A Change of Heart (29 page)

"Ninety dollars?"
 
Annabeth was shocked.

"What'dya think?
 
Ninety pesos?"
 
Becky picked up the tray, and flipped it over.
 
"It's just so darling," she enthused, noting the designs on the bottom as well as the top.
 
"Make it seventy-five and if it isn't sold by noon tomorrow, mark it down to sixty."

Still clearly unsure, Annabeth complied.
 

Next Becky scrutinized two little shelves, each painted with hearts and flowers.

"I got those from Rum.
 
They were eight each."

Becky nodded.
 
"How many of these do you have?
 
All different, right?"

Annabeth nodded.
 
"I have six of them."

"You never run out of ideas, do you!
 
I'm just so impressed with you."

"Well, I don't always remember what I've painted in the past, but now I photograph everything after I finish it."

"Oh, make a scrap book.
 
That's a wonderful idea. Think I'll do that myself.
 
Now, let's see.
 
I don't think you can get eighty for these since they're new, not one of a kind finds.
 
How about fifty?"

Annabeth gulped.
 
"Are you sure?"

"Okay, maybe forty.
 
Try for forty-five.
 
You know, I think you need to go on a shopping expedition.
 
Check out some stuff."

"Everyone suggests that."

"I love these wooden plates.
 
Though why anyone would buy a plain wooden plate, I can't imagine.
 
Okay, how many?"

"Six, but some are round and some octagonal.
 
They were about three each, some a little more, a little less."

"I gotta check out more flea markets.
 
Seems to me there's a better profit margin that way.
 
Forty is probably too much."

"Forty!
 
I would have charged ten."

Becky shook her head.
 
"Are you a charity or an artist?
 
Twenty five, no, twenty-eight."

"Wow."

They continued like that until Annabeth had little stickers on everything.
 

The prices were just too high, she was certain of it, but if she didn't sell anything the first day, she could reduce them for the second.
 
Or try some stores if they don't sell at all.
 
At least they were having a nice day.
 
Annabeth glanced at her watch.
 
Nine.
 
No sales.

Becky smiled.
 
"Don't worry.
 
Things never get going till ten.
 
See, look how many more people are walking around now.
 
Why don't we have some food and relax.
 
I brought sandwiches and cupcakes as a treat."
 
Becky reached in her bag, pulled out the lunch and offered some to Annabeth.

Annabeth nodded. "Me, too.
 
Sandwiches and cookies.
 
And carrot sticks."

"We make a good team."
 
The women divvied up the food and sat relaxing together in the collapsible chairs they had brought along with them.

"Did your husband mind that you came with me today, instead of him I mean?"

"I hate to say it, but he was kind of relieved.
 
He wanted to play golf.
 
It's nicer now that the weather is a little cooler and he doesn't always want to come with me, but he feels guilty about sending me out all alone.
 
It's a lot of work sometimes."

"He sounds so nice."

"He has his moments.
 
You'll have to come over to our house for supper one night.
 
Then you can meet him."
 
Becky reached back into her bag for her wallet, which contained a plastic fold-out for pictures, which she happily handed to Annabeth.

"Thanks, I'd love to meet him.
 
Oh, is this him?"

"Not Harrison Ford!"

Annabeth smiled.
 
"Oh and these are grandchildren, huh?"

Becky nodded.

"Aren't they just darling!
 
I can't wait to have grandchildren.
 
My daughter in New Orleans was lecturing me that there's more to life than marriage, so I guess I'll have to depend on my younger daughter."
 

An older woman, walking arm in arm with someone much younger, probably a granddaughter, approached.
 

"Gran, look at these.
 
How darling."

"Cute."
 
The woman held up the tray, causing Annabeth to wish they hadn't overpriced it.

"It has a tea pot on the bottom.
 
How sweet."

Feeling nervous, but wanting to help, Annabeth said, "I have two other trays."
 
She reached under the table and pulled them out.

"Oh!" enthused the girl.
 
"Each one cuter than the last.
 
And I love this little jewelry box."

The older woman reached into her purse, removed her wallet, counted out some cash and handed it to Annabeth.
 
Hugging her granddaughter, she commented, "For your hope chest."

When they were out of ear shot, Annabeth commented to Becky, "I don't believe it."

"Yeah, maybe we should have charged more."

Annabeth shook her head.
 
"You're too much!"

The day progressed well, and in between dealing with customers, Annabeth and Becky had time for little snippets of casual conversation.
 
At five they began packing up what was left.

"I'd say we did well.
 
We have just enough to sell tomorrow," said Becky.

"It was an amazing day.
 
I can't believe I made this much money."

"It was a good show.
 
There will be several more between now and Christmas.
 
Will you be able to get all the weekends off?"

"Probably not all, but some.
 
Oh, Becky, thank you so much for inviting me.
 
I could never have done this without all your help."

"I made twice what I usually make, and it was because of your designs, so I'd say we did each other a service."

Annabeth nodded.

"And tomorrow we'll sell the rest of this stuff."

"Amazing."

By Sunday night, Annabeth was exhausted.
 
She sat on the bed in her robe, after a long hot shower.
 
Becky was right.
 
It was a lot of work going to those shows.
 
And imagine how it was for the craftspeople with breakable items.
 
All that wrapping.
 
But it was worth it.
 
Annabeth tossed a sheaf of bills onto the bed and then counted them.
 
She really was making progress.
 
But it was a long way from what she had to what she'd need.
 
Annabeth returned all but twenty dollars to the tin, then placed it under some sweaters in a drawer.
 
This was too much cash to be sitting about.

Looking around the empty bedroom, she listened to the quiet in the house, breathed in the safety of her home.
 
She would save this place yet.
 
She lay on her bed, relaxing, and let her thoughts wander.
 
This was the first moment she'd had to think in a long time.
 
A sensation floated up into her consciousness, one of strength and self-sufficiency.
 
Maybe she could make her own money.
 
She already had.
 
She could survive without R.J., but the real question was how could she be happy?
 

She thought then of George Healy.
 
Random notions, scattered like wildflowers, teased her.
 
He was a wonderful lover.
 
It had been so long.
 
She must be crazy; she didn't even know him.
 
He seemed like a nice man, didn't he?
 
But would she ever see him again?
 
It had been four days.
 
He could have called.
 
He didn't remember her name.
 
Yes he did; it just took a while.
 
How long does a man wait to call these days?
 
He would have had to ask Doug for her number.
 
Maybe he didn't want to.
 
Or felt strange about it.
 
It had been so long.
 
Anyone would have been good.
 
No, how was that possible?
 
She just didn't know anything about it.
 
How would she?
 
She could call him and apologize for Sally barging in like that.
 
She could ask Doug for his number.
 
He'd know it.
 
Oh, no, she could never do that.
 
Wouldn't he be in the phone book?
 
Annabeth reached into the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out the phone book, causing a packet of photos to fall onto the floor.
 
Leaning down, she snatched up the photos, tossed them on the bed, then flipped through the pages of the phone book.
 
Healy, George.
 
He was the only one.
 
She glanced at the clock.
 
Nine.
 
Too late to call a stranger.
 
A stranger!
 
Maybe she should have thought of that before tumbling into bed with him.
 
It had been so long.
 
She reached for the phone, lifted the receiver, then replaced it.
 
What was she thinking?
 
Calling a man like that?
 
It was crazy.
 
She was just lonely.
 
She could stop into the bar, casually, see if he were there.
 
Go all alone?
 
No, of course not.
 
Yes she could.
 
She sighed then and opened the packet of photos.
 
She had done so much work in such a short time, and it wasn't bad, not bad at all.
 
When she came to the last photos, she stopped.
 
They were the Polaroids taken at the mall.
 
Annabeth paused for a long time, staring at her own image.
 
Then she reached into the drawer once more, pulling out a separate packet, the one containing the Glamour Poses proofs. Exhausted, she lay back against the pillow until she drifted off to sleep, the photos lying on the bed beside her.

The next evening, Annabeth resolved to see Sally once again.
 
After work she drove to the apartment Sally shared with Jackson and knocked on the door, carrying a basket of Sally's favorite cookies.
 
She could hear the stereo playing, then Sally opened the door, surprised to see her.

"Mom," she said quietly, "This isn't a good time."
 
There was concern on her face.

"Annabeth," said Jackson coming to the door.
 
At least he was smiling.
 
"I didn't know you were joining us.
 
Come on in."

Annabeth smiled and walked through the door, suddenly realizing why Sally had hesitated.
 
Maggie and Hugh sat on the couch sipping glasses of wine.
 
It was apparently a dinner party.

Hugh rose from his seat, greeting her warmly with a hug, "Annabeth!
 
How nice to see you.
 
It's been too long."

Maggie nodded stiffly, a scowl on her face as Annabeth stood in Hugh's embrace.

"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt.
 
You go on without me.
 
I can stop back by tomorrow."

Hugh looked surprised, but Maggie was clearly relieved she wouldn't be joining them.
 
Sally, unwilling to embarrass her further, stepped in.
 
"I had invited Mom but her schedule at work was up in the air so we kept it loose.
 
Come and sit down, why don't you?
 
We always have plenty of food, I told you that."

"So how are you?" asked Hugh.
 
"We've missed you."

"I've missed you too," said Annabeth, looking openly at both Maggie and Hugh.
 
She scrutinized Maggie's face.
 
Something flickered across it, but what?

"Let me just check on everything," said Sally.

"I'll help you."
 
Annabeth followed her daughter into the kitchen, where they could speak privately.
 
"I'm sorry to just show up like this.
 
It didn't occur to me you'd be busy."

"It's all right," said Sally.