have. There’s a package on the desk in the office for you.”
“If that’s it, maybe you’d call him tomorrow for me and let him know,” Jennifer said, giving Crabapple an extra rub. “I have to go out to the Wedgeworths for the appraisal.”
“I noticed the appointment on the calendar. Should be interesting. Almost wish I could go with you to see the place.” Emma Mae shook her head. “Amazing what you do on your computer. I’m too old to learn that new fangled technology.”
“No you’re not.” Jennifer stood at the register glancing over the sales sheet. “You just don’t want to bother. You’d rather crawl into a good book instead.”
They both knew that the store couldn’t survive without Jennifer’s commissions as a rare book dealer. Her newly acquired skill had paid off for the store’s bottom line, but had not helped in finding Carla’s missing book. The Internet was a boon, but she’d learned to be careful. Book thieves and unscrupulous dealers abounded. EBay, although a wonderful source, was sometimes referred to as the largest legalized fence of stolen property.
Emma Mae rose and stretched. “Maybe keeping hours on Sunday afternoon isn’t such a good idea. What do you think?”
“You’re the one who insisted we open on Sunday afternoon. Have you checked how many Sunday sales we do?”
“I knew you’d ask me that.” Emma Mae rose and walked stiffly over to the magazine rack and re-stacked them. “So how was your stay at Beastly?”
“Lovely. Cabin repairs had to be made, but the kayaking was great. Lydia loved it.” Jennifer walked back to the office and checked the package and personal mail that Emma Mae had left for her. She and her aunt shared the desire for independence and privacy, which is why they worked so well together and why both had trouble getting along with her mother, Eleanor. Emma Mae and Eleanor were as different as Carla and Jennifer had been. Loving one’s sister doesn’t mean one thinks or behaves like her.
Looking out the office door to the front of the store, Jennifer saw Maxie jump off the counter, follow Emma Mae toward the bookshelves and swat at her mistress’s long wool skirt.
“Where’s Lydia?” Emma Mae called out. “The cats miss her. Maxie has nobody to pester but me.”
Jennifer came out of the office holding a few letters. “Dropped her off at Shu Lee’s. Her fur was a briar patch.”
Emma Mae frowned and studied her niece. “Well, have you looked in the mirror lately? You could do with a groomer, too.” She swished her skirt away from Maxie. “By the way, a fellow came in asking about you last week. Didn’t leave a name, but said he’d be back when you were in town. A good looker, on the thin side, nice manners, smooth talker.” She grinned at Jennifer. “Have you been holding out on me?”
“Hardly. What did he want?” Jennifer scanned through the mail.
“Didn’t say, just asked a lot of questions.”
Jennifer stopped and stared at her aunt. “What kinds of questions?”
“Where you were, when you’d be back. Those kinds of things.”
Jennifer stilled, a sense of unease rode her. “Was he soft spoken, wiry, about my height, short hair, graying at the temple?”
“You do know him.” Emma Mae grinned and with raised eyebrows walked over to Jennifer. “You’re a sly one, keeping a new beau a secret.” She poked Jennifer in the side. “Maybe Joe will get jealous and ask you out.”
Jennifer ignored the jab about Joe. At least there was one part of her life that her aunt knew nothing about and she liked it that way. “The mystery man is a new acquaintance,” she said, but didn’t add that he was also someone she needed to learn more about.
Emma Mae pointed to a calendar on the wall. “You won’t have much time to spruce up. Your due to do the appraisal at nine in the morning.”
“Right. Sorry to leave you to do my shift again. I’ll make it up next week.”
“Don’t be sorry. The income from your outside book activities more than makes up for my doing extra duty in the store.” Emma Mae picked up a stack of books to shelve. “Go home. You need to dress like you were in civilization, instead of in the boonies.”
“Right. I just wanted to check in.” After Jennifer left the store, she picked up groceries, then went home to her cold, damp, rented house nestled in the hills on the outskirts of town. A long gravel driveway led to the one-story bungalow. It wasn’t much to look at, but it suited her needs. She entered through the back door, placed her groceries on the kitchen counter, and turned on the heat. Having no garage meant going into the rain each time she retrieved something from her car. She dropped her duffle bag off in the back room by the washing machine, wrestled her kayak off the roof of her Jeep onto a dolly, and stowed it in the backyard shed. Knowing it would be a while before she’d go kayaking, she gave the craft a long wistful look, sighed and shut the door.
After stowing gear and starting a load of laundry, she took a long hot shower and donned a pair of black slacks and a red turtleneck jersey. At her desk in the living room she phoned her mother. It wasn’t a call she wanted to make, but knew if she didn’t, her mother’s wrath would be worse. Better to get it over with. After only two rings, her mother’s strident voice snapped into her ear. “Jennifer?”
“Hi, Mom. I’m home. The island was wonderful, and the cabin is in good shape.”
“I’m glad you’re back. Going out there alone is foolish.” In her usual flow of consciousness speak, her mother continued without listening to anything Jennifer had to say. “I have a real estate agent who can get you a great price for the island. Then you can buy a house here in town. I’m sure you’ll be much happier.”
Jennifer’s body went rigid. “Mother, I am not selling!” It was like talking into a vortex. Her mother rattled on, and finally Jennifer interjected, “I have to pick up Lydia before the groomer closes. I’ll be in touch. Give my love to Dad. Bye.” She slammed down the receiver.
Jennifer closed her eyes and yelled, “Mother, why must you be so impossible?” Her head began to pound. She slumped onto the couch and stretched out. Her mother’s litany of sell, sell, sell had recurred every week since she’d become the sole owner. Her mother also disapproved of her renting this small home. Control was her mother’s major flaw.
Jennifer understood why Carla had chafed at their mother’s need to dominate. Their father had essentially stayed out of the arguments. Jennifer often wondered how he withstood Eleanor’s carping. Perhaps burying himself in his work as a self-employed architectural consultant was his flagship of survival. However, his relationship with his daughters had suffered because of it.
Looking around her living room, she was comforted by the furniture and artifacts she’d inherited from her grandmother. The cherry wood credenza and matching desk, the grandfather clock that no longer chimed, and the coffee table with marks left from children’s mischief gave her a sense of her past. A bookcase was piled high with old and well-read books. A Rosenthal vase her grandmother had bought in Germany held dried pussy willows, and an old oil painting of her great-grandparents’ home in Wales hung on one wall next to a seascape by a local artist.
Despite moments of loneliness, Jennifer enjoyed her life in her small rental
