didn’t want to think how this event had altered my relationship with Chase. The logical side of my brain said that I was overwrought and emotional. That explained my jumping him when I saw him. The other part of my brain said it was about time. Of course, I had to worry about what Chase thought. He didn’t seem to be resisting. He seemed to enjoy the experience as much as I did. But how could I know for sure?
The trick to basket weaving, which I was still trying to master, was holding everything together in your hands while you put it together with everything else. It sounds easy. It doesn’t even look hard when you see someone else do it. But you almost need three hands to pull it off.
I pulled up some longer pieces of grass, made them equal lengths, then plaited them together like a braid. I made several braids, then worked at putting them together with other long pieces of grass. Of course I didn’t have my bone and nothing to stitch with because the grass kept breaking. I guess that’s why Gullah women never used fescue to make baskets.
I looked up and noticed that I’d attracted a crowd around me. There were murmurs of how interesting it was to watch me and what a good idea it was for the county to hire a historical reenactor to sit outside the courthouse. I smiled and chatted with them, explaining that I was from Renaissance Faire Village. Some of them threw some coins and dollar bills into the billowing folds of my skirt.
This was all right! I’d never thought about taking my show on the road. Maybe I could make some money on the outside of the Village.
Just as I had those thoughts, an officer stopped to see why everyone was standing around. “Have you got a vendor’s permit?”
“No.” My crowd began to disperse. So much for making some extra money.
“You need a permit to sit outside and solicit money.”
“I wasn’t soliciting, Officer. I was working on my basket weaving and people were watching me. I didn’t realize they were throwing money.”
“That’s the worst excuse I’ve heard all day. Do you have a permit or not?”
I was about to tell him what I thought about his request when Chase came down the station stairs with Mary at his side. “Wait! There’s my lawyer!”
The officer waited there until Chase saw me. He explained why I couldn’t be there taking money from strangers under the guise of basket weaving. “If she’s gonna dress like that, she’s gonna raise a crowd. We can’t have that around the police station.”
“I understand, Officer. We’ve been looking for her all morning. Believe me, once we get her back to the hospital, she’ll be adequately sedated.” Chase looked at me significantly, and the officer looked, too.
“Okay. I understand. Keep a better eye on her next time. She’ll have to turn in that money.”
“That’s fine. Come on, Jessie. Let’s go home.” Chase’s voice was geared toward a two-year-old. He grabbed my arm, gave the cop the pitiful amount of money from my skirt, and hustled me out to where a silver car was parked.
As he opened the door, all I could think was, You have a BMW?
“Next time just paint a big target on your skirt,” he growled as he pulled out into traffic.
“Chase, do you have money? I know you don’t work. Are you rich or something?” I knew I had more important things to think about, but I couldn’t get over my surprise. Who would’ve guessed Chase had a car at all? And if he had, who’d expect it to be something nice and not some ratty 1982 Dodge or something? This was a sweet new BMW.
“Could we talk about this later?” He looked at me in the rearview mirror. Mary was in the front seat beside him. She was sniffling a little, and I realized she was crying.
Okay. So sometimes you have to hit me in the head with a battle-ax to get my attention. “I’m sorry, Mary. Are you all right?”
“If you don’t mind someone threatening you and asking you why you murdered your husband,
The trick to basket weaving, which I was still trying to master, was holding everything together in your hands while you put it together with everything else. It sounds easy. It doesn’t even look hard when you see someone else do it. But you almost need three hands to pull it off.
I pulled up some longer pieces of grass, made them equal lengths, then plaited them together like a braid. I made several braids, then worked at putting them together with other long pieces of grass. Of course I didn’t have my bone and nothing to stitch with because the grass kept breaking. I guess that’s why Gullah women never used fescue to make baskets.
I looked up and noticed that I’d attracted a crowd around me. There were murmurs of how interesting it was to watch me and what a good idea it was for the county to hire a historical reenactor to sit outside the courthouse. I smiled and chatted with them, explaining that I was from Renaissance Faire Village. Some of them threw some coins and dollar bills into the billowing folds of my skirt.
This was all right! I’d never thought about taking my show on the road. Maybe I could make some money on the outside of the Village.
Just as I had those thoughts, an officer stopped to see why everyone was standing around. “Have you got a vendor’s permit?”
“No.” My crowd began to disperse. So much for making some extra money.
“You need a permit to sit outside and solicit money.”
“I wasn’t soliciting, Officer. I was working on my basket weaving and people were watching me. I didn’t realize they were throwing money.”
“That’s the worst excuse I’ve heard all day. Do you have a permit or not?”
I was about to tell him what I thought about his request when Chase came down the station stairs with Mary at his side. “Wait! There’s my lawyer!”
The officer waited there until Chase saw me. He explained why I couldn’t be there taking money from strangers under the guise of basket weaving. “If she’s gonna dress like that, she’s gonna raise a crowd. We can’t have that around the police station.”
“I understand, Officer. We’ve been looking for her all morning. Believe me, once we get her back to the hospital, she’ll be adequately sedated.” Chase looked at me significantly, and the officer looked, too.
“Okay. I understand. Keep a better eye on her next time. She’ll have to turn in that money.”
“That’s fine. Come on, Jessie. Let’s go home.” Chase’s voice was geared toward a two-year-old. He grabbed my arm, gave the cop the pitiful amount of money from my skirt, and hustled me out to where a silver car was parked.
As he opened the door, all I could think was, You have a BMW?
“Next time just paint a big target on your skirt,” he growled as he pulled out into traffic.
“Chase, do you have money? I know you don’t work. Are you rich or something?” I knew I had more important things to think about, but I couldn’t get over my surprise. Who would’ve guessed Chase had a car at all? And if he had, who’d expect it to be something nice and not some ratty 1982 Dodge or something? This was a sweet new BMW.
“Could we talk about this later?” He looked at me in the rearview mirror. Mary was in the front seat beside him. She was sniffling a little, and I realized she was crying.
Okay. So sometimes you have to hit me in the head with a battle-ax to get my attention. “I’m sorry, Mary. Are you all right?”
“If you don’t mind someone threatening you and asking you why you murdered your husband,
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