to face Mom. Frankie shrank like a scolded child.
“I had a question about categorizing these.” Mom held up a couple pairs of earrings — purple grape clusters and lemon drops.
Frankie stuffed a paper into my hand, whispering, “Here you go, honey.” She darted a nervous glance at Mom then said, louder, “I’d better get back to the gift shop.” She scurried down the hall in the opposite direction.
I checked my watch and clenched my jaw. The museum, including the gift shop, didn ’t open for another half hour. My mother emits an aura that makes people — my friends — give her a wide berth. This was nothing new — I’d grown up with it. But I hadn’t asked her to come here, to create social discomfort in my carefully orchestrated realm.
I had no idea why Mom had taken a liking to Pete — enough of a liking, anyway — to insist I reconcile with him. I was glad she had, but still—
I closed my eyes. I was going crazy.
“Meredith? These are part of necklace and bracelet sets. Do you want the sets kept together or separated by piece?”
“ Sets together,” I gritted out. “I’ll come help you clear space for arranging the items. We’ll need to take documentation photographs.”
“ What did I interrupt?” Mom whispered as we clumped down the basement stairs.
“ The fundraiser cleared almost $40,000.”
“ Meredith, that’s wonderful.” Mom’s eyes were bright. “This community must really value the museum — and appreciate you.” She squeezed my arm.
Was that how my mother measured approval? I sighed. “We had a lot of out-of-town guests. I suspect that’s where most of the money came from. Sockeye County’s not exactly booming.” At least she was pleased — for the moment.
Mom had made good progress on the jewelry. I quickly became distracted examining the juicy fruit, brilliant flowers and a few creepily realistic insects she ’d spread out on the top shelf of a padded transit cart. I reached to snap on a spotlight and remembered Frankie’s paper.
I uncrinkled the page and squinted to decipher Frankie ’s loopy handwriting.
“ What’s that?” Mom leaned close.
Frankie had underlined the title of her list — Short Fundraiser Guests. She’d organized the list by height, from 4’10” to 5’3” — bless her heart — each name followed by an estimate of the person’s stature. She’d even included her own name, toward the top of the list.
I joggled in silent laughter while skimming my finger down the page. If these poor people only knew we were now analyzing them by linear inch instead of for their potential donation capacity. The vast majority of the names were women ’s.
“ Do you know any of them?” Mom asked.
“ Most, but I wouldn’t suspect a single one.” My finger hovered over Barbara Segreti’s name. “This reminds me — I need to call Barbara for appointments for you and me this afternoon.”
“ She runs a spa?” Mom asked hopefully.
“ Not exactly, but it’ll do. You’ll see.” I drummed my fingers on the transit cart and grinned. “I have another idea. You good for a few minutes?”
Mom nodded.
I zipped upstairs and, from the privacy of my office, dialed the newest grandmother in Sockeye County.
“ Yeah,” Sheriff Marge grunted.
“ How are you feeling?”
“ Not worth mentioning. Your mom still with you?”
How does she hone in on the main issue so fast? “Yeah. I have a couple favors to ask, one of which might not be exactly appropriate.”
“ Yeah?” I could hear the arched eyebrow in Sheriff Marge’s tone.
I took a deep breath. “First, are you up for babysitting the adorable Jesamie this afternoon and maybe into the evening?”
“ Course I am,” Sheriff Marge huffed. “I’m not an invalid.”
“ I just wanted to make sure, with the cast and all—”
“ I haven’t forgotten the basics. Since she isn’t crawling yet, we spend most of our time snuggling and looking at books anyway. She doesn’t cry when
“I had a question about categorizing these.” Mom held up a couple pairs of earrings — purple grape clusters and lemon drops.
Frankie stuffed a paper into my hand, whispering, “Here you go, honey.” She darted a nervous glance at Mom then said, louder, “I’d better get back to the gift shop.” She scurried down the hall in the opposite direction.
I checked my watch and clenched my jaw. The museum, including the gift shop, didn ’t open for another half hour. My mother emits an aura that makes people — my friends — give her a wide berth. This was nothing new — I’d grown up with it. But I hadn’t asked her to come here, to create social discomfort in my carefully orchestrated realm.
I had no idea why Mom had taken a liking to Pete — enough of a liking, anyway — to insist I reconcile with him. I was glad she had, but still—
I closed my eyes. I was going crazy.
“Meredith? These are part of necklace and bracelet sets. Do you want the sets kept together or separated by piece?”
“ Sets together,” I gritted out. “I’ll come help you clear space for arranging the items. We’ll need to take documentation photographs.”
“ What did I interrupt?” Mom whispered as we clumped down the basement stairs.
“ The fundraiser cleared almost $40,000.”
“ Meredith, that’s wonderful.” Mom’s eyes were bright. “This community must really value the museum — and appreciate you.” She squeezed my arm.
Was that how my mother measured approval? I sighed. “We had a lot of out-of-town guests. I suspect that’s where most of the money came from. Sockeye County’s not exactly booming.” At least she was pleased — for the moment.
Mom had made good progress on the jewelry. I quickly became distracted examining the juicy fruit, brilliant flowers and a few creepily realistic insects she ’d spread out on the top shelf of a padded transit cart. I reached to snap on a spotlight and remembered Frankie’s paper.
I uncrinkled the page and squinted to decipher Frankie ’s loopy handwriting.
“ What’s that?” Mom leaned close.
Frankie had underlined the title of her list — Short Fundraiser Guests. She’d organized the list by height, from 4’10” to 5’3” — bless her heart — each name followed by an estimate of the person’s stature. She’d even included her own name, toward the top of the list.
I joggled in silent laughter while skimming my finger down the page. If these poor people only knew we were now analyzing them by linear inch instead of for their potential donation capacity. The vast majority of the names were women ’s.
“ Do you know any of them?” Mom asked.
“ Most, but I wouldn’t suspect a single one.” My finger hovered over Barbara Segreti’s name. “This reminds me — I need to call Barbara for appointments for you and me this afternoon.”
“ She runs a spa?” Mom asked hopefully.
“ Not exactly, but it’ll do. You’ll see.” I drummed my fingers on the transit cart and grinned. “I have another idea. You good for a few minutes?”
Mom nodded.
I zipped upstairs and, from the privacy of my office, dialed the newest grandmother in Sockeye County.
“ Yeah,” Sheriff Marge grunted.
“ How are you feeling?”
“ Not worth mentioning. Your mom still with you?”
How does she hone in on the main issue so fast? “Yeah. I have a couple favors to ask, one of which might not be exactly appropriate.”
“ Yeah?” I could hear the arched eyebrow in Sheriff Marge’s tone.
I took a deep breath. “First, are you up for babysitting the adorable Jesamie this afternoon and maybe into the evening?”
“ Course I am,” Sheriff Marge huffed. “I’m not an invalid.”
“ I just wanted to make sure, with the cast and all—”
“ I haven’t forgotten the basics. Since she isn’t crawling yet, we spend most of our time snuggling and looking at books anyway. She doesn’t cry when
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