started with clay, then moved into plaster, vinyl, feathers, beads, mirrored tiles, and—I’d forgotten the rest. On purpose.
The piece that had garnered her the most attention was her infamous Dancing Naked Monkey Table, a quartet of neon-hued baby chimps prancing in a circle while holding up a glass top, a description that didn’t do it justice. Solitary confinement might have.
Mom made it her practice to complete a new piece each weekend, then bring it to my shop on Mondays after school so we could put it out with our other gift items. She truly believed she was helping us draw in customers, and in a way she was. The members of the Monday Afternoon Ladies’ Poetry Society never missed a meeting in our parlor because they couldn’t wait to see what Mom would dream up next.
“Okay, girls,” Lottie said, “I’m off for a quick lunch at the Deli.”
“Correction,” I said. “Ye Olde Deli.”
Lottie rolled her eyes as she headed out the yellow door.
Ten orders had come in for a funeral the next day, with a viewing that evening. Lottie had finished three arrangements while I was out, so that afternoon, while Grace served tea and scones to the poetry club and Lottie waited on customers in the shop, I hurried to complete the remaining arrangements so I’d be done in time for Dave’s meeting.
At three o’clock, we loaded the flowers into the back of our rented minivan; then Lottie headed off to the Happy Dreams Funeral Home to deliver them. With Grace still serving customers in the parlor, I manned the shop, taking orders, ringing up purchases—and glancing at the clock, wondering why Mom hadn’t put in an appearance yet. Even the poets had given up and gone home. What could I do? Mom would be hurt if I left before she got there.
But as the hour hand moved closer to the four, I had no choice. As soon as Lottie returned, I headed for the workroom to retrieve my coat. Then I heard the bell over the door jingle, and my mom say, “Goodness, what a day this has been.”
Fudge. Twenty minutes until the meeting with the Lip started and now Mom shows up. I couldn’t sneak out the back way, either, because those rusty old door hinges would give me away. I’d just have to keep my eye on the time.
“Maureen,” I heard Grace say, “how lovely of you to drop by. Did you bring something for us?”
I tiptoed to the curtain to peek out, watching as Mom began to take tissue-paper-wrapped items from a shopping bag and set them on a display table. They appeared to be the components of a cute ceramic tea set—a pot that resembled a giant strawberry, with four little berry cups, a sugar bowl, and a creamer to match. Great! She had returned to her pottery wheel. I could deliver a few honest compliments and be on my way.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, striding through the curtain. “Let’s see what you made. Oh, how pretty! You outdid yourself this time.”
“Abby, dear,” Grace said in a tone I should have recognized as a warning.
But I forged recklessly ahead, almost giddy with relief that at last Mom had made something completely normal. “I mean it, Mom. This has to be your best work yet. Your attention to detail is amazing. Look at this. The top of the pot is the stem and leaves of the strawberry. And look at these cute little berry cups. We should have no problem selling this set. I might even buy it for myself.”
I suddenly caught sight of Lottie standing to one side, gesturing for me to zip my lips. What had I said?
“I bought the tea set at Target,” Mom said.
I blinked hard, trying to absorb the magnitude of my gaff. I glanced at Grace for help, but she had apparently decided to let me sink. She went to the door and held it open while Mom stepped outside and wheeled in what I could only describe as an enormous golf tee. I turned to see Lottie slipping through the purple curtain. Coward.
The giant wooden tee was about two and a half feet tall and finished with a coat of glossy ivory paint. It had
The piece that had garnered her the most attention was her infamous Dancing Naked Monkey Table, a quartet of neon-hued baby chimps prancing in a circle while holding up a glass top, a description that didn’t do it justice. Solitary confinement might have.
Mom made it her practice to complete a new piece each weekend, then bring it to my shop on Mondays after school so we could put it out with our other gift items. She truly believed she was helping us draw in customers, and in a way she was. The members of the Monday Afternoon Ladies’ Poetry Society never missed a meeting in our parlor because they couldn’t wait to see what Mom would dream up next.
“Okay, girls,” Lottie said, “I’m off for a quick lunch at the Deli.”
“Correction,” I said. “Ye Olde Deli.”
Lottie rolled her eyes as she headed out the yellow door.
Ten orders had come in for a funeral the next day, with a viewing that evening. Lottie had finished three arrangements while I was out, so that afternoon, while Grace served tea and scones to the poetry club and Lottie waited on customers in the shop, I hurried to complete the remaining arrangements so I’d be done in time for Dave’s meeting.
At three o’clock, we loaded the flowers into the back of our rented minivan; then Lottie headed off to the Happy Dreams Funeral Home to deliver them. With Grace still serving customers in the parlor, I manned the shop, taking orders, ringing up purchases—and glancing at the clock, wondering why Mom hadn’t put in an appearance yet. Even the poets had given up and gone home. What could I do? Mom would be hurt if I left before she got there.
But as the hour hand moved closer to the four, I had no choice. As soon as Lottie returned, I headed for the workroom to retrieve my coat. Then I heard the bell over the door jingle, and my mom say, “Goodness, what a day this has been.”
Fudge. Twenty minutes until the meeting with the Lip started and now Mom shows up. I couldn’t sneak out the back way, either, because those rusty old door hinges would give me away. I’d just have to keep my eye on the time.
“Maureen,” I heard Grace say, “how lovely of you to drop by. Did you bring something for us?”
I tiptoed to the curtain to peek out, watching as Mom began to take tissue-paper-wrapped items from a shopping bag and set them on a display table. They appeared to be the components of a cute ceramic tea set—a pot that resembled a giant strawberry, with four little berry cups, a sugar bowl, and a creamer to match. Great! She had returned to her pottery wheel. I could deliver a few honest compliments and be on my way.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, striding through the curtain. “Let’s see what you made. Oh, how pretty! You outdid yourself this time.”
“Abby, dear,” Grace said in a tone I should have recognized as a warning.
But I forged recklessly ahead, almost giddy with relief that at last Mom had made something completely normal. “I mean it, Mom. This has to be your best work yet. Your attention to detail is amazing. Look at this. The top of the pot is the stem and leaves of the strawberry. And look at these cute little berry cups. We should have no problem selling this set. I might even buy it for myself.”
I suddenly caught sight of Lottie standing to one side, gesturing for me to zip my lips. What had I said?
“I bought the tea set at Target,” Mom said.
I blinked hard, trying to absorb the magnitude of my gaff. I glanced at Grace for help, but she had apparently decided to let me sink. She went to the door and held it open while Mom stepped outside and wheeled in what I could only describe as an enormous golf tee. I turned to see Lottie slipping through the purple curtain. Coward.
The giant wooden tee was about two and a half feet tall and finished with a coat of glossy ivory paint. It had
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