Going Through the Notions(13)

I felt like I’d been holding my breath around Sarah for most of her life.

I saw her gaze flick over to me and she smiled, but I hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be a “Mom Improvement Weekend.” I’d intended to color my hair yesterday, but other events took precedence and I prayed my roots weren’t showing.

I was wearing my usual outfit of a faded denim jacket, white T-shirt, and what she would disparagingly call “mom jeans,” my old boot-cut Levi’s. Hey, they were comfortable, and while I lugged boxes around and was on my feet all day, comfort was my main concern. My only jewelry consisted of the simple gold hoops Joe had given me when we opened the store.

“I must admit I do miss the breakfast burritos on set,” Eleanor said. “They were the best! How was your latest shoot?”

“The only good part about that movie was that I got to practice my fight-scene techniques. The standin was sick one day, so I filled in. All the stuff they taught us in film school finally paid off.”

Debby groaned as she looked at her watch. “I’m running late for my shift at the library, but I have to hear more insider tales of the film industry. Can we go to lunch soon? Please?”

“Sure,” Sarah said. “I’ll be around for a few days.”

Debby reluctantly said good-bye, and rushed off.

“Well, we must be going, too,” Eleanor announced. “We have to attend the monthly meeting of the Historical Society.” Eleanor was the president, and Martha was the secretary, in charge of taking the minutes at the meetings.

“Don’t you mean the Hysterical Society?” asked Martha. She winked at us as she followed Eleanor out the front door.

Sarah laughed. “Those two never change, do they, Mom?”

“No.” I grinned at her. “And I hope they never do.”

She wandered over to the store’s computer. “How’s the website coming along?”

“Great, thanks to you.”

She’d set me up with a site, and I knew enough to be dangerous. At least to fill orders that came in over the Internet and answer questions on certain merchandise. I’d even toyed with the idea of starting a blog, but I wasn’t quite there yet.

“Come on now, Sarah. What’s the matter?” As much as I knew she loved us, my daughter thought Millbury was insufferably dull. There had to be some pressing reason why she was here.

I narrowed my eyes at her. Sarah changed boyfriends every six months whether she needed to or not. Actually it seemed to coincide with the conclusion of each new film.

“How’s—um . . .” I struggled to remember the latest one’s name.

“Oh God. Please don’t mention Peter to me. I never want to see, hear, or speak to him ever again.”

“Okay.”

“Jeez, Mom, he had the nerve to break up with me at the wrap party. At the wrap party. With me.”

“But why?”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

Apparently for once the tables had turned, and Sarah was the victim of the latest breakup. She’d come home to lick her wounds. I sighed inwardly. Sarah with a broken heart was a wealth of additional drama that I really didn’t need right now.

Sometimes I wished she had more of Joe’s sweetness and maybe more of my tact. It was typical of her lack of thoughtfulness that she would show up with no notice, but no matter. I adored her nonetheless.

A couple of hours later, she’d checked the website thoroughly, made some updates, and she sighed, too, obviously bored to death. The familiar anxiety rose up inside my chest as I worried about how to keep her happy and entertained.

“Do you want to sort some buttons for me?”

“Mom! I’m not a little kid anymore.”

But she followed me into the former dining room. The maple two-piece dovetailed workbench had a recessed portion in the middle for sorting and separating items. I poured out a bag of buttons I’d picked up at the last auction—a mix of wood, bone, Czech glass, jet, metal, silver, pewter, and mother-of-pearl. She slumped into a chair and began sorting them in a desultory fashion.

When I’d rearranged the front window display three times, and I hadn’t had a customer in over an hour, I decided my nerves couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sarah, I’m going to close early today, but I have to run a couple of errands before I go home. I’m sure you’re anxious to see Dad.”

“Oh, I already stopped to see Daddy on the way here.”

I squashed an irrational stab of jealousy. “Well, do you want to come with me, then?”

“Why not?” She sighed again. “There’s nothing else to do.”