by a human cannonball barreling through the storefront door.
“Out of my way!”
In rushed Claudia Battles, dressed head-to-toe in colonial-era soldier’s garb. June’s mother, the matriarch of the Battles family, sported a tricorn hat knocked askew and a brown homespun outfit. She flew through the door as if being pursued by the British. She carried what looked like some kind of ancient gun, perhaps a rifle. Claudia’s wispy bun was disheveled and about to unravel, with strands of snow-white hair peeking out, probably once the same red as the other women in her family. She must have just come from the practice battlefield. My event-planning duties for this summer included a new gala celebrating Port Quincy’s founding as a town. We’d christened the event Cordials and Cannonballs. The big day would feature a reenactment of a Revolutionary War battle waged over two hundred years ago right here in Port Quincy. It appeared that Claudia had been practicing in earnest.
Before we could ooh and aah, the look of consternation on Claudia’s face was suddenly understandable. She slammed the glass door behind her, and it snapped shut on the silhouette of my nemesis and once-upon-a-time almost mother-in-law. Hurricane Helene Pierce pushed the heavy glass door open with her bony hands dripping in rubies and pearls and made a nimble beeline after Claudia with her kitten heels striking hard on the wooden floor.
June quickly unsnapped the baby carrier and handed baby Miri to me. The little infant seemed to instinctively cling to my front and I shielded her from the wrath of Helene. I drank in her baby smell and gently bounced her up and down as I planned a quick exit if necessary.
Bev leaned over with a conspiratorial smile. “You’re a natural, Mallory.”
Good grief. Not with the baby talk again.
And in that moment, I realized why all of the seemingly good-natured comments about hurrying up and finally getting hitched and growing a family were getting to me. I confronted the issue that Garrett and I hadn’t discussed the possibility of kids. I hadn’t had the heart to bring it up, partly because I was so busy and partly because it would change the dynamic between Garrett, his daughter Summer, and myself. And mainly because I was scared of what his answer would be, either way. I gulped and held baby Miri closer.
“Women are absolutely not allowed to participate in the Revolutionary War reenactment.” Helene punctuated her decree with a little stamp of her kitten-heeled foot. Her vicious tap made her ubiquitous nude pantyhose pool a bit around her bony ankles.
“Fiddle-faddle.” Claudia righted her tricorn hat and dismissed Helene’s statement with a wave of her hand. Her nonchalance only made Helene even more furious. “I will be participating as a soldier this weekend, and nothing you can do will stop me.”
“I took a vote!” Helene sputtered, her usual command of the situation faltering.
Interesting.
“A vote that the town council agreed did not count.” Claudia’s lined face took on a particularly sour cast. She rolled her eyes in consternation. “Did you really think you could pull off making up some tale about a fire alarm and canceling the meeting, then holding it at your house with the only other two misogynists left on the historical planning commission board? It doesn’t count if you jury-rig the vote. You violated the sunshine law!” Claudia jabbed the air with this claim and succeeded in making Helene flinch. “Thankfully, the other members are more forward thinking and voted the correct way. Four to three, women can participate in the reenactment battle.” Claudia drew herself up to the impressive full height that June and my friend Tabitha had inherited, but Pia had not. “Now get the heck out of my store. You’re not wanted at our establishment.”
Helene was ever ready with a stinging volley, the kind I’d been on the receiving end of quite frequently several years ago when I’d almost married her son. “This old collection of junk? I haven’t set foot in this abomination of a business since the 1990s.”
I snickered. Coincidentally, the early 1990s is when Helene’s fashion awareness seemed to stop, as well. Helene favored pantyhose, shoulder pads, Chanel bouclé jackets, and Bill Blass and Halston suits. Being in her proximity was as much a time-capsule experience as being in the Antique Emporium or planning Cordials and Cannonballs.
Claudia said not a word but let her actions do the talking for her. She took one step toward Helene. She coolly rested her hand on her waist-high replica rifle.
That had better not be a working gun. Of course not, she wouldn’t.
Claudia put that idea to rest and simultaneously skyrocketed my hackles into the stratosphere. “This baby is full of fresh gunpowder. And I know how to use it.”
I took an involuntary step back with the infant in my arms, and Helene flinched, but held her own. The resident dowager-empress of Port Quincy, Pennsylvania, turned her steely powder-blue eyes on me at last.
“Hello, Mallory.”
I should have been cheered that it had taken all of this time for Helene to acknowledge my presence. Miri whimpered as I held her ever closer.
Claudia seemed to come to her senses seeing her daughter’s foster child. She leaned her rifle against a puffy ottoman and squared off against Helene with folded arms. “I mean it, Helene. Out. Now.”
It was Helene’s turn to dismiss Claudia with a flick of her heavily jeweled hand. “Not until you listen to reason, Claudia.” And she couldn’t resist a dig at yours truly. “I’m not surprised you’re consorting with this riffraff, Mallory dear.” Her term of affection slapped on at the end was as cozy and sweet as a cup of battery acid.
“Why, you . . .” Bev made a step toward Helene, bouncing on her heels like a pugilist. It was no easy feat holding back Bev while cradling Miri.
But June rescued us. “You’re free to go, ladies.” It was a compassionate command to leave, not really a request. She seemed to want to rescue Bev and me from Helene’s shenanigans. I reluctantly handed over the baby, but not before taking one more whiff of her sweet smell. I was rewarded with an adorable coo.
“I can’t believe we left them in there.” Bev nearly collapsed as she leaned against the maroon brick front of the Antique Emporium.
“We needed to get the heck out of there as soon as we could.”
It was night and day, breathing in deep gulps of fresh summer air on the sidewalk. We were a safe distance from Helene and her irrational demands. Outside the store, Bev and I exclaimed over the veil. It felt good to examine our find in the clear, bright June sunlight.
“Ooh, it’s more gorgeous than ever.” I traced the outline of delicate stars smattered around the edge of the floral pattern. The veil’s lace was even more intricate and lovely in the bright summer sunlight. “I’ll call the fabric restorer,” I promised Bev. “I suppose she can give good advice about whether we can divvy up the veil or if it’s better to keep it intact.”
Bev gave an excited nod, her eyes sparkling behind the cat’s-eye frames. “This will somewhat change the look I decided on for my big day, but it’s worth it. This is meant to be.”
Or perhaps not.
A whoosh of cold air bathed us as the door to the Antique Emporium hurtled open.
Uh-oh.
Helene wasn’t done with us. Claudia and June must have finally kicked her out of the store.
