Tim scowled. “But Mom said – ”
“Take them back.” I pointed toward the door, nerves knotting inside my chest like badly tied Christmas bows. There had to be other ways of displaying Mom’s wares, not that I could think of any at the moment.
“Now, Allie… Your mother harped on me all morning to get them.” Dad rolled his neck to one side, popping it, before raising his head and rolling his shoulders up and down. “We’ll take the shelves back. But you’re going to tell her.”
I nodded without hesitation and immediately felt better. “Fair enough, Father Christmas.”
So much for my parents being pen pals enhancing their relationship.
“Really?” Tim tugged his coat sleeves outward until his jacket wrapped tight around his waist. “Whose store is this anyway?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” Dad bent his knees and grabbed one end of the shelving box, nodding to my brother to pick up the other end.
They carried the box back out to Dad’s SUV.
I glanced around the maze of boxes in the store, my brother’s words echoing in my head.
Whose store is this anyway?
It was my mother’s store. I was just helping her.
But if that was true… If I felt no ownership… Why had I been so offended by the cheap shelving units?
Because they didn’t fit Mom’s vision. Because I was making the hard calls for her.
I crossed my arms, hugging myself and those excuses tightly to my chest. I wanted the store to fit my vision.
While Dad and Tim returned for another shelving unit, I drifted through the cartons of merchandise.
Yesterday, I’d shoved boxes aside that had stock I didn’t think would sell. Someone had since rummaged through them, leaving samples laying across the cardboard flaps – those glow-in-the-dark bunny T-shirts, the faux fur coats, a box of false eyelashes, another of cheap bangles. Not only had someone gone through the merch, but the shipping manifest for each box was gone. I had a pretty good idea who that someone was.
I went next door in search of my mother, waiting for her to ring up a customer and bid them farewell before I broached the subject that would surely cause her upset – her choice in inventory. “Mama Dearest…”
“That’s not funny.” Mom sifted through cash register receipts, head bent. Her sweater set today was a lifeless beige. Her short hair frizzed at the back of her crown.
“I thought you were letting me help you achieve your dream.” I did not mention the shelving units I was sending back.
“I am, but…” Mom turned toward the clean item carousel and put it in motion, a pointless move since there were no customers. The motor filled the shop and made talk impossible.
I came to stand next to her and stopped the carousel with a flip of a switch. “I’ll need your vendor contact information and those shipping receipts, please.”
Mom stood as if frozen in place, one hand in mid-air as if she’d considered blocking me from pausing the carousel.
“You asked me to help.” I gently took Mom by the shoulders and turned her to face me squarely. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”
Had I thought she hadn’t changed in five years? I was wrong. She seemed smaller than before. Meeker. Not nearly as put-together. A string hung from the hem of her beige sweater. One leg of her blue jeans was wrinkled, as if she’d only ironed one leg.
With a sudden, defeated cry, Mom sank to the floor.
“Mom!” I got down on my knees before her. “What’s wrong?” A dozen deadly diseases crossed my mind. “Are you okay? How can I help? Do you need a doctor?”
Her gaze seemed vacant. Her features pale. Her mouth opened and closed, but all that came out was, “It’s…It’s…”
“Is it cancer?” I whispered, because wasn’t that every child’s worst nightmare?
“Cancer? No.” Some of the usual fire returned to my mother’s eyes. “It’s just me. I’m so disappointed in myself. I used to be a woman people respected. First, when I made the U.S. Skeleton Team. And then when you became a successful dancer.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said with strained patience. “If it’s any consolation, you still scare the pants off Dad and Tim. It’s not exactly respect but…”