by Dawn Atkins
They ate in quiet after that. “Mmm,” Desiree said. “This is a fine meal, but you should’ve let me cook. I have this great recipe for pecan dressing.”
“One of these days, when you’re not so busy.” Which, of course, would never happen.
“So, how’s Steve doing?” her mother asked.
“Steve?” Sylvie’s potato-filled fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “I assume he’s fine. I haven’t talked to him in a while.”
“So does that mean you broke up with him?”
Sylvie set down her fork altogether. “He moved to Seattle. We stopped dating. It wasn’t that big a deal.” Nothing compared to how she’d felt during her brief separation from Chase. The intensity of that pain still made her jumpy inside.
“You have to feel these things, Sylvie.” Her mother looked at her with pity.
“Just because I don’t flip out like you do doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything.” Her words held more acid than she’d intended. The stress at the mall was getting to her, she guessed.
“I’m a romantic person. If that’s what you mean by flipping out, then I guess that’s what I do.”
They took a few bites in tense silence.
Finally her mother spoke. “You know, you can talk to me, Sylvie.”
“I don’t have anything to talk about.”
“You never let me help you and that hurts me.” Now Desiree was pouting.
God. Enough drama. Even if Sylvie wanted to vent about how scared she was about Chase it would never be to Desiree.
“How could you help me? You go through one breakup after the next. It’s all hearts and flowers and promises until they leave you crying. That’s the last thing I want in my life.”
Her mother’s eyes widened at Sylvie’s outburst. “I’m not perfect, okay?”
“Like that last guy. Dover. He was traveling with a band. Why get involved when you knew he’d leave and you’d be hurt?”
“We fell in love, Sylvie. You can’t say no to love.”
“Sure you can, when you know it will fail.” Tears sprang to her eyes for some stupid reason. She blinked them away, not wanting her mother to notice.
“We grew as people, and we shared some lovely moments.”
“I don’t see the point. I just don’t.” She drank more sparkling juice to hide from her mother’s gaze.
“You would if you’d try. Why are you so afraid to open your heart?”
Sylvie banged down her goblet. “Because I’ve been hurt enough,” she snapped, the words so quick she couldn’t stop them. They’d never talked about Desiree leaving her behind. Not once in twenty-plus years.
Her mother’s cheeks went blotchy red with shock.
Seconds passed while Sylvie looked down at the bubbles of carbonation bursting on the surface of her drink. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled finally.
“I was only nineteen when I had you,” her mother said. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I tried my best. I didn’t have a steady income or normal hours. After the third night in a row of popcorn for supper, with you and your brave smile—I love popcorn. It’s my favorite—I knew you deserved better. Mom and Dad kept nagging me to give you to them. They thought I was a bad mother. I knew you adored them. You were always begging to spend the night. The school was so much better. It seemed like the best thing for you.”
“Why didn’t you ask me? I wanted you and our home. I didn’t care about the popcorn or the school or having my own room. Did I bug you? Was that why? Did I complain too much? Is that why you never came back?”
Sylvie couldn’t believe she was laying into her mother this way, but a dam had broken and the bitter water flowed.
“Of course you didn’t bug me or complain. I missed you desperately. I cried myself to sleep for weeks missing you. I thought it was better to stay away so you’d be used to not having me around. And I sent you postcards.”
“Postcards?” She snorted. “You thought postcards were enough?” Even as she glared at her mother, the woman’s words sank in. Sylvie had always assumed her mother was relieved to be free to flit from place to place with no one to worry about but herself.
“I know you think I’m a flake and a nut and a ridiculous joke of a mother.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s in the way you look at me and talk to me. It’s in the silences between us, the way you bite your tongue and lock your jaw and are always, always polite. It’s in the sacks of expensive food you bring because you expect me to screw up again and again.” Desiree’s voice was shaky, but she was angry, too. For once she wasn’t skirting the issue, pretending everything was just fine and cheerful and lovely, a habit Sylvie had herself.
“I know you don’t respect me. You may not even love me.” Sylvie opened her mouth to protest, but Desiree held up her hand.
“You have every right not to. But I love you, Sylvie. I always have and I always will.” Her eyes, the same clear green as Sylvie’s own, crackled with ferocity.
Sylvie had hurt her mother deeply, which surprised her. Desiree had always seemed impervious to criticism, even oblivious to it. What would it be like to have a daughter who rejected you, made you feel guilty every time you saw her?
Sylvie jerked across the table to hug Desiree, the frosting in her mother’s hair filling Sylvie’s nose with cloying sweetness. “I’m sorry I upset you. We’ve never talked about this before. I just… I’m sorry.” She had to escape this crash of emotions that wouldn’t let her breathe. “I should get going to the party.”
“Let’s have our cake before you go,” her mother said shakily, brushing at her cheeks.
The cake crumbled like a giant crouton when Desiree cut into it. “Dammit, I can’t even make a cake for you.” Desiree’s lips trembled and her voice cracked. “I am a screwup.”
“No, you’re not. I love the cake. The frosting tastes amazing and the decoration is incredible. You could sell it easily. Thank you, Desiree—no, I mean thank you, Mom.”
Her mother’s face lit up like a spotlight. “I’m going to do better, Sylvie. I promise I am.”
“Me, too,” Sylvie said. She’d been withholding her love out of resentment. That wasn’t fair. Their usual hugs were a quick pat-pat and an air-kiss. This time Sylvie held on. They were cheek to cheek and squeezing each other, like a mother and daughter who’d been apart far too long. Which was exactly who they were.
HOURS LATER, at the end of the mall party, Sylvie stood with Chase on the landing, looking down at the mall she loved.
Christmas music played through the sound system, the place smelled of Heaven Scents’ holiday candles and each store had placed its special tree out front.
Captain Bean’s tree held little wooden toys, Rose’s Hobby Hut had craft samples, Lucy’s Secrets had Christmas stockings with lacy panties peeking out. The employee tree looked fabulous, loaded down with Desiree’s handiwork. Beneath every tree were the gifts for needy families.
Inside the stores, employees were finishing up last-minute details for the next day’s onslaught.
“I have to say I’m impressed,” Chase said.
“You should be. This is Starlight Desert at its finest,” she said. “Everyone working together with all our hearts.”
“It’s been nice to enjoy this place again.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” she said. “Here’s to tomorrow,” she said, clinking her plastic glass of champagne against his. “I hope it goes well.”
“Me, too.”
“Don’t forget. The Wake Up, Arizona! crew needs Santa and his elves in place by 7:00 a.m.”
“We’ll be there with bells on. Literally.” He shook his head.
“I can’t wait to see that. Employees are bringing their kids to stand in line for you, since we don’t open until nine.”
Dasher yipped at their feet and Sylvie bent to pick him up just as Chase’s cell phone rang.
He stepped away to answer it, then returned with a serious express
ion. “Looks like an offer on the mall will come in tomorrow.”
“You’re kidding.” Adrenaline poured through her.
“It’s too soon to panic. The offer could be too low. It could fall through. Just focus on making tomorrow go well.”
“Oh, I will.” But now Sylvie knew that going well wouldn’t be enough. With everything at stake, tomorrow had to be perfect.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, right on time, the three McCann men trooped the length of the mall, jingling as they walked, looking like festive prisoners on a Christmas chain gang.
Sylvie covered her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh at Fletcher in his green tights and Marshall in his jolly red suit and huge white beard. Chase managed to still look sexy in his getup, but then she’d also seen him strip out of it.
Soon enough, Santa was miked and ready on his gold-and-red velvet throne. Beside him were plaster reindeer and a sleigh, as well as a Christmas tree with dozens of gift-wrapped boxes. While the TV producer talked with Chase and Fletcher, Sylvie approached Marshall. “You doing okay?”
“I feel damn silly like this.” He spit out beard fuzz, then shifted his black belt to center the buckle.
“Well, you look perfect to those kids.” She pointed to where they eagerly awaited their turn to tell Santa their wishes.
Marshall smiled. “Starr would have loved this.”
“She would have.”
“I wish my boys had more of her spirit. Neither of them appreciates all the care she put into this place.”
“I think Chase is beginning to.”
Marshall gave her a thoughtful look. “And that has everything to do with you, young lady. From what he tells me, you’re calling all the plays these days.”
“We’re working together,” she said, pleased that Chase had given her credit with his father.
Marshall sighed. “Truth is, I figured handling the mall would keep Chase occupied long enough to decide to stick around.” He shook his head. “Chase goes his own way and always has. I’m getting too old to fight the inevitable.”
“I see what you mean.” Was that what she was doing by hanging on to Chase, pretending this could last? The idea gave her a chill. Even stubborn Marshall knew that Chase moved on.
Thinking about that made Sylvie’s heart hurt worse than it did when she thought about the sales offer on the mall.
Someone gave a five-minute warning and Fletcher and Chase came to stand around Marshall’s chair.
After the news segment wrapped, Sylvie thought it couldn’t have gone better if she’d scripted it herself. The questions focused on the unique stores, the mall being family-owned and the reporter mentioned the school involvement that day as an example of how Starlight Desert was a good neighbor to the community.
After the broadcast, school buses began dropping off the students who would perform later that morning. If there were two family members spending cash for every kid in a red velvet dress or wearing angel wings or reindeer ears, revenues for the day could top all records.
Sylvie scrambled from place to place, helping out wherever she was needed—directing teachers and students toward the stage, making sure stores had their scavenger hunt items in place, arranging the raffle prizes on the huge cardboard Christmas tree at the employee table. Her handmade fairy-tale cottage rested there proudly, enticing many people to buy tickets.
The walkways were full of people, but traffic flowed smoothly, thanks to the employees assigned usher duties. Jugglers, mimes and a guy in a reindeer costume making balloon animals entertained anyone stuck in a line.
When the first roll of raffle tickets had been used up, Sylvie dashed upstairs for another. She ran into Chase in the hallway. “What are you doing up here?” she asked.
“We haven’t yet formed an elf union, but we do get bathroom breaks,” he said. “You doing okay?”
“I’m on the fly, but good.” She started to take the stairs, but Chase took her arm. “Hang on.” He pointed down at the mall. “Take a minute to see what you’ve accomplished.”
All the work and worry had been worth it, she saw. The mall was filled with happy, busy people, all carrying loaded shopping bags. Just below her the chorus from the middle school was belting out “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” for a rapt crowd of proud parents and shoppers.
Farther down, Sunni was setting out the trays of sugar cookies she’d donated for preschoolers to decorate. The line of kids heading for Santa snaked around the workshop, but moved briskly.
In the distance, the playground they’d rented was busy with kids arranging blocks, sliding down the slide or bouncing in the bounce house.
Theo’s booth was swamped, his customers sporting his holiday cranberry smoothie in bright pink. Theo had kissed her cheek, thanking her for the most profitable day that year.
“It’s going great. Captain Bean had orders to last him until after the holidays. Lucy has to rush-order more silk robes. And Toy Town is wall-to-wall shoppers.”
“All the stores are packed,” Chase said.
“Talley says Tracer’s has never started off a Black Friday this strong. At this rate I know we’ll win over the stores threatening to leave.”
“That would be good.”
“How’s your dad holding up? There’ll be more media coverage later.”
“He’s having the time of his life. Fletcher pretends to be grumpy, but I saw him take a woman’s phone number, so somebody must find pointy shoes and jingle bells sexy.”
“I certainly do,” she said. “On you anyway.”
He smiled. “Then it’s worth it. These damn tights are hot and itchy as hell. How do girls stand them?”
“I’m more of a bare-legs girl myself.”
“That’s one of the things I love about you,” he said, bumping shoulders with her. She felt good standing beside him.
“I kind of wish Dasher was here,” she said. They’d left the puppy with Nadia for the day.
“You going to keep him?” Chase asked.
“Yes, I guess I am.” She realized she’d already decided. “He makes life complicated, but like you said, when you love something you find a way.”
“Yeah,” he said, studying her face. “You do.” They both seemed embarrassed by the implications of his words and looked away.
“No matter what happens, Sylvie, you did a phenomenal job here. Always remember that.”
“What does that mean? Did you get the offer? Was it good?”
“Not yet, no. Relax.”
“I’m trying to. When you see our figures on Monday, you’ll be blown away, I know you will.” If she could only reconnect with PriceLess, she’d have the best-case scenario for keeping the mall.
Starlight Desert stayed packed all day. The district superintendent was ecstatic about the money the raffle netted for the schools to spend on field trips, art supplies and band instruments. They would also get a percentage of the day’s profits.
At around seven, Sylvie was resting at one of Theo’s tables when she spotted tough-guy Rafael from Free Arts loping down the mall holding her whimsical fairy-tale cottage as if it might shatter if he wasn’t careful. Evidently he’d won the drawing.
“Hey, Rafael,” she called to him. His crew had performed some b-boy routines for the crowd earlier that afternoon.
When he turned, she said, “You won my dollhouse.”
“You made this?” When she nodded, he walked closer. “Yeah, it’s for my little sister. She’ll freak on it, man.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
He looked her over for a moment. “So, you’re like the boss here, right?”
“One of them, yeah.”
“So, yeah, well…” He looked away, then back. He had something to say.
“Have a seat,” she said, pushing out a chair for him. “What’s up?”
He sat down. “So, like, here it is… The art lady showed us this newspaper story about tags and shit at the mall.”
�
��Yes. We’ve had some troubles.”
“So me and my crew were thinkin’ we might know something about that. We saw something wack the other night hangin’ in the park. This guy was standing on a Dumpster hefting a box or something onto the mall roof. We figured maybe he worked there, you know?”
“When was that? How long ago?”
Rafael’s guess was the same as the golf-cart vandalism night. “That must have been a golf-cart battery he was throwing up there,” she said. “Definitely the bad guy.” Adrenaline spiked in her system. “Do you remember anything else about him?”
“He was far off, but, one thing, his truck ran real rough, clunky like. We were yellin’ like, ‘Fix your ride, you scrub.’”
“The truck was noisy? That’s a help. Thank you.” She handed him her business card. “If you or your friends think of anything more, call me, okay?”
He nodded, tucking the card into his pocket. “When we’re chillin’ at the park, we’ll keep an eye out. We don’t want this mall trashed out and shit.”
“Me neither, Rafael.”
“See ya,” he said, carefully picking up the dollhouse and strutting off, not a bit embarrassed to be seen holding something so girlie. Rafael was a cool head, for sure.
A noisy truck. Why did that seem familiar? Sylvie had heard a rumbling engine not long ago. When? She ran the past week through her mind. Then it came to her. The day of the bomb scare, Leo’s nephew Jesse had roared up in his truck, the engine burbling oddly, then dashed off to try to help.
They’d hired him after that.
Had he messed with the carts to get the job? Had he called in the bomb threat, too? That seemed extreme, but he’d likely heard Leo complain about the old carts. He’d only crippled them, not destroyed them completely. She would talk to both Leo and Jesse as soon as they showed up for work.
A half hour later she met Leo in the security office. When she finished the story, he slammed a fist into his thigh. “That little bastard. It makes sense now. The day of the bomb threat, he was at my place too fast. He said he’d heard it on the news. This isn’t a kid who follows the news.”