Favorable Conditions
By Kathleen Kole
Copyright 2011 Kathleen Kole
Smashwords Edition
***
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
***
For Peter: Truly, madly, deeply.
***
Chapter One
Pat zipped clear packing tape across the top of the last cardboard box on her daughter’s bedroom floor.
“Done,” she groaned as she let the black dispenser slip from her hand, then pulled herself upright from her crouch beside the box. Man, her knees were not what they used to be.
Pat inhaled the fragrant, lily-like perfume of the Evening Stock she’d planted in the white window box outside and listened to snippets of conversation drifting in through the screen. The kids were loading the van in the driveway and they sounded so eager and excited, she had to smile. Despite it being a tough day for her, it was a thrilling one for Crystal.
She smoothed back the strands of brown hair that had escaped her ponytail and perched gingerly on the stripped double bed. The time has arrived, she thought, while taking stock of what remained in the room; not much.
The art posters had been pulled down to reveal faded pink walls in serious need of a fresh coat of paint. The purple shag throw rugs were rolled up and packed away, leaving nothing but pale hardwood and dust bunnies. And, all of the girl clutter that had decorated Crystal’s dresser and nightstand had been carefully wrapped up, exposing worn surfaces and permanent water rings in the pine.
Pat sighed. My youngest child, my baby girl, is moving away to College, she thought, discovering in that very instant she was simultaneously happy and horrified. Happy for Crystal because she was expanding her horizons and venturing out into a life beyond her childhood doors, but horrified for herself in the face of the realization that her work in the Motherhood trenches had come to a halt. She was now officially on the sidelines; only to be contacted when advice, or money, was needed.
At least that was her experience with her son.
Michael, while a decent and kind young man, was pretty much typical of his gender. In the past two years since he’d moved out to College, he called when something triggered his memory; or when he had girl trouble; or needed extra cash. Pat couldn’t help herself and smiled. God how she loved her kids, warts and all.
The first bars of Vivaldi, The Four Seasons, emanated from Pat’s jean pocket, jarring her from her mental musing. She pulled out her phone and answered, “Hello?”
“Hey, you! How are things going? Getting it done?”
Pat grinned at the warm, kind voice in her ear. It was her best friend, Melanie. “Oh yeah, it’s going,” she replied, while silently debating upon standing back up, or letting herself fall back onto the mattress.
“Kent’s a blonde blur of energy, tossing Crystal’s stuff around like it’s the weight of feathers and I’m...” She paused, yawned, and then chuckled into the phone before she admitted her truth. “Definitely not eighteen anymore.”
Melanie laughed out loud.
“Seriously,” Pat insisted, a bubble of humor just beneath the surface of her words. “I’m sitting here on Crystal’s bed and I feel like all of my muscles have banded together in mutiny. It’s like I’m suddenly sixty five, instead of forty five. Although, don’t tell my Dad I said that. Otherwise, he’ll be pulling up to my doorstep and challenging me to a push-up competition, just to prove that age is all in my head.”
“Okay,” Melanie said. “So, other than the fact that your body is giving out, how are you holding up?”
“Oh, well.” Pat tugged on the hem of her green tee-shirt and even though Melanie couldn’t see her, shrugged her tired shoulders. “I’m okay. Or, rather, I’ll be okay.”
“And that means what, exactly?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Never mind me. Just the same foolish stuff.”
Melanie was quiet, waiting.
Pat sighed and let herself fall backward into the mattress. She could hear Kent, the aforementioned blonde blur and Crystal’s long standing boyfriend, teasing Crystal in the driveway below and was struck once more by how time had flown by.
“I know I’ve done the job I was supposed to do. And, believe me, I’m thrilled that both Crystal and Michael have become amazing, self-sufficient adults.”
“But?”
“But,” Pat admitted, letting her limbs go limp on the pillow-top. “I guess I’m just feeling a bit in over my head and trying to remember how to tread water and breath at the same time.”
“Oh, Pat,” Melanie soothed, her voice full of caring concern. “It’s all going to be okay. It’ll just take a bit of time and then things will be fine.”
Pat nodded silently and swallowed over the lump that had formed in her throat the moment the truth was out.
“We’ve talked about this, right? You’ve had a lot of changes in the past year and a half - and I mean a lot. But, once you adapt to this new normal, things are going to be great. More than great.”
“I know, I know. You’re right. I think I’m just tired out and making this harder than I need to.” Pat cleared her throat and took a breath. “Oh hell. I hear the kids. I don’t want to freak them out with my theatrics.”
“Enough said,” Melanie replied. “Do you want me to come over later?”
“No. I think I need to do this first night on my own, you know?”
“Kind of like a rite of passage?”
Pat grinned. “Exactly. I’m going to be here by myself now whether I like it or not, I may as well jump in with both feet.”
“Understood. But, you know you can call me later if you need to talk, right?”
Pat took another deep breath and exhaled. “Of course. Thanks, Mel.”
“No need. Go look perky. Love you.”
“You, too. Bye.” Pat smiled at the phone and hung up, feeling a lot steadier than she had just moments earlier.
“Last one!” Kent strode purposefully into the bedroom, his enthusiastic voice echoing off the naked walls. He stopped dead when he saw Pat sprawled across the bed. “Whoa. You okay, Mrs. K?”
Pat laughed and ignored her protesting back muscles as she sat upright. “Yes, I’m fine. Just taking a breather and updating Melanie on our progress.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, before effortlessly hauling the final box from the floor up to his shoulder. Pat grimaced, sure her tired muscles were groaning in sympathy.
“What is it?” he asked, watching her face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Pat nodded and stuffed her phone back into her pocket. “Fine. Really. Just wincing on your behalf.”
Kent grinned, his friendly face so open and full of promise that Pat wanted to pinch his cheeks. “No need,” he told her, his strong arm wrapped securely around the box. “This has been one of the easier moves I’ve helped on in a while.”
“Well, la-di-da, rub it in,” she teased, knowing full well that the box on his shoulder contained Crystal’s weighty paperbacks. “The last thing I’m carrying today is going to be that tape dispenser.”
Kent chuckled and shook his head, his short blonde hair gleaming in the sunshine streaming through the bedroom window. “Got it. No more lifting for you.”
“Did everything fit okay in the van?” she asked as he turned to carry the box out to the door.
“Easily,” he replied, over his shoulder, before he left the room. “Even have space for more, if we needed it.”
Pat listened to the sound of his footsteps as he rapidly descended the staircase and sighed into the silence. She glanced briefly at the tape dispenser, then turned toward the window to distract herself by watching the squirrels in the tree branches leaning across the driveway. They were natural comedians; rushing around at speed and then stopping to chatter at Kent as he emerged from the house with the box perched on his shoulder.
“Mom?” Crystal’s voice, full of concern, called to Pat from the bedroom doorway. “Kent said you were lying down? You okay?”
Speak of the devil, Pat thought, straightening her shoulders and smoothing the front of her tee-shirt. She’d been so internally absorbed, she hadn’t heard her daughter’s footsteps on the stairs.
Show time, she told herself and plastered a carefree smile onto her face. Her melancholy had absolutely no place there. It was Crystal’s moment, her time to spread her wings and there was no way in hell Pat was going to clip them before her daughter had even had a chance to try them out.
“Of course I am,” she replied, lightly, as she twisted away from the window. “I told Kent I was just taking a breather. What reason would I have to not be okay?”
“Well,” Crystal hedged as she pushed her mussed auburn waves from her face. “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. You just seemed so solemn standing there.”
Pat watched Crystal fidget and knew that going off to College, to live with Kent, was pushing her to her limits. She had always been a sensitive child, had always had difficulty with change and Pat imagined that the mere thought there was a chance her Mother might be in turmoil was more than Crystal could bear.
She need not have worried. Pat was strong enough for both of them.
“Okay, fine. If you must know,” Pat said, crossing the room to join her in the doorway. “I was thinking about my gorgeous and talented daughter getting ready to take her first steps into the world, embarking upon her exciting adventure at College.”
Crystal, her brown eyes bright with a mixture of anticipation and just a touch of nervous fear, grinned. Pat looked into her face and felt her heart clutch; she looked so much as she had when she’d gone off to her first day of school, it was almost painful. Deep breaths, she silently counseled herself. Keep it together.
“It is exciting,” Crystal agreed, pulling at the bottom of her hot pink tee-shirt and shifting from one sandaled foot to the other.
Pat wrapped a loving arm around her daughter’s slim shoulders. “I’m thrilled for you, Sweetie. Thrilled and a little jealous. Maybe I’ll tag along, get Kent to pack me into the truck with your stuff.”
“And, more than a little unnerving, too.”
“Oh, phooey, you’ll be just fine,” Pat stated, confidently, gripping Crystal’s shoulder. “Haven’t you got Kent, your strong, sturdy, gorgeous hunk of a man right there with you? You’ll be hard pressed to have to lift a finger. He’ll help you every step of the way.”
Crystal giggled at Pat’s description of Kent and she knew she’d hit the right note. The pair of them had been an item for three years - since Crystal had started high school. Pat remembered very well the day that Crystal had zoomed enthusiastically into the house, her eyes dancing for the boy that had caused her heart to turn summersaults. Even her older brother hadn’t been able to deflate her zeal with his taunts and teasing.
Of course, according to Kent - a grade ahead of Crystal at the time - the attraction had been completely mutual. He was fond of telling anyone who would listen that he had taken one look at Crystal at the school welcome assembly and had fallen hook, line and sinker. He had known he wouldn’t rest until he’d asked her out on a date.
As though on cue, Kent bounded up the staircase two at a time, all smiles. Pat fully admitted to herself, and anyone else, she adored him like a second son and held sincere hope that he and Crystal’s relationship would survive the new terrain of College.
“Alrighty, Darlin’, that’s got it all. Time to hit the road.” Kent glanced from mother to daughter and hesitated. “Sorry, did I interrupt?”
“No, no.” Pat waved her hand dismissively and gave Crystal’s shoulder one last squeeze before she let her go. “I think we’re done here. Right, Honey?”
Crystal nodded, her giggles subsiding to be replaced by pale lips gone tight with suppressed emotion. She tucked her long hair behind her ears, blinked furiously as her eyes began to brim with unshed tears and quickly looked away.
Pat ached to reach out and hug her tight, but knew it would only make it worse. Instead, she swallowed against the lump that had reformed in her throat, while Crystal sniffled and squared her shoulders and followed Kent back down the stairs.
Pat watched her go, both proud and heart broken. The stripped bedroom was still and silent, never again to be draped in an assortment of discarded clothes, shoes and candy wrappers; nor the giggles and whispers of girls up long past their slumber party bedtime. At least, not while Pat resided there.
Her nest was truly empty, nothing left but her and her thoughts to fill the rooms of the once full house.
***
“Dah-na-na-na, na-na-na.” Pat hummed to herself as she stripped her sweatpants from her waist, stepped out of them and turned to rummage through the clothes in her wardrobe. She’d missed the light switch on her way into the bedroom, then the switch to illuminate her closet, so the room was in shadows, making her quest a bit more of a challenge.
“Ah-ha!” She exhaled, then grabbed the edge of the closet frame to save herself being knocked out by the fumes from her own whiskey laden breath. She wasn’t exactly what you could call an experienced drinker - far from it. Pat even liked to joke that if you were to look in the dictionary next to the word ‘teetotaler’, it wouldn’t be that much of a surprise to see her picture. Ha-ha.
“Okay, Patricia,” she said, having decided a few months back that one of the perks of being husbandless was being able to talk to yourself out loud. “Your time has finally arrived. You’re free, you have no responsibilities and it’s show time.”
Pat pulled a man-styled, pink dress shirt from its hanger, slipped it around her shoulders to cover her tee-shirt and white cotton underwear and fumbled clumsily with the buttons. Whew, maybe that last whiskey and cola had been a bit stronger than she’d intended.
“Well, whatever,” she slurred slightly and gave each one of her white socked feet a small shake. “It’s time to celebrate and damn it, that’s what I’m gonna do.”
Pat spun jerkily on her heel, marched through her bedroom doorway and down the stairs - narrowly avoiding a mishap on the bottom creaky step that could have sent her sliding feet first into the foyer - and listed unsteadily into the living room toward the stereo.
“Dah-na-na-na, na-na-na!” she sang loudly, then grabbed the stereo remote in one hand, took a large gulp from a water glass on the coffee table filled with whiskey and cola with the other and, finally, paused for dramatic effect.
“Ready?” she asked her invisible audience, before releasing a spectacular belch that sent her into a fit of giggles; sputtering and gasping. “Okay, okay,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Focus.”
She frowned to make her face serious and pointed the remote at the stereo. “Three, two, one,” she counted, then clicked play and waited a beat for the familiar piano keys to rumble loudly through the speakers.
At the sound of the first keys, Pat grabbed one of the tall white candle sticks atop her fireplace, whipped around and ran toward the living room entrance; letting her feet slide as she crossed the hardwood floorboards that marked the threshold.
“Just take those old records off the shelf!” she sang robustly along with Bob Seger, before almost losing her footing like a person slipping on a banana peel in an old black and white movie.
“Whoops!” she yelped, catching herself and narrowly missing planting her almost naked backside on the floor. She chortled, spun around and tried to march cockily with the beat toward her fireplace.
“Today’s music ain’t got the same soul!” she chanted the third line of the song as she grabbed hold of her mantle and stamped her candle stick forcefully back down. “I like that old time rock and roll!”
“Wooo!” she bellowed and whipped herself rockily around, ready to dance.
“Don’t try to take me to a disco!” she tipsily harmonized, while trying to throw out her best Saturday Night Fever moves. Wrong choice.
As Bob sang, “You’ll never even get me out on the floor,” Pat overshot her disco arm and smacked her five foot, brushed nickel floor lamp upside its cream linen shade, sending it speedily to the floor with a noisy clatter.
“Ooh!” she exclaimed, shuffling backward in surprise. That was unexpected. So much so that, instead of being upset, the crash cracked her up.
Pat began to chuckle, then giggle, and finally, to laugh hysterically; causing her to lurch gracelessly around her coffee table like a dizzy toddler - all the while Bob Seger singing, “Still like that old time a-rock and roll. That kinda music just soothes the soul.”
“Okay.” Pat self-counseled, teetering on unsteady legs and took a breath. “Back on the horse!” She started to chicken-strut to the beat, back and forth across the polished floor, letting her socked feet slide as she reveled in the feeling of the slick surface.
“Here it comes!” she cheered, getting ready to let fly as Bob’s voice was replaced by the swell of the music.
“Dah-na-na-na, na-na-na-na,” she mumbled as she twisted and shimmied, then awkwardly attempted to do a half-split on the floor. “Oh!” she yelped, when her barely covered butt hit the area rug with a solid thump and she had to half scoot and half crawl her way out of her maneuver.
Back on her feet, Pat shook it off and glanced at the sofa with a smile. Oh yeah, you know it, she thought, with a large cheesy grin. If Tom could do it...
She took a deep breath and while the guitars wailed and the crowd cheered, Pat launched herself joyously backward toward the cushions. She almost made it. Almost.
“Auggg!” she blurted, when her tailbone hit the sofa frame instead of the pillows and she flopped like a rag doll, half on and half off the furniture. She should have thought it out more, or had less to drink. Or, maybe more to drink. Who could tell?
Pat let her body go limp and oozed down the front of the sofa onto the rug. And, as the last cords of the song faded away to be replaced by silence, she reached for her glass and sighed.
“Cheers,” she said, lifting her drink in a salute. For better or worse, life was turning a corner.
***
Chapter Two
Main Street was the antithesis of hustling and bustling. Granted it was still early, a good half hour before most of the shopkeepers would open their doors, and for that Pat was grateful. She was on a quest for coffee - hot, strong coffee that she could stand a spoon in - and trying to negotiate through a steady stream of shoppers, while walking with a limp from the huge bruise that decorated her tailbone like a tramp stamp gone terribly wrong, sounded like more than she could bear.
Hidden under a baggy, beige jacket and peering from behind oversized sunglasses that both disguised and protected her bloodshot blue eyes from the early morning glare, Pat silently cursed herself for not parking closer to her destination.
“Not your brightest shining hour, Pat,” she muttered under her breath, then caught herself before she spoke any further.
God, it was happening. She’d become so used to talking out loud to herself when she was in the house alone, she’d lost her social filter for when she walked out her front door. What was next? Accosting shelf stockers in the supermarket?
Wincing her way past the real estate office, Pat hesitated. It had been so long since she’d done it... Ah, well, they say old habits die hard, she thought, wryly, before leaning forward to squint at the bright orange piece of paper plastered onto the other side of the shiny glass; displaying the newest properties available on the market.
She and her ex-husband, in what felt like another lifetime, used to peruse the listings every weekend when they brought the kids out for some fresh air and ice cream. It had become an almost family ritual, to search for that one-of-a-kind find that might have the potential to shake up their safe world.
“Pah!” Pat exhaled sharply in defiance of the memories. Clearly, she hadn’t needed a house to shake things up. Stephen, in his Houdini inspired, disappearing husband act, had done that all by himself.
Damn it, Pat thought, annoyed at herself for wasting any more thoughts on such an outdated subject. He’d left, eighteen months had passed, enough already. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and began to turn away, only to hesitant again when one listing on the bright paper seemed to jump out at her from the page.
“What’s this?” she muttered, quietly, unable to stop herself stepping closer to the glass for one last peek... And then nearly jump out of her shoes when a handsome face suddenly appeared to loom large on the other side.
“Geez!” Pat jerked and stumbled backward, pulling her hand from her pocket and slapping it on her jacket, above her heart. Gerry, the owner of both the looming face and real estate office, as well as her dear friend, beamed at her from behind the glass.
“Pat!” He waved enthusiastically, his friendly features lit up with good humor. “Come inside!” he shouted and gestured grandly for her to move toward the door.
Pat caught her breath and nodded; then limped slowly toward the entrance.
“Good morning, Sunshine!” Gerry pulled open the door, with the name G&T Real Estate etched on the glass, with a flourish and stepped aside to let her pass.
Pat flinched at the volume of his voice as she crossed the threshold, doing her best to disguise her limp. “Maybe so, but you nearly made me jump out of my shoes there.”
Gerry giggled and closed the door against the cool air. “Sorry,” he said, his voice laced with affection. “But, I was just so surprised to see you out there so early! What are you doing up and out at this time of the morning, on a Saturday no less?”
Before Pat could come up with an answer he frowned, took a step back, swept his eyes over the disarray of her petite frame in her baggy jacket, faded jeans and scuffed sneakers, then weakly attempted to suppress a gasp. “Sweetie! What in Heaven’s name?”
Pat sighed and slowly pulled her dark glasses from her face. “Let’s just say,” she began, then had to wait a beat when Gerry gave a tiny shriek after getting a look at her bloodshot eyes. “My business isn’t nearly as risky as it once was.”
“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” he said, rapidly pulling out a chocolate colored, leather-bound, padded chair that sat aside his desk. “But, I think you should take a load off before you tell me.”
Pat snickered at his theatrics and nodded. “Probably a wise plan,” she said in acknowledgement and began her wince-every-second-step walk over to the waiting chair.
Gerry plastered one of his large hands across his heart while he watched her ease herself gently into the seat. “Good lord, Girl! What the hell happened to you?”
“Do you have any coffee?”
“Of course!” He strode swiftly across the sage green carpet to a small, impeccably kept Mahogany kitchenette at the rear of his office. “The usual? Or, maybe some sugar today?” he asked, over his shoulder, as he retrieved a stainless steel carafe from the brown granite countertop.
“The usual, please,” Pat replied and unzipped her jacket. Man she was tired. She leaned back into the chair with a sigh and closed her eyes. It felt good to be pampered for a moment.
“Okay, Missy,” Gerry said, his voice firm as he placed a large teal mug on a Dachshund printed coaster in front of her. “Spill.”
Pat straightened up and grinned. “Thank you,” she said, reaching for the cup and bringing it to her lips for a long sip. “Ahhh, that’s the stuff.”
Gerry was nearly vibrating as he sat down in the chair behind his large desk. “You’re killing me? You know that, right?”
Pat let out a bark of laughter and set her mug back on the coaster. “Sorry, I’m just so bagged.” She smoothed her bangs from her forehead and added, wryly, “As though that’s not blatantly evident.”
“What on Earth happened?”
Pat cleared her throat and flashed another smile at him. He was such a peach of a friend. “Nothing that will make the papers, I assure you.” She rolled her head back and forth on her neck. “You look fabulous, by the way.”
Gerry narrowed his eyes at her. He knew what she was doing. “Don’t even try it, Missy,” he began.
“But, you do!” Pat pointed at him. “Look at you!”
He was the perfect complement to his chic office - tall and broad shouldered, not one short brown hair out of place; clad in an exquisitely cut pairs of tan trousers and a striped dress shirt; finished off with funky red and purple dress shoes that shone so perfectly they looked brand new. The man was styling.
“Thank you,” he said, with a slight inclination of his head. “But, I meant it. Spill.”
“Okay, but I’m keeping it brief.”
Gerry leaned forward, all ears.
“It was Crystal’s last day at home yesterday––”
“Oh-my-God!” Gerry interrupted, his forehead creasing with distress. “How could I forget that! I’m a terrible friend!”
“Oh, don’t even.” Pat waved her hand dismissively at him. “Let me finish.”
Gerry gave her pained look, but pressed his lips together and nodded.
“So, anyway.” Pat hesitated and adjusted her unkempt ponytail, unsure of just how much detail she wanted to share. “I decided to have a bit of a celebration of my new freedom, as it were, and ended up having a few too many cocktails.”
“You?” Gerry blinked, his face a picture of surprise. “Were you with Melanie?”
“Yes, me,” Pat acknowledged. “And, no, I was by myself...”
She held up her hand before he could moan again about what a crappy friend he was. “By choice. Melanie offered, but I wanted to be on my own. Anyway, it turns out drinking multiple strong cocktails is a large mistake when you’re forty five and you don’t recover with the same speed as when you were twenty five. Trust me on this one, don’t go finding out for yourself.”
Gerry looked put out when she stopped talking. “That’s it? Seriously? You go on a bender, which you’ve never done in all the days I’ve known you. Then, come limping in here looking like my Uncle Bo when he was thrown from his horse, and that’s all you’re going to tell? Because I know there’s more.”
Pat leaned forward for her coffee, grimaced from the movement and took a sip from her cup. “For now, yes, that’s all I’ve got.”
“Paaah!” Gerry exhaled in disgust.
“Too bad,” Pat told him as she tried and failed to cover up a large yawn. “When I’m feeling less thrown from the horse, maybe I’ll be more forthcoming with details. Until then, forget about me; there are details I want from you.”
“Me?” Gerry’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead.
“Uh-huh.” Pat turned to point at the florescent paper on the front window.
“Oh, that.” Gerry smirked. “I know the color is hideous, but it really does grab people’s attention. I try to angle myself so I don’t see it when I’m working.”
“No, not the paper. Although, yes, I’ll give it to you, it does grab a person’s attention. I’m talking about one of the properties on it.”
“Oh?” His face screwed up in puzzlement. “Really? Which one?”
“The used bookstore. Is it still active?”
“Absolutely. The listing’s brand new, in fact. John’s decided to sell up. And, from what I hear, folks around here are pretty upset about it.”
Pat bit her lip and suppressed a grin when Gerry said, ‘folks’. For all of his sophistication, he still had his country boy’s heart. “Well, they may not need to be upset for long.”
Gerry cocked his head. “I don’t follow. Do you know someone who’d be interested in it?”
“Uh-huh. I want to see it.”
“Go ahead.” He sipped his coffee, not following her train of thought. “He should be open by now.”
“No.” Pat shook her head and winced at the sudden movement. “I mean, I’m interested in seeing it. As in, to possibly purchase it.”
“Excuse me?” Gerry looked at her in wide-eyed amazement. “Are you serious? Where’s this coming from? First the kids leave, then the slippery slope into secret drunken episodes, and now this? What’s gotten into you?”
Pat rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop. There’s no secret drunken episodes. It was a one-off. I’m sorry I even told you about it.”
“Oh, there it is.” Gerry teased. “The defensiveness about the episodes...”
Pat laughed and pointed a stern finger while she said, “Moving on.”
“Fine. Secrets aside, I’m reeling here with all this new information. I have to tell you, I have absolutely no memory of you expressing a passionate interest in used books.”
“That’s because I never have. And, it’s not the used books I’m interested in, Ger. It’s the business. The potential. The possibility.”
“But, really?” He peered at her across the desk as though trying to see into her thoughts. “A bookstore? It’s a huge amount of work. Not that I don’t think you can make a go of it. I do.”
Pat sighed and smoothed back the hair that had fallen into her eyes from her ponytail. “The facts are, I’m at a loose end. The kids are grown now, it’s been over a year since Stephen and I split and, like it or not, it’s time for me to start creating a new life. I’m only forty five, for crying out loud. It’s time I got back in the game, wouldn’t you say?”
Gerry nodded and his face broke into a huge smile. “Yes, I’d definitely say. As a matter-of-fact, Travis was just telling me the other day that he met the nicest guy and thought he would be perfect for you––”
“Whoa, whoa.” Pat held up her hand to stop him in his verbal tracks.
Travis was Gerry’s partner, both in business as the ‘T’ in G&T Real Estate, and in their personal life. They’d met at a dog show, their mutual love for wire-haired Dachshunds giving them all the opener they’d needed to begin chatting. Four years later, the pair were thick as thieves and breeding the spirited small dogs; presenting them at shows and having great fun in the process.
“Tell Travis that while I appreciate him thinking of me, he can cool his jets in that department. I’m looking at getting a life, not baggage.”
“But, you just said––”
“Yes, I know I said it’s time to get back in the game,” Pat finished for him. “But, what I meant was the game of getting a life of my own. Not attaching myself to some man.”
Gerry knew when he was beat. When Pat dug her heels in, forget it. “Okay, fine,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Moving on. Let’s get over to that bookstore.”
Pat straightened up, her face transforming from closed off, to eager. “Right. And, before I forget, after we see the shop I want to talk to you about my house.”
Gerry did an exaggerated double-take. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, I’ve been giving it some thought and I really think it might be time to consider putting it on the market.”
“Whoa.” He held the edge of the desk for support. “Okay, that’s another big one. You’ve always lived there, ever since you moved into town.”
“I know.” Pat nodded, shifted in her chair and winced when the bruise on her tailbone complained. “But, I knew once Crystal left it would feel absurdly huge and believe you me, was I right. I’ve only had one day fully on my own and already I feel like a tumbleweed blowing along the hallways and through the rooms.”
Gerry giggled at her description. “So, do you have any sort of timeline in mind?”
“I’m not exactly sure, yet.” Pat shrugged her shoulders. “But, I wanted to mention it because, obviously, I’d be with you to do it.”
Gerry pressed his fingers to his lips and looked genuinely touched. “That means a lot.”
“Oh, please.” Pat grinned, transforming her entire face from worn down, to alive and perky. “Who else would I go to? If it wasn’t you, Travis would hunt me down and let all of your dogs poop in my yard. Repeatedly.”
Gerry threw his head back and laughed. “You’ve got a point.”
“And, with that said.” Pat cleared her throat and pulled herself up and out of the chair with a small groan. “I want to see that shop.”
“Let’s do it.” Gerry pushed out his chair, stood up and walked around his desk. He was thrilled to see such enthusiasm from his dear friend. She’d been through so much in the past year and a half he was all about encouraging her, even if it took her into areas he’d never imagined she would go. But, he was philosophical. Wasn’t that what life was all about? Stepping past your self-imposed boundaries?
“No time like the present,” he added, grabbing his sport coat from the back of his chair and crossing the office to hold open the street door.
Pat had to stop herself from bouncing on the spot and clapping her hands like an excited child. She thrust her sunglasses back on her face and breezed by Gerry as fast as her aching backside would let her. She looked so raring to go, he couldn’t help but chuckle as he pulled on his jacket and followed her out into the sunshine.
***
“Guess what I did today?” Pat singsonged into the telephone headset clasped firmly to her ear. She was moving around her white, country-styled kitchen, much as she always did at dinner time; the one glaring exception being she was cooking for one, instead of a family of four.
“Hello to you, too.” Melanie volleyed back on the other end of the connection.
“Sorry,” Pat apologized, while she opened the large doors of her side-by-side, stainless steel refrigerator; a model Stephen had brought into the house claiming it would revolutionize the kitchen. She retrieved fresh angel hair pasta from a shelf and closed the fridge door with a solid thud. “I’m just so excited, I wanted to share. How are you? How was your day?”
Melanie grinned at the unexpected energy in Pat’s voice. After so many tactics to elicit even a smidgen of verve from her best friend, she was keenly interested to hear what had warranted such unbridled gusto.
“My day has been fine, thank you,” she replied, laughing. “But, I was teasing! Go on, you’ve got me all curious. Tell me your exciting news!”
Pat dropped her pasta into a pot of water boiling on the stove and began to pace, albeit slowly due to her bruise, around the kitchen island. “I’ve bought something! Or, at least started the paperwork on buying something. Something big!”
“A car?”
“Nope!” Pat stopped pacing to pull out a bright yellow strainer from a kitchen drawer. “Not a car, but still something that will change where I am for a substantial part of my day.”
“A camper van?” Melanie tried again, thoroughly enjoying her guesses. “To take you to new and exciting locations? That would change where you were during the daytime. I’ll come along, if you invite me.”
Pat laughed. The very idea of her in a camper van, it was too much. She loved nature; however, she preferred experiencing it from well-worn foot paths and patios.
“Oh yeah,” she said, between giggles. “That’s going to happen. Seriously, can you imagine?”
Melanie joined her in her giggles, it was pretty hysterical. “Okay, I give up,” she said. “What’s the big purchase?”
“A business!”
“Pardon me?” Melanie asked, confused. She glanced at her half full glass of wine on her kitchen table and wondered if she’d already had too much. “What does that mean, a business?”
“It means, I now can say my business and mean it.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“You know the used bookstore in town?”
“Uh-huh.” Melanie took a hefty sip of her wine. If she’d already had too much, what was a little more?
“I bought it!” Pat placed her strainer into her sink, poured in her pasta from the pot to drain and then did a small shuffling dance; her soft, red flannel pajama pants brushing along the tile floor as she moved.
“You bought it? Seriously? Get out!” Melanie squealed as the reality of what Pat told her finally sunk in. She stood up from her kitchen chair and also did a little dance on the spot. “Pat, do you realize what this means? You’re a business owner! The boss lady!”
Pat laughed, delighted she’d so easily jumped on board. Not that she was overly surprised, Melanie was always willing to jump in with both feet without hesitation. That was how she’d met her, in fact.
Pat had been in town with her kids - towheaded Michael, aged six, and little Crystal of the long auburn tendrils, aged four - and had decided to take them to the ice cream shop for a treat.
Everything had been ticking along fine, until Michael had assumed a very serious expression and firmly stated he was too old for ice cream treats. Pat had stared at him, flummoxed. Her son was always surprising her, but what child - especially a six year old child - was too old for ice cream?
Thank goodness Melanie had been in the shop that day. Dressed in a bold, green and blue print dress that accentuated her Mediterranean curves, her chestnut colored hair piled messily on her head and her generous lips painted a deep red... She was a perfect example of a Greek Goddess if Pat had ever seen one.
Standing next to Melanie was her three year old daughter, Gina, a gorgeous mini version of her mother. The little girl was on her tip-toes, peering excitedly over the edge of the case that held the multiple containers of ice cream, choosing her favorite flavors.
Melanie had overheard the conversation going on between Pat and Michael, had listened to Pat trying to soften Michael’s stance - because she knew, as any Mother did, if he didn’t get an ice cream he would bitch and moan about it later - and without introduction, or hesitation, had jumped on board to help her out.
“Do you know what I love about ice cream?” Melanie had turned to address them, a huge grin on her strong, beautiful face.
Michael’s blue eyes had grown wide as he stared at her, startled that the strange and vibrant woman - the exact opposite of his petite and rather staid mother - was looking directly at him and waiting for a response to her question.
“What?” he’d replied, finally, when it was glaringly apparent she was willing to wait as long as it took for his feedback.
“It falls into the any-age-zone.” Melanie had informed him with a knowing nod. “Do you know what that means?”
Michael shook his head, no.
“It means that while some things - hell most things - aren’t that way, ice cream has managed to stay age free.”
Michael had goggled at Melanie when she’d said ‘hell’ and Pat had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing at his mouth-gaping amazement.
“I’m telling you.” Melanie had driven her point home as she wagged her finger in the air between them. “There are so many things that are deemed too young, or too old, bah!”
Michael had jumped a little at her vehement exhale of disgust.
“But, not ice cream. Right, Gina?” She’d turned to her daughter for back up and Gina had nodded happily. “That’s correct, my smart girl. Ice cream falls into the any-age-zone. Young, middle or old, ice cream is the Switzerland of treats!”
Michael had mimicked Gina and began nodding enthusiastically, a reformed child. He’d then turned to his mother, suddenly ready to make his decision about which flavor he favored. Pat had had to repress the strong urge to grab Melanie in a hug of gratitude.
Melanie, on the other hand, had just grinned, winked one sparkly intelligent eye and given Pat her business card - with the insistent instructions to call her sometime when she had a free moment. It had been instant friendship.
“A shop keeper! A proprietor! A proprietress!” Melanie now sang, delightedly, making Pat laugh out loud. “Woo-hoo! I’m dancing around my kitchen!”
“I know, it’s crazy!” Pat enthused as she shuffled back over to her strainer to scoop the long, thin pasta noodles into a bowl and lash on butter, freshly grated parmesan cheese and spices. For the first time in a long time, she felt hungry.
“So tell me,” Melanie egged, once she’d caught her breath. “What on Earth prompted this sudden jump into the world of self-employment?” She had a strong hunch it was tied to Pat’s last child leaving, but she wanted to let her tell it. Let her feel it. Let her own it.
“I think it was a combination of things,” Pat said, forking up noodles and slurping them into her mouth.
“It always is,” Melanie replied, philosophically.
“Sorry, I’m chewing in your ear,” Pat added, between swallows.
“No worries,” Melanie said. “Go on.”
“The first thing, obviously, was Crystal finally moving out. Not that I wanted her to leave...”
“No, no,” Melanie said. “I get it. You knew it was coming, but didn’t have to fully face it until yesterday.”
“Exactly.” Pat placed her bowl on the kitchen island and eased herself gingerly onto one of the adjacent pub stools. “So, after spending the night here by myself, and being fully hit in the face this morning by the fact that no one was going to be coming in to break the silence... Well, let’s just say that it really thrust my life - what little of it there still is - into glaring relief.”
“What little of it there is?”
“Well, yeah. I’m single with no prospects, not that I want any. And, let’s face it, it’s not like I have multiple engagements piling up to take me out of this house.” Pat started gesturing with her fork at the large, vacuous kitchen. “This overwhelming, echoing, not a creature is stirring large house––”
“Which you’ve made into a beautiful and inviting home.”
And, she had. Melanie’s admiration bordered upon hero worship in regards to how Pat had decorated her straight-forward, barn-style house; taking an ordinary structure and transforming it into a warm and welcoming oasis for whoever crossed the threshold.
“Okay, well, thank you for that,” Pat acknowledged, while gazing at her warm, butter-yellow kitchen. Yes, with the crisp white cabinetry and dark granite, it was as beautiful to the eye as when she’d first designed it, but...
“But, even so,” Pat elaborated. “Being here all alone, with the quiet so loud it’s started to become deafening, I’ve realized that all of this invitation is lost on just me. I feel like I was hit - like I’d had a blow to the chest - with the thought, what now?”
She set her fork down next to her pasta bowl. “Am I making any sense?”
“Yes, perfect sense,” Melanie assured her.
And, she was. Melanie had sat on the sidelines, watching things unfold in Pat’s life, and had felt utterly helpless to do anything as she’d weathered blow after blow in a span of just two years.
First there was Michael, Pat’s first born, going off to school and no longer needed his Mother as he once did.
Then, before Pat had had a chance to catch her breath and recover from that blow, Shitty Stephen - as Melanie privately called him - had upped and delivered his news. His cowardly, selfish news that he needed to discover who he was and what he wanted from the rest of his life and oh, by the way, not with the wife that had taken care of him and given him a life for twenty years. Melanie exhaled sharply in disgust at the memory. Prick.
And, finally, just as she’d been encouraging and coaxing Pat back onto her feet, trying to convince her that there was something worth getting up off of the proverbial mat for, her beloved dog had decided it was his time to retire from the planet. Little Puck, Pat’s constant shadow... Good God, it had all been too much.
“Am I really?” Pat interrupted Melanie’s dive into the past. “I don’t sound like some whiny baby, some desperate middle aged woman looking for a purpose to fill in time until she has grandchildren, or dies? Whichever one comes first.”
“Jeez! No!” Melanie frowned and wished she was at Pat’s house to smack her across the shoulder.
“Wow. Good thing you’re not here,” Pat said, a smirk on her face that Melanie couldn’t see. “That no sounded like a shoulder slapper.”
“Damn rights!” Melanie replied, vehemently. “And, I don’t want to hear you saying such foolish words again. Desperate middle aged woman, please! Do you have any idea of how many women I know who only wished they looked so desperately middle aged? There’s too many, I can’t even count.”
“Fine, fine,” Pat said, still grinning as she picked up her fork. “Consider me slapped. I take it back.”
“Good. Because I’m going to be your cheering section, Patricia,” Melanie stated, firmly. “You’ve had too many days stuck in your baggy pjs and way too much moping. It’s time for you to take your daughter’s example and spread your own wings. See how far you can fly.”
Tears welled up in Pat’s eyes and she paused, her fork in mid-air between her bowl of pasta and her mouth. Melanie had said the very thing that she’d been feeling, when she had signed the contracts for the bookstore. That she was getting a turn to step out of the nest.
“You’re the best, do you know that?” Pat sniffled, dropping the fork back into her bowl.
“Tell me that again when you’re asking me to stack bookshelves and I want to sit on my backside and paint my nails.”
Pat grinned and blotted her eyes with her pajama sleeve. “Grunt work aside, I do think this thing is all about timing. And, it’s time for me to have something that’s just mine.”
Melanie’s eyes sparkled as she listened. She couldn’t have said it better. “Amen,” she agreed, taking a large swallow of her wine. “And, I have a strong hunch my beautiful and generous sister-friend, it’s all going to be fabulous.”
“Me too,” Pat agreed as excitement rose up from her toes and darted right through her entire body. “I think so, too. A fresh beginning.”
“A fresh beginning and an opportunity for a whole lot of fun,” Melanie added.
“Thanks, Mel.”
“You’re welcome.”
***
Chapter Three
“Achoo!” Pat’s sneeze echoed, bouncing off of the bare, wood plank floors of the bookstore. She was attempting to dust, but it was slow going.
There was a whole lot of cleaning that had been neglected while under the wing of the previous owner, and she was starting to believe she was going to have to bring boxes and boxes of tissues in with her while trying to bring the shop back to its former, shiny glory.
“Bless you,” Melanie called out as she pushed open the shop’s door, making the tiny bell hanging above it ring merrily.
Pat spun on her heel, feather dusted held aloft. “Thank you! So, what do you think of the sign?”
“Love it!” Melanie enthused. “It catches your eye immediately.”
Pat was pleased. She had chosen to rename the shop from Main Street Used Books, to Possibilities and had second guessed herself over and over until she’d forced herself to trust her instincts.
“You’re absolutely sure? You don’t think it’s too––”
“No,” Melanie said, firmly, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I don’t think it’s too anything. It’s perfectly whimsical, yet practical. A name that will make people smile and remember your store.”
Pat grinned. “Music to my ears,” she said as she gave another swipe to the shelf she’d been dusting.
“You know,” Melanie offered, while letting her eyes traverse the bookstore’s space. “You really landed on your feet here.”
“I know!” Pat enthused. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
She followed Melanie’s lead and admired her new shop. The huge bay window allowed for lots of natural light; highlighting the gorgeous solid oak shelves that lined the walls. The left side of the large, open room was home to a hulking desk that served as the checkout area - Pat had fallen in love with the desk the first time she’d laid eyes on it. It felt solid and sturdy, one of the few things that did in her life. And, finally, there was a narrow staircase at the back that led to the second floor - a slightly smaller area that Pat planned to remodel to allow her to sell all sorts of funky local wares, maybe the occasional coffee. All in all, it was like a little bit of Heaven in the dull landscape of her life. An oasis calling her back into the world of the living.
“You do need to add some comfy furniture and product of course,” Melanie added, matter-of-factly. “You have catalogues, right? Because I’ve got lots of great places that I used for my store that I’ve kept, if you want them.”
Pat nodded, then frowned when she noticed Melanie’s awkward posture. She was standing with one hand on her hip, stretching out the black wrap she was wearing over a cream colored blouse, flouncy sky blue skirt and knee high burgundy boots. It was pathetically obvious she was attempting to hide something she was holding behind her back.
Pat pointed at her. “Whatchya got there?”
“Hmm?”
Pat walked over to the front desk and pointed again at Melanie’s awkwardly angled arm. “You clearly have something behind you back, Mel. What’s going on?”
“What? Oh, this?” Melanie’s voice rose an octave, something it always did when she was hoping to avoid trouble, and Pat narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“Melanie.” She cocked her head and placed her hands on her hips. “What. Is. Going. On?”
Melanie began to fidget and then her shoulders slumped. “Fine.” She sighed and relaxed her rigid shoulders, giving up. “It was my intention to sell this with more finesse, but you’ve forced my hand.”
She released her hold on her wrap and carefully pulled a small animal carrier from behind her back. Pat’s eyes widened in surprise. “Now, listen,” she said, immediately trying to placate. “Before you say anything––”
“No.” Pat folded her arms tightly across her chest and shook her head.
“Hear me out,” Melanie wheedled.
Pat’s face grew rigid. “Seriously, whatever, or whomever, you’ve got in there. No.”
“Okay, fine.” Melanie relented and her face drooped. “But, it really is a tragic situation.”
“Uh-huh.” Pat’s mouth had become a tense line on her face.
Melanie lifted the carrier up onto the granite topped desk and carefully unlatched and opened the wire door. “Poor little guy, he has nowhere else to go, but the shelter,” she added, while reaching into the carrier’s depths.
In the next instant, she pulled out one of the most adorable kittens Pat was sure she’d ever laid eyes on.
“Oh!” Pat exhaled, before she could help herself. He was just a little thing cradled in Melanie’s hand, ginger colored - her favorite - with smoky grey eyes that blinked lazily at her as he yawned to reveal perfect, tiny white teeth.
“Do you want to hold him?” Melanie affected her best imploringly face and extended the small bundle of fur toward Pat.
Did she want to hold him? Well, of course she did! Pat had to restrain her hands from moving of their own volition toward the soft animal. “No,” she said, unfolding her arms and smoothing the front of her dusty, purple shirt. “It’s probably not a good idea.”
Melanie continued to hold the kitten aloft, the light catching the shine off of his baby soft fur and Pat sighed. “Oh, hell,” she muttered, quickly checking to make sure her hands were clean before extending them. “Go on then.”
Melanie smiled, her whole face lit up, and she placed the warm kitten into Pat’s embrace. Jackpot!
Pat could physically feel the slowing down of her breath as she accepted the butter soft feline into her grasp. He, too, seemed to sense the change in energy and immediately began to purr in appreciation of the loving hands that held him.
“Isn’t he a peach?” Melanie asked, so pleased at the relaxed look that had taken over Pat’s face she was hard pressed not to yip with glee. She hadn’t seen that sort of ease from her friend in longer than she could remember.
“He really is,” Pat agreed, contentedly, while she cuddled and stroked the kitten’s fur. “He feels like cashmere and he’s the color of a fine whiskey, wouldn’t you say?”
“Ooh, I love that! It’s a great name for him!” Melanie nodded her head in approval, making her silver earrings sway and sparkle in the overhead lights. “Whiskey. Perfect.”
Pat closed her eyes and inwardly groaned. Great, now she’d gone and inadvertently named him. And, she knew how it went, once you’ve named it...
“Yes.” She opened her eyes and sighed, resigned. “It suits him perfectly.”
“Does that mean––?” Melanie hedged, not absolutely sure, but very hopeful.
“Yes, you terrible brat.” Pat tried to look stern, but her pleasure at the arrival of such a lovely animal was really making it difficult. It had been so long since she’d cuddled any soft, four-legged creature, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it until that very moment. “Of course I’ll keep him.”
“Yay!”
“However,” Pat added, above Melanie’s cheers. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it, Mel. Where will he be when I’m here? I can’t leave him by himself all day long.” She gestured to the shop around them. “And, in case you haven’t noticed, I still have a bit to do yet before I can open my doors to the public.”
“Oh, that’s nothing.” Melanie waved her hand dismissively. “It’s your shop and he’s a cat, for goodness sake. He can come here with you every day and he’ll adapt in an instant to the routine. In fact, he’ll probably love trailing you around the place, hiding in the nooks and crannies. He’ll get two territories, bookstore in the daytime and home at night. What cat could ask for more?”
Pat nodded as she watched the newly christened ‘Whiskey’ stretch and yawn before snuggling warmly against her torso for a nap. “He certainly seems easy going,” she offered, already enchanted.
“He’s like his mother. She’s owned by one of my customers and one of the most even tempered cats I’ve ever met. I’m sure he’ll be a treat to have around the place.”
Pat placed Whiskey gently back into his carrier and without so much as a flicker of an eyelid, he sighed, curled up comfortably and began to purr gently in his sleep.
If only I could do the same, she thought, when a shiver that held notes of both excitement and nervousness traveled up her spine. First the new shop, now a new cat... She didn’t dare ask what was next.
***
“You what?” Crystal’s voice nearly blasted Pat’s ear from of her head.
“Crystal, please!” Pat insisted, while frantically scrambling to turn down the volume on her headset. “More talking, less yelling.”
“Well, I’m sorry Mother, but it’s been three weeks, three, since I moved out. And, I figured that when I emailed to see how you were coping, I would read yes, you were COPING - not that you’d completely lost your mind!”
Pat winced and took a deep cleansing breath. She shifted her attention to Whiskey, watching him happily weave his way systematically through the legs of her kitchen chairs. Melanie had said his even temperament was just like his Mother’s and, already, he was proving himself a treat to have around. That being said, she sincerely hoped such reflections of disposition only applied to animals and not people. Otherwise, what would Crystal’s hysterics say about her as a parent?
“Hello? Are you even listening to me, Mother?” Crystal’s voice held more than a smattering of indignation. “Or, in the space of three weeks since I left has that changed, too?”
Ah, the real truth, Pat thought, stifling a yawn. Her lovely daughter, all long legs and soft auburn hair, hated change. It did something strange to her; unnerved her in a manner that went further than just being unsettled. Always had. She was getting a better handle on it with age, but still, when push came to shove, Crystal resisted change like oil does water.
“Crystal, my lovely girl,” Pat soothed as she pushed her bangs from her forehead. “I’m listening to every word you’re saying and you don’t need to worry one bit. I know exactly what I’m doing. Well, maybe not exactly, but––”
“You see!” Crystal was quick to interject. “You just admitted it, you don’t know!”
“I was going to say,” Pat said, firmly, while reaching into her fridge for a pitcher of orange juice. “I may not know every little thing about running a business - who really can. But, I have the guidance of good friends, fellow business owners like Melanie and Gerry, who are doing everything they can to help me as I find my footing in this new endeavor.”