I Wish (33 page)

“Mom,” I shouted as I ran into the house, “where are you?”

“Kitchen.”

I skidded to a stop. She and Henry were wrapping crispy rice bars in orange plastic wrap.

“Do you recognize a business called Westside Storage?”

She shrugged.

“Have we received any letters addressed to Josh recently?”

“If we did, I would’ve thrown them away.”

I bit back a sigh. “Westside Storage was where Josh stored his stuff.”

Mom looked up, a crease between her eyebrows. “How do you know?”

“Westside Storage has been sending us letters. They’re going to throw his things out if we don’t pick them up by November fifteenth.”

“That’s too fast.” Her hand crept up to her mouth and plucked at her lips. She backed up a couple of steps and sat down hard on a chair. “I haven’t had time to prepare. I can’t look at his things yet.” She plucked harder at her lips.

“I can do it. You don’t have to come with me.” I crossed the kitchen and knelt by her chair. “I’ll bring the stuff home and store it in the studio. You don’t have to look at a thing until you’re ready.”

The plucking slowed. “How soon?”

“Tonight.”

Her hand dropped into her lap. “Do you think I can handle trick-or-treaters by myself?”

My brother looked first at my mother, then at me. She watched me steadily, eyes worried.

We’d passed the big hurdle of letting her take care of Henry again. I’d had no choice. Without Grant around, it had either been trust her or quit my job at The Reading Corner.

She’d done fine with Henry, but this would be another big step. I wasn’t concerned, since she wouldn’t really be alone. The neighbors would be around. Henry would be roaming the nearby streets with Reynolds, Mr. Samm, Mr. Taylor, and his three kids.

“Yes. I know you can do it.” I nodded confidently, stood, and grabbed the car keys. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

It took me fifteen minutes to get there. The guard barely looked my way as I drove through the gate. Unit #142 was near the front.

The key stuck a little. With effort, though, it turned and the lock slid open. I paused nervously, mind racing, scared and excited about what awaited me.

The door protested as I rolled it out of the way. I flicked on the lone light bulb and stepped into the space.

My first response was a sense of disappointment. I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but the jumble of musty boxes, old lamps, and battered furniture had not been it.

I walked farther into the unit, caught between wanting to laugh and cry. There were no hidden treasures here. It was ordinary stuff.

Should I look through the cartons, or haul what I could home? I glanced at my watch. I had time. It wouldn’t hurt to peek.

The first two boxes held grubby rags for staining wood. Weird. I pushed them to the side. They could go to the landfill.

The next box had antique carving tools. I’d forgotten about them. Josh had been psyched when he discovered the set at an estate sale. No way could I sell them. I carried them out to the car.

Cartons of papers and books followed. A crate held a dozen wooden candlesticks in various shapes and styles. We could sell these for a nice profit, if my mother could bear to part with them.

I pushed more boxes of junk to the side, all candidates for the landfill. Then I hesitated. There was a rocking chair at the back, one I’d never seen before. I approached it curiously, almost fearfully. The style was simple—but, oh, the wood! The grain was gorgeous and polished into a cherry red. A tag dangled from one arm. I flipped it over and found my stepfather’s scrawl.

Merry Christmas, Crys Love forever, Josh

He’d died two weeks before Thanksgiving, but he’d already made her Christmas present—and it was this beautiful rocking chair. When had Josh begun to experiment with making furniture?

Christmas had been horribly sad last year. We didn’t put up a tree or decorations. Mom hadn’t even emerged from her room most of the day. Santa came, of course, but he’d been unusually frugal. I’d already discovered our dire straits by then.

Had Santa left the real presents here?

Frantically, I pushed aside an old carpet and a pair of lampshades, desperately searching for other presents, but there were just more boxes of junk—until I reached the farthest corner. Under a beach towel, I caught a glint of something red and shiny. I surged toward it.

Josh had left two packages, wrapped in glossy red paper with big green bows and tags with our names on them. Henry’s gift was huge and rattled slightly. I would definitely want to be there when he opened it.

Mine was smaller, yet surprisingly heavy for its size.

I couldn’t wait to see it, but not in this dark cave of a room. Carefully, I carried the package to the car, set it on the passenger seat, and loosened the lid. My heartbeat ramped into overdrive and I backed away. As much as I wanted to see it, I was terrified too. Okay. Deep breath. I lifted the lid. Whatever object was inside had been obscured by a wad of tissue paper. A note rested on top.

I tore the tissue paper aside. Nestled beneath it lay a small jewelry box of dark wood. Carved into its lid was a horse with its head thrown back and one hoof pawing the ground. Its rippling mane and tail had been inlaid with blond oak.

Josh had made me a mustang, not like the toy car my dad gave me, but Josh’s own special kind.

When I’d answered the door last November and found a sheriff’s deputy waiting for us—hat in hand—I didn’t cry. When my mother collapsed screaming in the hospital as they shut off her husband’s life support, I didn’t cry. I survived the visitation, the funeral, and the sad-faced well-wishers swarming our house afterwards—all without tears.

I cried now.

Our Thanksgiving meal was simple this year. We’d made enough money on the shoes at the consignment shop that we were able to buy a turkey breast and a few trimmings, which was a good thing since I really did like leftover turkey.

Mom offered to do all of the cooking. There was no argument from me.

Eli volunteered to show up midafternoon, ready to help me with a last-minute batch of shoes. Sara’s mom thought we might sell out during Black Friday sales, which was why I now sat on a stool in the studio, gazing wearily at fifty pairs of tiny shoes. “We’ll never get done.”

“We will,” Eli said, brandishing the hot glue gun, “but we have to get going. When are we supposed to deliver them?”

“Seven o’clock tonight.” I needed to move. The sneakers weren’t going to decorate themselves. “Mrs. Tucker thinks half should have jewels, and the rest should have sequins and glitter paint for this extra batch.” I looked to Eli for confirmation. “I think we’ll do my half of the table in jewels.”

“Whatever you say.”

I picked up a mint-green pair. “What about silver crystals on these?”

“I am a guy. I have no opinion regarding the shoes worn by toddler girls.” He made a manly grunt. “That is why I am holding the gun.”

“Excellent. I prefer to be in charge anyway.” I lined up six lavender sneakers. “Fire away.”

Over the past month, we’d learned to function smoothly as a team. Eli had helped whenever he could. At first, he would only do assistant-type things—sweeping, stacking, cleaning. Recently, though, he’d graduated to creative participation on the production line. The glue gun was his specialty, a task I’d been glad to pass along.

For the next hour, we moved from pair to pair, doodling, gluing, glitter-painting. We worked so hard that we didn’t even hear my mother until she cleared her throat. “Hi, guys.”

Eli and I looked up, blinking our way back to reality.

“What is it, Mom?”

“Do you want some pumpkin pie? Henry and I are about to have a slice.”

“Not yet.” I rolled my head, trying to ease the knots in my neck. “Give us fifteen minutes.” I smiled.

She smiled back, a little hesitantly. She’d made an effort today to look good, and she’d succeeded.

“Lacey?” Again, that catch in her voice. Was it fear? Resignation?

“Yeah, Mom?”

She held out a plastic grocery bag. “Here. I made these for you.” She waited until I had it securely in my hands, then took off.

“What’s in there?” Eli asked, stepping closer.

“I don’t know.” The bag contained blobs of fabric. No, make that lace. Little strands of lace. I pulled one out. “They’re shoestrings.”

With a snap of the wrist, I dumped the bag’s contents onto the center of the table, excitement burning through me. There were hundreds of shoestrings of different lengths and widths. Most were white, but she’d included a few colors—blue, pink, orange, and yellow.

I glanced at Eli. Clearly, the delight of lace shoestrings eluded him.

“Little girls like this kind of stuff?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. Very much.” I selected a pair of bejeweled sneakers that were already dry, threaded in my mother’s creation, tied them into bows, and stepped back to admire. “It’s absolutely adorable. Grandmas will go wild.” I smiled up at him. “Isn’t this wonderful? They’re perfect, and
she
made them.”

“If you say so.”

“Trust me. It’s true.” This was a good sign. Small but good. I felt gratitude swelling inside me. “Thank you,” I said as I gave Eli a quick hug.

“For what?”

“For being here. For helping. For…everything.”

He nodded, his eyes studying my face. “It’s been fun. Lacey?”

“Hi, everybody,” Kimberley said from behind me.

Eli and I swung around to find Kimberley and Sean standing in the door.

“Hey,” I said. “Come in.” The two of them together was a surprise and likely very recent. Kimberley wouldn’t have forgotten to mention something as important as hanging out with Sean. She’d been trying to get his attention for too long.

They came closer and studied the shoes.

“Can we help?” Kimberley asked as she picked up one of the lacy strings. “Shoelaces?”

“Yeah. Aren’t they great?”

“They’re perfect.”

The guys exchanged glances. Eli held up the glue gun. “I like my job better.”

Sean nodded. “I can see why.”

“Come on. Let me show you…” Eli and Sean went to the opposite end of the table and bent over an unadorned pair of red shoes.

I tapped her arm. “What’s up with that?”

“Sean?”

“Yeah.”

“I asked him to spend the afternoon with me, and he said yes.”

“Like dating?”

“I don’t think so.” She smiled with resignation. “He’s being really sweet and friendly. Nothing more.”

“I’m sorry.” I watched him down the length of the table. He looked tired but happy.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Okay, tell me what I can do.”

Before I could respond, though, my brother appeared in the door. “I’m ready for pie, but Mom says we can’t get started until you and Eli come in.”

I smiled. “Tell her we’ll be right there, and we have two more guests.”

“Will they want pie too?”

“Probably.” Thank God that we had enough to share.

“Okay.” He stomped away.

As I led my three friends to the house, I felt this surge of joy welling up within me. We hadn’t celebrated last Thanksgiving at all, and even two months ago we couldn’t afford a decent meal. There was so much that I was thankful for this year.

At the top of the list was Grant.

O
n December twenty-first, Mr. and Dr. Harper left for a cruise around the Hawaiian Islands. Since Eli didn’t want to go with them, Mom had invited him to spend Christmas with us.

Henry was ecstatic when he heard the news. Over the past month, he’d grown used to having his favorite coach around most afternoons. They usually kicked the ball in the backyard while I worked in the shoe factory. Eli claimed that my brother gave him a good workout, which he needed to build the strength back up in his knee.

I planned every detail to make this a wonderful Christmas Day. Food. Music. Presents. With Eli scheduled to arrive by seven, I’d set the alarm for six-thirty.

But it turned out to be unnecessary. I awakened five minutes early, instantly wired by excitement. After dressing, I crept down the stairs and stood in the hallway, listening hard. My mom and brother still slept.

I went first to the kitchen. There was a can of cinnamon rolls in the fridge awaiting their fate.

Next came the Christmas tree, silent and dark in the bay window of the living room. I flipped a switch and drank in the beauty of the ornaments and multicolored lights for the gazillionth time.

There weren’t many presents under the tree. Santa had visited, of course, but he had to be smart again this year, since there wasn’t too much spare money to go around. But at least there had been some. Cash flow wasn’t quite as bad as I would’ve predicted a few months ago, for which I had the Tuckers to thank. They’d featured my sparkly toddler shoes in their consignment shop since October. Sales had been brisk. Word of mouth was a beautiful thing.

My mother got some of the credit too. Her fabulous shoelaces became the perfect signature for
Crystal & Lace Shoes
.