Driving With the Top Down (16 page)

Ha! Perfect.

Her stomach was in knots, and she had the dorkiest grin on her face. She didn’t even realize she hadn’t had any more of her cigarette. She stomped it out and headed back inside, feeling like maybe, just maybe when she went home, things might be different. Maybe she could try to be a normal girl. One who didn’t live underground with no natural light or clean air, and instead just electric, fuzzy TV light and pot-filled oxygen.

Maybe she could fix herself before it was actually too late.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Colleen

“So how’s it going, then, are you finding a good amount of workable things?” Kevin asked.

“Sure, yeah,” said Colleen, her phone between her ear and shoulder as she mixed the two packets of stevia into Bitty’s Black Eye, which had been her request from Starbucks when Colleen said she was going there. She wasn’t even sure what was in the Black Eye, only that it smelled like an ashtray and looked like regular coffee. For herself, she had gotten a Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha. A friend’s daughter had worked at Starbucks, and informed her that the Venti, whole-fat White Mocha latte she was prone to ordering had almost a thousand calories—if not more—once she added the peppermint. Colleen’s response had not been,
You’re not supposed to tell us these things, you bitchy barista
, but she had really wanted to say it. She’d picked out a Chocolate Chip Crème Frappuccino for Tamara. She had wanted caffeine, and Colleen said yes, but ultimately went with no caffeine. For God’s sake, Colleen didn’t have her first cup of coffee till she was twenty-five, so she didn’t need to be slugging stimulants down a kid’s throat. But Tamara could use the calories.

“That doesn’t sound like a very enthusiastic answer. Are you not finding as much as you hoped?”

“No, I am.” In truth, she’d been distracted and found less than she probably would on an average day of garage sales in Frederick. Which was not nearly so much as she had hoped. The justification for leaving the shop for this long was to find unique items for low prices that she could repurpose and sell at a large profit, thereby writing off her travel costs and any losses incurred while the shop kept limited hours under Lydia’s eye.

So far, there was no real justification for the trip as far as Kevin would be concerned, but it wasn’t over yet. She still had her main goal ahead of her. Florida. Palm trees and blue skies, the happiest destination for so many people, but Colleen sort of felt like she was headed for a firing squad.

She just prayed Kevin would never find out what she was doing.

“Good, then, I’m glad it doesn’t feel like a waste.” He took a breath, and she knew he was concluding the trip was a failure and he was also concluding why. “How’s the juvenile delinquent?”

“Actually, she’s been surprisingly easy,” Colleen said, careful not to sound too enthusiastic, lest she should become the regular go-to replacement mom, but at the same time, wanting to share the good news. “I really thought she’d be more of a handful, but it hasn’t been too bad.”

This was actually an understatement. Tamara so far had been well behaved and even fun at times. A little mopey every once in a while, but ever since their game of Never Have I Ever, she seemed to have perked up a little. Colleen was finding she enjoyed her company, and was even grateful for the buffer Tamara provided in the awkward relationship with Bitty.

“Well, good. I’m sorry again I can’t be there with you.”

No, no. He would hate it. And she would be tense the whole time, knowing he was hating it. She was really glad he wasn’t here. “Oh it’s fine. How’s Jay been? Are you guys having fun?”

“It’s been a blast, actually,” he said, then with fractionally less enthusiasm added, “We both keep saying we wish you were here.”

Colleen was 99 percent sure this wasn’t true. But it was the kind of thing that didn’t have to be true to be nice.

“Aw. I’d say I do too, but I’d probably get bored with all the boys talking sports the whole time.” She gave a laugh. “I’m such a girl.”

“I think you’d be surprised by how many women are here. You know Sam Riley? The kid that busted his ankle in soccer last season?”

She tried not to let on that she’d immediately tensed. “Yeah, he was in Jay’s fourth-grade class, I think.” She remembered his single mom
quite
clearly. His very hot, flirtatious single mom. “Did Kelly go?” Her forced casualness sounded comical to her own ear, but she didn’t let on.

“Yup, she’s a huge sports buff, apparently. Never know it looking at her, right?”

No, never. Not the five-foot-eight waif with Gisele Bündchen legs and Kate Hudson hair. Or maybe that’s just how Colleen was remembering her. She was definitely pretty, though, and definitely didn’t look like she’d be into sports. Even though it was inaccurate, she would rather picture some hardened woman who looked like she could take a punch as being the “sports type.”

“No,” she said, trying again to sound light and like this news didn’t change how she felt about the trip. “Yeah, she definitely doesn’t strike me as that. So what are you guys doing tonight?”

“I think the kids are going to hang out in the rooms, and the rest of us are going to watch the game at the hotel bar. They’ve got Old Bay wings and Dogfish Head on tap here.”

“Sixty Minute?”

“Yup.”

“Your favorite, that’s very cool.”

So they’d all be getting drunk together. With Kelly. Probably a bunch of guys, and her as the only woman. They’d joke and tease her, and they’d all probably flirt with her and she’d play it up like she didn’t notice this crowd of husbands was ogling her.

Not that Kevin was that guy.

Ugh, that would probably make it even worse. He’d probably be the only one not after her, so by virtue of that, she’d probably like him the best.

Colleen squeezed the bridge of her nose. She had to get out of her head. Stop thinking so much. She let her imagination run wild with this sort of thing. It probably didn’t help that she couldn’t remember the last time she and Kevin had just
hung out
. That was one of the problems with marriage.

When you were dating, there was always that certain level of pretending to like the things your boyfriend did. Colleen could easily recall sitting at a bar and hanging out with him and drinking beer. Ordering the same beer as he did, even though she didn’t like it, just in an effort to seem easy-breezy. Watching football—God, those games lasted an age—which she understood but didn’t care about, and reacting when everyone else did while trying not to come off like the poseur she was.

Then you got married or got comfortable, and you didn’t have to fake it on that stuff anymore. So your interests split off, and suddenly you weren’t spending that time together. Then some hot thang like Kelly came along and filled in that “fun girlfriend” role. And worse, she genuinely liked whatever it was.

Colleen shook the thoughts from her head. “Well, that sounds like fun, babe! I’m really glad you guys are having a good time.”

She wasn’t sure now what she envied more. That Kevin and Jay had this thing to bond over in a father–son way, or if she wished she were the one bonding with Kevin again.

“It’s fun. Okay, sweetie, I gotta run—we’ve got a private tour of the Hall of Fame museum here.”

“Okay, I’ll text you later.”

“Okay. Love you.” It was a perfunctory statement. Made every time they hung up the phone. Did he mean it?

“Love you too.”

*   *   *

THE AUCTION IN
Glidmore, South Carolina, was—thankfully—better than Colleen had anticipated. Conscious of the possibility of coming back with virtually nothing if she didn’t focus and use her imagination and bargain-hunting skills, she decided again that it wasn’t her problem if Tamara and Bitty were bored; she was going to do what she’d come to do.

The first thing she bought was a box of old rusted horseshoes for a dollar. She felt Tamara’s questioning eyes on her and added “judgment” to the mental list of things she was going to ignore. With a little paint, a little glitter, some glue, feathers, rhinestones, whatever she could think of, blinged-out horseshoes sold really well in the shop. She couldn’t even say she didn’t understand it, because a couple of them had turned out so well that she’d hung them up and not sold them. They were pretty. Unique. A rusted horseshoe over a door, well, that was commonplace. Everyone had seen that before. But a pale pastel horseshoe, that familiar shape, embellished with rhinestones, pretty paint, and—on one occasion you’d have to see to believe—feathers, it took the traditional and made it girlie, and people went nuts for that.

Who didn’t want luck?

And who wouldn’t prefer it pretty?

Actually, that was the kind of thing maybe Tamara could do—the painting and decorating. Colleen caught herself at the thought. She only had Tamara for another week—she wasn’t going to be around to do art projects or shop things, she’d be going back home.

Still, Colleen could tell her about it so maybe she’d take the initiative to come up with her own projects and do something productive instead of smoking those damn cigarettes she always reeked of.

Colleen hadn’t said anything, she didn’t want to be the nasty old aunt wagging a finger and telling Tamara she was “bad”—but, jeez, the cigarette habit was not only nasty and led to wrinkles and yellow teeth, but how on earth could she
afford
it? Cigarettes cost a fortune these days!

But after the auction, the opportunity came up.

“What are you going to do with all those horseshoes?” Tamara asked. Skepticism clear in her voice.

“Paint them. Make them glittery. BeDazzled. Basically turn them into art. Are you up to that?”

“What, making horseshoes into art?”

“Yup.”

“Me?”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not in this business, I don’t know how to do that. Like,
at all
.”

“Did you ever paint pottery as a kid?” Colleen thought this was a given—didn’t every kid go to a pottery shop to make some ghastly
MOM
platter that their mother had to display from embarrassment right on through to extreme melancholy?

“No? …” Tamara looked blank.

“What about school art projects that you brought home?”

“What, like those turkeys made out of our hand outlines?”

Colleen hesitated. It was a pretty rudimentary definition of art, but it would do. “Sure.”

“Once.”

“Okay.” Irritation suddenly took over. “If you can get inspired and make those horseshoes into beautiful decorations, you’re hired. If you can’t, forget it, have another cigarette.”

Tamara looked wounded for one fleeting moment. “I don’t smoke that much.”

Colleen had no patience for it. “
Any
is too much. But I can’t stop you.” She shrugged. “Do what you want.”

Uncertainty flitted through Tamara’s expression. “So, these horseshoes. You just want them decorated?”

The triumph was so small that Colleen could barely claim it as hers, even to herself. “I want them beautiful. And I can do that, but it takes time. If you can do it, I’ll pay you. But not to just do a slipshod job, to do a really good job. Let me know if you’re interested.”

“Okay,” Tamara agreed. “I’ll think about it.”

And they left it at that, even though privately Colleen thought it was a really good offer for pay and to nurture her creativity.

A few more lots came up, including an old box of Christmas music books, which Colleen got for three bucks. A little bit of glue and some German glass glitter, and those pages could become beautiful decorations that would go like mad during the holiday season.

She was also psyched to notice there was a music box in the bottom of the crate. The label on the bottom said it would play a variety of songs from
The Sound of Music,
but when she cranked the key, it buzzed and rattled and played a few discordant notes of “My Favorite Things.” It was disappointing, but not a huge loss, since she’d gotten what she intended to get with the sheet music. The music box would just have been a nice bonus.

But that, she had discovered a long time ago, was how life was: Sometimes a little glow in the road ahead gave you hope for a moment but turned out to be a mirage. And sometimes that mirage was pretty enough to keep you going just a little bit longer.

*   *   *

THE NEXT DAY,
they hit another auction, and this one was the shizzle. Truly. After she registered and started to look at the merchandise up for auction, Colleen couldn’t believe her luck.

She was particularly gratified to look around at the unsophisticated-looking rubes who were there to bid against her. There was no telling—there was
never
any telling—but she had that feeling deep in her bones that today might be a very profitable day.

They brought up a salvaged window eave, everything but the glass, that was said to be from a historic Charleston hotel that had been torn down a decade or so previously.

“Oh my God, imagine that with a mirror where the window was,” Colleen said to Bitty.

“The bidding is starting at four hundred dollars,” Bitty countered. “How much would you have to sell it for to make it worth it?”

“Well,
any
profit is profit—”

“Hauling it home, refurbishing it?”

“I could make a decent profit if I sold it for six-fifty,” Colleen said, assessing the piece, which was easily five feet tall and almost that wide. “But I’d price it at eleven hundred initially, and odds are pretty good that I’d get it.”

Bitty turned the corners of her mouth down and nodded. “Impressive for a single piece.”

“That’s my aim.”

Bitty smiled. “You always were an entrepreneur. I was only a shopper. Let’s hope this works.”

Colleen felt a little irritation with the implied negativity. This was what she’d been doing for ten years now. More if you counted the time she had a stall at the local tag sale. She’d built her customer clientele, built her reputation, built everything to become a self-made, self-employed woman. She couldn’t afford to just “hope” things went well—even though that’s exactly what this whole trip had become, thanks to a bad couple of years—and she sure didn’t like others treating her business as if it were some hopeful whim.