“I’ll let you know which day. You can leave them in the safe then if you want.”
We wrapped everything carefully, placing each piece in its own little cotton-lined white box. Madge and I were putting the boxes carefully in the shoebox when Sam’s cell rang. He answered, then rolled his eyes.
“Coming home right now, Marly!” He was on his feet before he hung up. “I’m late. I’ve got to go.”
He was herding us out the door when Madge’s cell rang.
“That was Bill,” she explained after her brief conversation. “I’mlate for a cookout and swim party at the Winstons’ place. We leave from there for a week in Massachusetts at my in-laws’ summer place. I’ve got to run!” She gave me a quick hug and left, Sam on her heels.
By default, I ended up driving back to Aunt Stella’s with a small fortune in jewels in the van with me. I almost raced from my parking spot to the house. If the local thieves only knew what I had!
I unlocked the front door as quickly as I could, my eyes darting up and down the lane for thieves lurking behind window boxes. I slammed the door behind me and twisted all the locks. I know. Paranoid.
As I turned from the door, my nose wrinkled, not at my personality foibles but at the smell.
“What’s going on in here? It smells like a beauty parlor!”
“Mom!” Chloe called from the kitchen. “I’m getting highlighted!”
I gulped. The only person I could think of that Chloe knew here was Jenna, and the thought of the girls coloring each other’s hair was unnerving. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if Chloe’s hair turned bright orange or green or something, but it would be the end of Chloe’s world. The weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth would continue for weeks until it grew out.
I set my shoebox on the dining room table and peeked hesitantly into the kitchen. Chloe sat at the table wearing enough foil to transmit to Mars, and Tori sat on the counter watching a stranger brush smelly, foamy stuff on a strip of Jenna’s beautiful dark hair, then wrap it carefully in more foil.
“Tori! What’s going on? And tell me you checked with Jenna’s dad.”
Please
.
“Hey, Libby.” Tori waved negligently, ignoring the Jenna’s dad issue. My heart sank. “This is Mindy. She’s a friend of a friend.”
“Hi.” Mindy glanced at me. “I went to beauty school with Tori’s friend Val.”
“Val does my hair,” Tori explained.
I had to admit that Mindy knew what she was doing—which didn’t make doing Chloe’s and Jenna’s hair without checking okay.
Mindy nodded. “Val called me this morning because she knew I lived here in Philly. She told me I had a gig making three ladies beautiful.” She grinned at me. “I guess you’re lady number three.”
9
T HE LANE’S F OURTH OF J ULY block party was well under way when, newly highlighted and coiffed, I took my baked beans out to set on the tables James had lined up along the walk in front of his house and Mark and Tim’s.
James eyed my dish as I set it on the red, white, and blue covering. “They don’t look like Stella’s beans.”
“That’s because they’re Libby’s,” I said. “Not the brand, but mine. I’ve got to say, James,” I added hurriedly to distract him from the fact that being Libby’s meant, at least in this case, that they came out of a can, “this is a very impressive spread.”
And it was, a curious melding of traditional area dishes and ethnic contributions. Garden salad, caesar salad, potato and macaroni salads, three-bean salad, pickled eggs and deviled eggs, cole slaw, creamed cabbage, falafel balls, couscous, a platter filled with hoagie makings, and a squeeze bottle filled with oil to moisten the Italianrolls, sliced and waiting. On the other side of the rolls was a hot dish holding razor-thin slices of roast beef in gravy and beyond it another hot dish filled with sausage and green peppers. Then began the table filled with homemade desserts—pies, cakes,
We wrapped everything carefully, placing each piece in its own little cotton-lined white box. Madge and I were putting the boxes carefully in the shoebox when Sam’s cell rang. He answered, then rolled his eyes.
“Coming home right now, Marly!” He was on his feet before he hung up. “I’m late. I’ve got to go.”
He was herding us out the door when Madge’s cell rang.
“That was Bill,” she explained after her brief conversation. “I’mlate for a cookout and swim party at the Winstons’ place. We leave from there for a week in Massachusetts at my in-laws’ summer place. I’ve got to run!” She gave me a quick hug and left, Sam on her heels.
By default, I ended up driving back to Aunt Stella’s with a small fortune in jewels in the van with me. I almost raced from my parking spot to the house. If the local thieves only knew what I had!
I unlocked the front door as quickly as I could, my eyes darting up and down the lane for thieves lurking behind window boxes. I slammed the door behind me and twisted all the locks. I know. Paranoid.
As I turned from the door, my nose wrinkled, not at my personality foibles but at the smell.
“What’s going on in here? It smells like a beauty parlor!”
“Mom!” Chloe called from the kitchen. “I’m getting highlighted!”
I gulped. The only person I could think of that Chloe knew here was Jenna, and the thought of the girls coloring each other’s hair was unnerving. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if Chloe’s hair turned bright orange or green or something, but it would be the end of Chloe’s world. The weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth would continue for weeks until it grew out.
I set my shoebox on the dining room table and peeked hesitantly into the kitchen. Chloe sat at the table wearing enough foil to transmit to Mars, and Tori sat on the counter watching a stranger brush smelly, foamy stuff on a strip of Jenna’s beautiful dark hair, then wrap it carefully in more foil.
“Tori! What’s going on? And tell me you checked with Jenna’s dad.”
Please
.
“Hey, Libby.” Tori waved negligently, ignoring the Jenna’s dad issue. My heart sank. “This is Mindy. She’s a friend of a friend.”
“Hi.” Mindy glanced at me. “I went to beauty school with Tori’s friend Val.”
“Val does my hair,” Tori explained.
I had to admit that Mindy knew what she was doing—which didn’t make doing Chloe’s and Jenna’s hair without checking okay.
Mindy nodded. “Val called me this morning because she knew I lived here in Philly. She told me I had a gig making three ladies beautiful.” She grinned at me. “I guess you’re lady number three.”
9
T HE LANE’S F OURTH OF J ULY block party was well under way when, newly highlighted and coiffed, I took my baked beans out to set on the tables James had lined up along the walk in front of his house and Mark and Tim’s.
James eyed my dish as I set it on the red, white, and blue covering. “They don’t look like Stella’s beans.”
“That’s because they’re Libby’s,” I said. “Not the brand, but mine. I’ve got to say, James,” I added hurriedly to distract him from the fact that being Libby’s meant, at least in this case, that they came out of a can, “this is a very impressive spread.”
And it was, a curious melding of traditional area dishes and ethnic contributions. Garden salad, caesar salad, potato and macaroni salads, three-bean salad, pickled eggs and deviled eggs, cole slaw, creamed cabbage, falafel balls, couscous, a platter filled with hoagie makings, and a squeeze bottle filled with oil to moisten the Italianrolls, sliced and waiting. On the other side of the rolls was a hot dish holding razor-thin slices of roast beef in gravy and beyond it another hot dish filled with sausage and green peppers. Then began the table filled with homemade desserts—pies, cakes,
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