Joe and Sarah went outside with the dog while I started doing the dishes. I could hear the easy murmur of their voices, but not what they were saying.
I poured another glass of wine and wondered how long she would stay.
At the store, I was in my element. I was funny, welcoming, talkative, knowledgeable—a great businesswoman dealing with top designers and wealthy collectors.
When my daughter was around, it seemed like I always said the wrong thing. A little older, a little dowdier, a little less confident.
I wished she shared my passion for my precious antique stock, and wondered how I could have given birth to a child who was so utterly different from me. I’d also wanted to raise a daughter who could stand on her own two feet and not rely on anyone to take care of her. Boy, had I achieved that goal, and then some. Sarah was fiercely independent and brutally opinionated.
Okay, well, maybe in some ways we were alike. As the old saying goes, be careful what you wish for.
Through the kitchen window I could see Joe out on the glider, talking to her. The moon above was a pale lemon slice in a lilac sky.
Dear Joe. Thirty-four years of marriage. Sure we’d had our fights. Times when I wanted to choke him, or times I’d threatened to sleep in the spare bedroom, but somehow we’d always worked it out. One of us had apologized first, and then of course, there was the lovemaking to make up.
I grinned to myself. Sarah would probably not want to believe that her parents ever had sex. But we did, even at our age. And very good sex, too, I might add.
The night was breezy and cool, and I sighed in relief when I was finally nestled in Joe’s arms in our bed. Sarah had gone to her room, and the puppy was crated in the kitchen.
Joe kissed me, and I melted into him, relaxing for the first time all day. Things were starting to get interesting when suddenly mournful howls erupted from downstairs. After a few excruciating minutes of this racket that Sarah was obviously able to sleep through, Joe got up and went downstairs to soothe the pup. I fell asleep before he came back to bed.
*
“I left the house early the next morning. Sarah was asleep, Joe was taking care of the dog, and I had lots I wanted to do before opening the store. Number one on the list was to check on Betty, scout out the auction building, and dig up any information on those missing fountain pens.
Mist still clung in wisps to the low stone walls and rolled over the tops of the fields as I rode my bicycle toward Sheepville. It was so quiet, it was easy to think I was the only person up and alive at this hour, until I heard the rumble of a tractor in the distance. A purple, blue, and yellow checkered hot air balloon drifted over the tops of the trees, and I pedaled hard, trying to keep it in sight.
River Road was cool and peaceful, too, the musty damp of the moss and undergrowth replacing the manure smell of the fields. Steep hillsides with rock formations and dense undergrowth mixed with rhododendrons and vines towered up above me on the side farthest from the water. The incline pushed my muscles to work hard as I navigated the twists and turns, but it was a relief to feel the blood coursing through my veins, washing away some of the tension of the past few days.
The lights were on in the auction building when I rode up, so I parked the bike near the double doors, and walked inside.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
Betty came out of the office, an anxious look on her face.
“How are you, Betty? How’s the hip?”
“Improving. I get a bit better each day.” She hugged me. “Thanks for coming, Daisy. I just made some tea. Would you like some?”
“Tea would be great.” I’d only had one cup of coffee at home, and until I got to the store, I would be running seriously low on caffeine.
I followed her into the office and she pulled another mug down from the shelf.
“I’m worried about keeping this place going until Angus gets back. There’s a lot of merchandise that needs to be sold. I know how to do it, from watching him all these years, but the thing is . . .”
“What?”
“I can’t see myself getting up on the stage and shouting out the numbers. I’d be scared to death.” She twisted the ends of her shawl-like sweater.
“Well, let’s think. Maybe you could hire someone to do it. How about Patsy?”
“From the diner?”
“Yeah. She’d get a kick out of it. She has the right personality and her voice is certainly loud enough. Plus, I’m sure she could use some extra money.”
Betty brightened. “Yes. That’s a good idea.”
I was about to broach the subject of hiring a decent attorney, when suddenly the office door banged open with a crash.
The woman standing in the doorway was tall and thin, with black hair pulled back into a chignon that enhanced an extremely long, but elegant, neck. She wore a simple wrap dress that looked like it cost a teacher’s salary for a month, and was so gaunt her hipbones showed through the silky fabric.