Page 29 of Tangled Memories
Still enamored with playing dress-up and behaving like grand dames, which breakfast in bed enhanced, they insisted upon wearing all their antiquated finery again. Before Stormy could discourage them, they began pulling on the dresses over shorts and shirts.
Stormy bit her lip. There was a small secondhand shop on Charlotte Street called The Way We Were, and she had hoped to include some of what the girls wore in her offering to the shop owners.
Still, she protested only mildly. “Easter is three weeks away,” she told her daughter. “If we can sell the cloche and the furs, that’ll buy you a new Easter dress.”
“I’ll just wear this,” Liane said, eyeing her mother with stubborn aplomb.
“Can we wear makeup again today, too?” Janelle asked, all hope.
Stormy gave in. “All right. But don’t pack it on like you did last night.”
While the girls primped in front of the dresser mirror, Stormy applied her own cosmetics in the bathroom.
Her mind, though, was not on appearances but on plotting immediate financial strategy.
Most of the money she had received from the pawnshop had to be set aside to pay her monthly probation fee, and she’d set aside the other half for Liane’s school lunch money. Plus, she’d have to allow for extra auto expenses—gas and oil—against all the miles she’d be putting on the car.
She reviewed what she knew about flea markets. They resembled Far Eastern bazaars and were popular with those hunting bargains. She hadn’t yet hit upon the perfect product to sell, but she knew it would have to be whatever she could buy the most of at garage sales with the least amount of money. And then there were the fees to rent a vendor space. Preferably in a high-traffic aisle, which no doubt would cost extra.
St. Augustine had a sizable flea market, but the foot traffic depended quite a lot on tourists. That made it unreliable. The Jacksonville area had several gargantuan marts, as well, but she discounted hiring a table in any of them. The best slots were already taken up by regulars, mostly professional vendors. That meant stiff competition for the smaller enterprise, not to mention expenses. The gasoline alone would put a deep gouge in her precious cash reserves.
She had often been to the Daytona Beach flea market, and that was the one that most appealed to her now. It was a large covered market, an easy hour’s drive from St. Augustine on A1A. Years ago, she had bought her used laptop there from a man who had a stall on Sundays.
The money from the pawnshop had put some immediate cash into her hands, but not enough. She could only cross her fingers and hope Lady Luck had her in view when she took other loot from the attic into the secondhand shop.
If that didn’t garner her enough seed money, she’d pick up discarded aluminum cans and cart them to the recycling station if she had to.
Thus determined, she took herself off to the kitchen to make sandwiches. She would not spend cash for anything more than soft drinks while on her scouting expeditions.
Her nephews were in the den, eating cereal and watching Saturday morning cartoons. In the kitchen, she found Nina loading the dishwasher.
Stormy offered a “good morning” and left it at that as she opened cupboards and took down a can of tuna and a jar of peanut butter. She felt Nina’s wary, hostile gaze on her, and it was almost like being in prison again. She shivered, trying to shake off the sensation.
Nina sniffed and said, “That man was on the beach this morning, lingering in front of the house.” She made the statement an accusation.
Stormy admitted to the tiniest prick of pleasure. So Tyler had not abandoned his pursuit, after all. His pursuit of the money, that is.Stupid man.
She glanced out the kitchen window. He was not in sight. “We don’t own the beach, Nina. I can’t tell him to stay off of it.”
“I think you’re leading him on.”
“He’s here to do a job. It’s just bad luck that I’m involved.”
“You don’t seem too unhappy that he’s paying attention to you.”
Stormy stopped spreading peanut butter on bread slices and gave her sister a forthright look. “Maybe I’m not. You know, I haven’t had a man’s arms around me in forever. I didn’t even get it on with Hadley Wilson. We had a beginning and an arrest. I miss the comfort of having a man’s arms around me.”
“You’re less than two weeks out of prison, and already you’re planning an affair with the first man to come along? That’s disgusting.”
Nina’s censure wafted over Stormy. A retort came to her lips, but she swallowed it back. Tyler’s assessment of Nina and Tully’s marriage, that perhaps Nina herself was unhappy, gave Stormy pause.
“The only thing I’m planning right now is how to make a living. Tell me,” Stormy added, “what is it that makes you so angry? Are you miserable in your marriage or just with life in general?” She paused. “Are you pregnant again?”
Nina’s chin went up, very much like Stormy’s own when pressed. “I’m not pregnant. And I’m not miserable. I have a fine husband and two great kids. Whatever provoked you to say such a thing?”
Stormy opened the tuna and forked it into a bowl. “You seldom smile, and I haven’t heard you laugh since I’ve been home. I only hear you argue with Tully. Maybe you ought to talk to somebody.”
“Oh? Like who?”