A Change of Heart

by Nancy Frederick

  "Great. I can pick you up in my van. That's better than going in two cars, don't you think?"

  Annabeth nodded. "I'll pay for the gas."

  "No, don't be silly. I still feel guilty for taking your sketches for so little money. Oops, you have customers."

  Annabeth looked over to see Maggie and Louise Watkins seating themselves at the ice cream counter. "I'll be back in a second," she said to Becky, smiling.

  Maggie, appeared to be frowning at her and if she wasn't there to be friendly and make up at last, what did she want? "Hi," said Annabeth, smiling. "It's great to see you."

  "How about two hot fudge sundaes," ordered Louise.

  "Sure." Annabeth turned to prepare the ice cream, which took only a moment, then placed the treats in front of the two women.

  Becky walked toward where Annabeth stood, touching her hand once again. "Gotta run. See you early Saturday."

  "Great. I can't wait."

  "I didn't know you worked here," commented Louise.

  "I've been here a while. It's fun."

  "Must be a great way to meet men," said Maggie.

  Annabeth lowered her eyes briefly before replying, "And toddlers."

  "Have you ever been to the Rusty Lantern?" Maggie asked Louise.

  "Gracious, no. Have you?"

  Maggie shook her head. "Of course not. But Annabeth can tell us all about it. Can't you?"

  Annabeth looked silently at her friend, not wanting to say anything mean, but wishing Maggie hadn't come into the drugstore.

  Louise gasped. "I heard that place is filled with every slut and sleazeball in town. Do decent people go there too?"

  Charles Gleason suddenly appeared at the counter and took a seat next to the two women. "My usual," he nodded to Annabeth, who was relieved to turn and prepare his ice cream. "And to answer your question," he turned toward Maggie and Louise, "Yes, decent people go there all the time for innocent fun." Gathering his nerve, he shot them a withering glance and said, "Nothing to gossip about there at all. Why don't you have your husbands bring you one night."

  "Then I wonder why my future daughter-in-law was so upset about her mother bringing home a strange man and spending the night with him?"

  "Who can tell about such things?" asked Charles.

  "I'm sure Annabeth could tell us plenty."

  Swallowing tightly in a throat that was clenching shut, Annabeth scribbled a check and set it in front of Louise, who reached in her wallet and lay a five dollar bill on the counter. Annabeth took the bill, lay fifty cents in change in front of her, then walked to the back of the store, saying "Excuse me."

  When Annabeth returned from the storeroom with a few supplies that didn't need replenishing, Louise and Maggie had left.

  "What a couple of old hens," commented Charles. Annabeth was sure he was wondering about the previous night and the supper they'd shared, probably replaying it in his mind. Maybe he wondered if they were implying that Annabeth had brought him home. That was all she needed--Maggie spreading gossip and jeopardizing her job.

  "The one in blue was my best friend for more than forty years. I never thought there would come a time when I would stop thinking of her that way."

  "Well, my dear, you know what they say. With friends like that...."

  Annabeth took a break that afternoon and walked toward the bank when Sally would be getting off work. Spotting her daughter's car parked near the bank, Annabeth waited beside it, knowing that Sally would soon appear, which she did.

  "Mom," said Sally, clearly surprised.

  "We need to talk."

  "I'm still mad at you."

  "And I'm annoyed at you." Sally was taken aback by this comment, and Annabeth continued, "Maggie and Louise were just in the store, making comments about the Rusty Lantern. And me."

  "What?" Sally's voice raised an octave to a shocked squeak.

  "Yes. Maggie is determined to perpetuate this feud. Why I can't imagine. But to have her do that--and to know she got the information from you--well, I just don't know." Annabeth shook her head.

  "I was upset. I told Jackson. Nobody likes to see her mother acting like a slut."

  Annabeth straightened up. "I resent that. It's none of your business what I do. I'm an adult." Noting the shocked and hurt look on Sally's face, Annabeth softened a bit. "Listen to me, hon, I'm single now. I'm your mother, of course, and there's nothing in this world more important to me than you and your sister. But you're adults too. In fact, aren't you living with a man?"

  Sally nodded.

  "You're living with him, aren't you?"

  Sally blushed upon hearing the emphasis in her mother's sentence, then she rallied. "Yeah, but he knows my name. And we weren't living together on the first date, or whatever that was."

  Annabeth shook her head. "I'm not happy with the way you're behaving. Not at all."

  "Well, that goes double for me." Sally turned, opened the door of her car and climbed in, rolling down the window and remarking, "But don't worry. I won't be the source of any more gossip about you. That's too tacky for words."

  Annabeth reached her hand out, letting it rest on Sally's arm. "Oh, hon, let's not fight. You're too important to me."

  "I'll think about it."

  12

  Annabeth sat nervously beside her attorney as the judge reviewed the various financial statements. He was a man in his thirties, and he seemed improbably young to hold such an important position. His brown hair was boyishly rumpled, but his eyes were intelligent. R.J., seated at a table next to Kyle Sennet, glanced repeatedly at his watch. Mother Welner, dressed in funereal black, sat behind her son's table. Every now and then she would glance toward Annabeth, daggers in her eyes, then look back toward her son, an expression of wounded piety on her sagging face.

  "I see here that you are now employed, Mrs. Welner?" asked the judge.

  Annabeth nodded silently as Asprey rose. "Your honor, my client has been a wife and mother all her adult life. She was forced to take a job at minimum wage--anything she could get--just to survive after her husband abandoned her and stole their joint funds."

  The judge nodded. "I understand. But she is working, and is earning money?"

  "Yes, she is but…."

  The judge nodded again. He resumed his study of the financial statements involved, forcing the others in the courtroom to wait silently. "All right," he said finally, "I'm going to issue an order for temporary support." Annabeth listened as Henson named an amount. Would that be enough to save her house? R.J. had offered much more when they met in her father's office. Asprey's strategy wasn't working at all.

  "Excuse me, your honor, but we do not accept this financial statement." Asprey walked confidently toward the judge, "There is a substantial discrepancy in his assets. And I'm sure we will uncover additional income."

  "Do you have proof?"

  "We need more time," insisted Asprey.

  The judge shook his head. "All right. I'm setting a second hearing for three weeks from today. Be ready."

  "Let's get on with it, how 'bout it. This here is done, so let's sign the rest of the papers and get this over with." R.J. spoke with impatience, glancing at his watch.

  "I'll see you people in November." The judge rose, the others rose, and they watched him walk out of the courtroom.

  R.J., walking over to Annabeth, stopped in front of her, deftly counted out some cash, with the same sort of gesture as one might use when dealing cards, looked defiantly at Asprey and flung it onto the table in front of her. "That's what you get for tryin' to rob me," he said.

  Glaring arrogantly at R.J., Asprey rose, and turning toward Annabeth, he said, "Put away your pin money, my dear. You might want to purchase a new dress with it." Annabeth silently looked at the young attorney, her eyes widening, then placed the money in her wallet.

  "This is just temporary support. Of course you realize this." There was a look on Asprey's face, one that said he knew more than he was telling, a look that bad poker players sometimes have
when they are trying without success to bluff. Annabeth had often seen that look on R.J.'s face and it always made her nervous.

  "We'll see." answered R.J..

  "Trust me." Asprey attempted to sound condescending. "The judge simply wants to make sure that Annabeth is all right for the time being. "

  "Let's get real," said Sennet smoothly. "We want a divorce; your client wants the house. Let's just come to an agreement we can all live with."

  "That's right. I'm not bein' unreasonable. And we had a lotta good years. You pay me my half and I'll sign over the house."

  Asprey laughed. "You're dirty Welner, and everyone knows it. Every judge will try to see that your wife's standard of living remains the same. Which doesn't mean struggling to survive on a pittance in an apartment."

  "Look! I'm fed up with you. What do you want?" R.J.'s voice crackled with intensity as he spoke.

  "We want you to sign off on the house and walk away. We want the twelve-hundred a month you offered last time. Then you can have your divorce. We'll sign the papers today." R.J. hated to be cornered and Annabeth knew he'd never fold this easily. He had nothing to win by doing so.

  "You think I'm a fool?" asked R.J..

  "I think you're a lot worse than a fool, but so what. You want your freedom in a hurry. I'm offering it to you."

  "You know," said R.J., "Maybe I been too hasty. Been too nice, too. Makin' too big a deal outta this whole thing. I don't gotta be divorced. Or remarried. Sure seems the judge has a lot more realistic idea of what's what than you do. So go fuck yourself." R.J. turned to stride out of the courtroom as the others gasped. His mother walked over to him then, grasped his arm tightly and walked out with him.

  "I apologize," said Sennet lamely, following his client from the courtroom.

  "Are you all right?" Asprey asked Annabeth.

  She shook her head, "No, not really. I hate these scenes."

  Asprey glanced at his watch then said, "In legal situations like this, conflict is inevitable. I've got a meeting now. I'll call you later on, okay?"

  "What if we offered him something? I could borrow from a bank."

  Asprey shook his head. "Let's go slowly. Trust me. Really." Without looking back, he dashed out of the courtroom, leaving Annabeth to walk out alone. She paused for a moment, spotting R.J. in deep conversation with his mother. Her hand clutched R.J.'s arm tightly as she spoke, a worried look on her face. In the other hand she held the financial statement R.J. had offered to the court. R.J. leaned down and spoke to her, his face an intense mask. If only she could hear what they were saying. Spotting Annabeth, R.J. shook his head once, then escorted his mother from the building. Something was going on between them. Mother Welner never looked worried without a reason. Annabeth walked toward her car then, all alone and puzzling the scene she'd witnessed.

  "We'll never sell all this stuff," said Annabeth to Becky the following day. "The display looks great, though." They had worked for an hour setting up two folding tables with various items. There were the usual boxes, key racks, trays, plates, bowls, small shelves, bookends, all painted with charming designs and arranged decoratively on top of white table cloths.

  "Yeah, we did a great job. And have a little faith, will you!" Becky reached in her tote bag and produced a packet of tiny stick-on labels and began pricing her merchandise. Seeing Annabeth hesitating, she asked, "Need some of these?"

  "Yes, thanks. But could you help me price things?"

  Becky nodded. "Just let me finish here."

  Annabeth scrutinized her own pieces as well as those still in boxes on the ground. What were they worth?

  "Okay, lets go." Becky touched a wooden tray, painted charmingly with flowered, striped and checked tea cups. "How many of these do you have?"

  "I have three trays, but they're all different. That one cost six-fifty."

  "I want to say ninety, but that is probably too steep for this show."

  "Ninety dollars?" Annabeth was shocked.

  "What'dya think? Ninety pesos?" Becky picked up the tray, and flipped it over. "It's just so darling," she enthused, noting the designs on the bottom as well as the top. "Make it seventy-five and if it isn't sold by noon tomorrow, mark it down to sixty."

  Still clearly unsure, Annabeth complied.

  Next Becky scrutinized two little shelves, each painted with hearts and flowers.

  "I got those from Rum. They were eight each."

  Becky nodded. "How many of these do you have? All different, right?"

  Annabeth nodded. "I have six of them."

  "You never run out of ideas, do you! I'm just so impressed with you."

  "Well, I don't always remember what I've painted in the past, but now I photograph everything after I finish it."

  "Oh, make a scrap book. That's a wonderful idea. Think I'll do that myself. Now, let's see. I don't think you can get eighty for these since they're new, not one of a kind finds. How about fifty?"

  Annabeth gulped. "Are you sure?"

  "Okay, maybe forty. Try for forty-five. You know, I think you need to go on a shopping expedition. Check out some stuff."

  "Everyone suggests that."

  "I love these wooden plates. Though why anyone would buy a plain wooden plate, I can't imagine. Okay, how many?"

  "Six, but some are round and some octagonal. They were about three each, some a little more, a little less."

  "I gotta check out more flea markets. Seems to me there's a better profit margin that way. Forty is probably too much."

  "Forty! I would have charged ten."

  Becky shook her head. "Are you a charity or an artist? Twenty five, no, twenty-eight."

  "Wow."

  They continued like that until Annabeth had little stickers on everything.

  The prices were just too high, she was certain of it, but if she didn't sell anything the first day, she could reduce them for the second. Or try some stores if they don't sell at all. At least they were having a nice day. Annabeth glanced at her watch. Nine. No sales.

  Becky smiled. "Don't worry. Things never get going till ten. See, look how many more people are walking around now. Why don't we have some food and relax. I brought sandwiches and cupcakes as a treat." Becky reached in her bag, pulled out the lunch and offered some to Annabeth.

  Annabeth nodded. "Me, too. Sandwiches and cookies. And carrot sticks."

  "We make a good team." The women divvied up the food and sat relaxing together in the collapsible chairs they had brought along with them.

  "Did your husband mind that you came with me today, instead of him I mean?"

  "I hate to say it, but he was kind of relieved. He wanted to play golf. It's nicer now that the weather is a little cooler and he doesn't always want to come with me, but he feels guilty about sending me out all alone. It's a lot of work sometimes."

  "He sounds so nice."

  "He has his moments. You'll have to come over to our house for supper one night. Then you can meet him." Becky reached back into her bag for her wallet, which contained a plastic fold-out for pictures, which she happily handed to Annabeth.

  "Thanks, I'd love to meet him. Oh, is this him?"

  "Not Harrison Ford!"

  Annabeth smiled. "Oh and these are grandchildren, huh?"

  Becky nodded.

  "Aren't they just darling! I can't wait to have grandchildren. My daughter in New Orleans was lecturing me that there's more to life than marriage, so I guess I'll have to depend on my younger daughter."

  An older woman, walking arm in arm with someone much younger, probably a granddaughter, approached.

  "Gran, look at these. How darling."

  "Cute." The woman held up the tray, causing Annabeth to wish they hadn't overpriced it.

  "It has a tea pot on the bottom. How sweet."

  Feeling nervous, but wanting to help, Annabeth said, "I have two other trays." She reached under the table and pulled them out.

  "Oh!" enthused the girl. "Each one cuter than the last. And I love this little jewelr
y box."

  The older woman reached into her purse, removed her wallet, counted out some cash and handed it to Annabeth. Hugging her granddaughter, she commented, "For your hope chest."

  When they were out of ear shot, Annabeth commented to Becky, "I don't believe it."

  "Yeah, maybe we should have charged more."

  Annabeth shook her head. "You're too much!"

  The day progressed well, and in between dealing with customers, Annabeth and Becky had time for little snippets of casual conversation. At five they began packing up what was left.

  "I'd say we did well. We have just enough to sell tomorrow," said Becky.

  "It was an amazing day. I can't believe I made this much money."

  "It was a good show. There will be several more between now and Christmas. Will you be able to get all the weekends off?"

  "Probably not all, but some. Oh, Becky, thank you so much for inviting me. I could never have done this without all your help."

  "I made twice what I usually make, and it was because of your designs, so I'd say we did each other a service."

  Annabeth nodded.

  "And tomorrow we'll sell the rest of this stuff."

  "Amazing."

  By Sunday night, Annabeth was exhausted. She sat on the bed in her robe, after a long hot shower. Becky was right. It was a lot of work going to those shows. And imagine how it was for the craftspeople with breakable items. All that wrapping. But it was worth it. Annabeth tossed a sheaf of bills onto the bed and then counted them. She really was making progress. But it was a long way from what she had to what she'd need. Annabeth returned all but twenty dollars to the tin, then placed it under some sweaters in a drawer. This was too much cash to be sitting about.

  Looking around the empty bedroom, she listened to the quiet in the house, breathed in the safety of her home. She would save this place yet. She lay on her bed, relaxing, and let her thoughts wander. This was the first moment she'd had to think in a long time. A sensation floated up into her consciousness, one of strength and self-sufficiency. Maybe she could make her own money. She already had. She could survive without R.J., but the real question was how could she be happy?

  She thought then of George Healy. Random notions, scattered like wildflowers, teased her. He was a wonderful lover. It had been so long. She must be crazy; she didn't even know him. He seemed like a nice man, didn't he? But would she ever see him again? It had been four days. He could have called. He didn't remember her name. Yes he did; it just took a while. How long does a man wait to call these days? He would have had to ask Doug for her number. Maybe he didn't want to. Or felt strange about it. It had been so long. Anyone would have been good. No, how was that possible? She just didn't know anything about it. How would she? She could call him and apologize for Sally barging in like that. She could ask Doug for his number. He'd know it. Oh, no, she could never do that. Wouldn't he be in the phone book? Annabeth reached into the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out the phone book, causing a packet of photos to fall onto the floor. Leaning down, she snatched up the photos, tossed them on the bed, then flipped through the pages of the phone book. Healy, George. He was the only one. She glanced at the clock. Nine. Too late to call a stranger. A stranger! Maybe she should have thought of that before tumbling into bed with him. It had been so long. She reached for the phone, lifted the receiver, then replaced it. What was she thinking? Calling a man like that? It was crazy. She was just lonely. She could stop into the bar, casually, see if he were there. Go all alone? No, of course not. Yes she could. She sighed then and opened the packet of photos. She had done so much work in such a short time, and it wasn't bad, not bad at all. When she came to the last photos, she stopped. They were the Polaroids taken at the mall. Annabeth paused for a long time, staring at her own image. Then she reached into the drawer once more, pulling out a separate packet, the one containing the Glamour Poses proofs. Exhausted, she lay back against the pillow until she drifted off to sleep, the photos lying on the bed beside her.