the hat. I sighed in relief. “They must have been wearing magical setting spray over their makeup. At least they didn’t dirty the hat.”
Bekah rehung a few sundresses they’d left on the hangers haphazardly. “Same with these dresses.”
I noticed one of the earrings had a bend in it and tried to straighten it.
Those women had just manhandled my livelihood like it meant nothing, but it meant everything to me.
Each piece I sold was one step closer to being able to take care of my child.
They’d just cost me a step, and I wanted to chase them down and scream at them for it.
I held up the ruined earring for Bekah to see. “I’ll have to take this home to repair it. How do you not blow a gasket when people treat your stuff so poorly, then don’t even buy anything?”
“It’s part of the business.” She picked up a coin purse from the floor and returned it to a display. “More times than not, customers buy something. And who knows, they may come back and make some purchases after their lunch.”
“I guess you’re right.” I moved toward the door and stopped before pushing it open. “Thank you, Bekah, for this opportunity. Really. Thank you.”
Her smile blossomed, spreading to her eyes. “You’re welcome. See you soon.”
I pedaled home and took my phone out to the deck while trying to calculate the time in the UK. My parents should be home from work, so I pulled up my mother’s contact and FaceTimed her.
Mom’s face filled the screen. “Junie! How are you?”
“Good.”
Dad joined her. “There’s my girl.”
“Yep. Here I am.”
“Anything new?”
“Actually, yes. Remember my childhood friend Bekah Chaney?”
They both nodded, but I could tell by their cloudy expressions they didn’t.
“We hung out a lot when I stayed with Olla in the summers.”
“Oh . . .” Mom nodded but still the cloudiness remained.
My parents tended to get so absorbed in their own bubble of life that they hardly registered anything outside of it. I’m sure the thousands of miles they put between them and family made that all the easier.
I often wondered if the right amount of attention on me instead of on their adventures would have made a difference.
I tried to picture my father as the stern type, ready to scare off any boy who came sniffing around his daughter.
Cy filled in for my father the best he knew how, but Arlo used to take Cy’s threats as challenges.
He’d figured out my brother’s buttons early on and pressed them at any opportunity, but I had a feeling Arlo wouldn’t have done that with my father.
“Well anyway, she took over her mom’s boutique here on the island and she’s carrying my hats and accessories.”
“That’s great, sweetheart.” Mom beamed. Cy had her smile. Their lips almost disappeared when they smiled, showing off what seemed like too many teeth. “What kind of hats?”
I’d texted her pictures of my booth from the farmer’s market. Would it have killed her to take the time to pay attention to a simple text from her own daughter? “Western.”
“That sounds fun,” Dad commented.
“Yep.” I wanted to end this uncomfortable conversation but I had to ask an uncomfortable question first. “Dad, did . . . uh . . . did Olla happen to leave an inheritance for me?”
Dad shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think it’s all tied up in the house. You’ll have to ask your brother.”
Everything my parents said rubbed me wrong today, so before I could rein it in, I fired back. “But she was your mother. Isn’t this something you should know?”
Dad finally focused. “Well, I’m sorry, but Cy is the executor of Mom’s estate. She made that choice. Not me.”
No wonder my brother was so bitter. The weight of this family had always landed on his shoulders.
“Do you need money?” Mom piped in, playing peacemaker.
“No ma’am. Just curious.” Of course I needed money. New tires for the Caddy set me way back and I still needed to get Fern a proper bed. “Well, I just wanted to say hey. I’ll let y’all go.”
“Oh wait. How about flipping the screen so we can see the beach? I really miss the ocean!”
She really missed the ocean? Not me? Not my brother? Not her grandchildren? Just the ocean.
“We’re not that far from an ocean here,” Dad spoke.
“Yes, but we’re too busy to get near it,” Mom told him.
I flipped the screen and angled it to show them the ocean sparkling from the sun overhead.
Beyond our yard, set up on the beach, parents were lounging in chairs while children ran around squealing with beach pails and shovels in hand.
A good-humored buzz of conversation could be heard above the roar of the incoming waves.
“Ahhh . . .” Mom sighed. “It’s breathtaking, isn’t it, Rupert?”
“Yes, dear.”
Mom clucked her tongue. “Junie, that Rosa setigera is in serious need of deadheading.”
My eyes moved over to the orangey-pink roses peeping over the railing. Completely covering the trellis below the deck, that climbing rosebush had to be at least twelve feet tall. Why she couldn’t just call it the prairie rose or simply the pink rosebush was beyond me. “I’ll take care of it.”
“You should tend to it at least two times this summer. It helps to encourage growth.”
I nodded, clamping my lips together instead of saying something I’d regret. Like, if you tended to your children the way you do plants then perhaps that would encourage their growth as well.
“The rich salmon color is so gorgeous. It really pops with the ocean as the backdrop.” Mom continued mooning over the plant as my arm tired of holding up the phone.
“Okay, guys, I really do need to get to work.”
We said our goodbyes. After ending the call, I shot Cy a quick text. Hey. Did Olla leave us an inheritance?
Surprisingly, Cy responded right away. Lady Indigo.
I rolled my eyes. Besides the house.
She put the money in a trust to maintain the house. Taxes, insurance, upkeep. Stuff like that.
OK.
I’m not giving you money.
I fired back. I’m not asking for any!
Fed up with my entire family, I stormed into my room and inventoried my jewelry box. The only pieces of any value were my wedding ring set and a double-strand pearl necklace my parents gave me on my sixteenth birthday.
I slid the rings on my finger and took a moment to admire the glittering diamonds until tears distorted my view.
I intended to pass this down to my daughter in the future, but her needs now outweighed the sentiment.
Besides, the rings or the necklace had no practical purpose.
The rings couldn’t bring Arlo back, any more than the pearls could bridge the gap between me and my parents.
After googling local pawnshops, I picked the one with the best reviews. Not giving myself time to dwell on it for fear of changing my mind, I grabbed the jewelry and set out.
It’s wild how something intended to last a lifetime was gone in minutes. The pawnshop guy did me as dirty as the car dealer, but I left with enough to get my daughter a bed and that was all that mattered.
Needing to do something to right this awful mood besides going on a bender, I returned home and decided to work on a personal project.
Something just for me. I rummaged around the storage room and found one of my old paintings.
Just a simple beach scene that wasn’t all that good.
I brought it to the workroom, along with my AA chips, to work on a proper reminder of how far I’d come.