by Ritter Ames
“It will if I let them watch TV on my bed instead.”
“Can we have ranger cookies?”
I laughed. “You can have ranger cookies now.”
Abby slammed her palms on the countertop. “What are we waiting for. Close the lid on that washer and let’s get some cookies.”
“I knew you’d never hold out when coconut is involved.”
However, as we reentered the kitchen, I added. “Cookies aren’t the only things you can change your mind about.” The glare I got could melt steel. “I’m not saying anything,” I said, opening the top of the Rubbermaid container and passing it her way. “Just letting you know you have any support needed.”
“There are some decisions I have to make, sure, but I need a little more time,” she said, her huge brown eyes downcast as she bit into the moist cookie.
Like I didn’t already know that. It was time for a diversion.
“Come on.” I waved for her to follow me. As we passed the staircase, I called up, “Boys! Abby and I are going out to the workshop. I’ll be making a room inspection when we get back.”
Both heads appeared over the railing.
“How long are you going to be?” Jamey asked.
“Long enough to show Abby my newest project.”
“Like an hour or so?” he asked.
“I told you already you only have half-an-hour.”
Mac had already forgotten the gravity of the situation and was playing tug-of-war with Honey in the hall.
“That’s not one of my good hand towels is it?”
“I don’t think so,” Mac said.
Jamey groaned, then reached to try wrangling the towel from Honey’s mouth. “Stop it, stupid, you’re going to mess up everything.”
“Don’t call Honey stupid.” Mac punched Jamey in the arm.
“Ow! I wasn’t calling her stupid. You’re the stupid one, making Mom mad about the towel when she’s already mad at us for the fan.”
“I didn’t make her mad!”
I raised my voice to be heard over the exchange. “Boys, stop right now.” Pointing toward their bedroom, I worked to make my voice stern, though it was taking everything I had to keep from cracking up. “Neither of you should be calling anyone stupid—person or canine. Get in your room and finish cleaning. I’ll be back soon, and whenever that is your room had better look terrific.”
Patting my thigh and whistling for the dog, I added, “And we’re taking Honey with us so you won’t get sidetracked again.”
We exited the front door. The golden retriever loped along ahead of us, aiming for the street. “No, Honey, go to the garage door.”
Our detached garage had become my personal work space, and when I raised the large door I had all the light and ventilation necessary to work on my reclamation projects. I led Abby inside and grabbed Honey’s collar to pull her back before her tail hit a few home runs with several of the smaller objects resting nearby.
Besides trying to turn a small profit on the blog, I also rescued gently used and yard sale items. In the past year, I’d built quite a steady business providing a Tulsa decorator with “distressed” treasures that she turned around and sold to clients for a five-hundred percent mark-up. I knew I was getting the shorter end of the stick, but it was still longer than if I tried to sell stuff myself online. The previous week, when my down-the-street-neighbor decided to clean out her cabinets, I found a wooden wine rack at the curb the next morning when Honey and I took our early stroll. Not one of those honeycomb style one, but one with three big bent-C collars on each side. So, bottles could lay horizontally between the brackets and didn’t need so much depth from the wall. A little cleaning, a smidgeon of glue, some new stain and—
“Voila,” I exclaimed, whipping off the dust sheet I’d used to cover it.
Abby stood in the light of the door, dust motes floating around her like an aura. She cocked her head to one side as if she was trying to find words that wouldn’t hurt my feelings. “If it’s for me, you know I’m not much of a wine drinker.”
No, Abby was mostly a Michelob babe. I shook my head. “Think about repurposing.” I folded up the dust sheet until it was about the same size as a bath towel, then folded the fabric again to make a rectangle and shoved it between two of the open racks. “Hang this over your toilet and have the extra towel caddy you said you needed.”
She snorted. “I barely see my bathroom anymore. My hours are a nightmare.”
“Have you talked to your boss?”
“Try to get sympathy from Ivan the Terrible?” She shook her head. “No, but I have put out feelers. Hopefully, I’ll get a job offer before he or his backstabbing secretary get wind of the news I’m looking around.”
“Honey, I’m so sorry.” I reached out to touch her arm, but Honey-the-dog thought I was talking to her and tried to wedge herself between us. By the time we got her to stop walking between our legs and almost tripping us, Abby and I were both laughing.
“Woof!” Honey grinned at us, apparently deciding her work was done and left to chase squirrels in the backyard. I followed her to open the gate.
“Does she ever catch any squirrels?” Abby asked. She stood just outside the garage and motioned with her free hand toward the dog’s departing rear end.
I shook my head. “No, but she gets extra points for always thinking she might.”
A couple of plastic garden chairs stood nearby. I moved toward them and waved Abby to join me.
“It won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t want the repurposed wine/towel rack,” I said, shooting her a grin. “But I think there’s a little more here than you rejecting a new piece of décor. I’m ready to listen whenever you’re ready to talk.”
She nodded. “I’m so tired of living a rented life, Lissa. I rent an apartment I barely sleep in. I rent furniture because I don’t feel ready to put down roots in Dallas. Even after all these years. I come home on a weekend and have to practically force myself to get on the plane to go back. I want a real life.” She slapped her leg. “And by damn I’m going to get one soon.”
“But you always wanted to be a lawyer, Abby.”
“No, I always wanted to help people.” She let off a heavy sigh. “But the only people I help now are the senior partners by working an ungodly schedule to create a bunch of billable hours working to help a bunch of faceless corporations.”
“Okay. I think I’m getting the gist of your tossing out that comment earlier about needing a new job.” I reached over and squeezed her forearm, the way we used to do when we both played guard on the girls’ high school basketball team. It was our way of reminding ourselves we were watching each other’s backs. “I’m sure you have some vacation time built up, and I have an extra bedroom sitting empty in the house—much to Jamey’s consternation. You’d be doing me a favor if you came and stayed for a week to show him why we need a guest room in our house.”
She laughed, but the catch sound at the end worried me a little. “If I did that I might never leave.”
At least she was in a better mood about it. I stood up and slapped my thigh to call Honey. “Let’s go see if my sons have made any progress on their room. Then I’m going to send them off to ride bikes and play at Tommy’s house. We can sit at the kitchen table and gossip and eat cookies until it’s time for us to head out for pizza and for you to go home.”
Abby looked at her watch. “That’s one plan. Another is you could see if the boys can stay at Tommy’s overnight after the bike riding, and we could get dolled up and go for a girl’s night out at Rumors. Tonight’s karaoke. Saw it on the hotel marque when we left the airport.”
“Your mom is expecting you for dinner.”
“My mom is also expecting to be a grandmother someday. I could meet my prince charming tonight if I go, or miss him if I eat with my parents.”
“So, we’d be doing this to make your mom happy?”
“Yeah, someday I’ll explain it to her.”
“Well, I’ll only do it if m
y best friend goes up on stage with me, instead of staying at the table holding court while I sing,” I said. “Want to join me?”
“If I don’t, you’ll be a best friend short,” Abby said. “And I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.”
CHAPTER TWO
I CALLED TOMMY’S MOM and got the okay for the boys’ overnight stay. They were heading to the library to return spring break books, something I still needed to do too, and would pick up my boys on the way. I hung up on the call and added Library to my to-do list, then headed for the foyer.
“Jamey, Mac, front and center,” I called up the staircase. A couple of thumps told me the boys were on the way. Seconds later they were lined up again along the top railing, the dog thundering up the stairs to join them. “Is your room done?”
My eldest fidgeted. “Almost. We just—”
“Five more minutes, Mom,” Mac, my little liar wheedled. “We want to make it perfect.”
I looked up at my pair of hooligans, wondering if this was such a good idea. Waffling on mandates is never good parenting, but my inner-Lissa reminded me that Abby was only in town for the weekend, and my parenting skills had plenty of time for a total makeover later. One look at my best friend and I knew I might as well be listening to the little devil on my left shoulder because her grin and nod made clear what she thought.
So, quit being the only adult, I told myself.
“You can make it perfect tomorrow,” I said, smiling to remind myself this was all going to work out okay. “Change in plan. Tommy’s mom is going to be here soon to pick both of you up for a trip to the library, then a sleepover at their house. So, grab your backpacks and put in p.j.’s, a change of clothes for tomorrow, and clean socks and underwear. Come on, let’s move!” I clapped my hands, and they barreled back through their bedroom door.
“It’s okay not to be a parent right out of the lesson books,” Abby said.
I shrugged. “Not that I’d ever make Mother of the Year by any means. But good company tonight and a cold margarita will ease my conscience.”
“That’s my girl.”
In another ten minutes, the boys were packed and standing at the front door. Then I went through their backpacks, and they ran back upstairs for pesky things like toothbrushes. Mac already had his favorite teddy bear nestled in with his clothes, but I noticed him trying to hide a flashlight in his jeans pocket when he headed downstairs the second time.
I held out a hand. “Give it.”
“But, Mom, what if I get up in the middle of the night and I forget where I am and all the lights are out, and I pee in someone’s closet by accident.” He crumpled his mouth and gave me his sweet, brown-eyed puppy dog look.
“I’ll hand it over to Tommy’s mom, and she can decide if you boys need some independent lighting tonight.” Yeah, I was wimping out, but I’d mentally hung up my super-mom cape already for the day.
Honey gave two sharp barks an instant ahead of the doorbell ringing.
“Hi, Donna,” I greeted Tommy’s mom. She was a sharp corporate exec in her late-thirties who followed her life-plan to schedule everything. I’d often thought she loved having my boys around to remind herself why Tommy needed to be an only child. “Boys have everything in their backpacks, and I’ve already confiscated a flashlight.”
She took the contraband flashlight, and my boys scooted around us to join Tommy on the lawn where he was already tossing a football.
“Tommy, go and help them put their bikes in the back of the Lexus,” Donna called to the boys.
Yes, she has a Lexus SUV to haul around her kid and his friends. My poor little Honda wagon flushed with embarrassment in our driveway, and I mentally promised the sweet car a good wash and wax soon to make it feel better. Jamey jumped up on the Honda’s hood and slid at an angle across the top to get to the garage door faster. Well, the dirt was off that part of the car now.
“I appreciate this. You call me if the boys are any trouble,” I said.
“They’ll be great,” she said. “Tommy and his dad have been driving me nuts working on a soapbox derby car for Scouts. Having your boys over tonight will let John finish up the car without Tommy arguing over every little fine-tuning.” Donna raised her hands in the air, palms up. “I mean, what can you do?”
Abby dug her elbow into my side, but there was no need. My lips gave Donna a tight smile. I already knew what Abby was trying to remind me, and pressing my lips together kept me from saying the one thing they could do is stop trying to micromanage Tommy’s success and let their son make his own car for an elementary-aged contest.
A happy gang was already filling up the club tables when we arrived at the hotel. Our town isn’t a touristy site, but it is near enough to Tulsa to get some business clients during the week. The weekends, however, meant more available parking spaces, and specials like Karaoke Night to draw in the locals. We were more than happy to oblige.
A mini-spotlight shined on the tiny corner stage, and one of the waitresses, Vonda, helped a tall cowboy pick a Blake Shelton song to sing to. Abby and I headed to the bar and ordered.
“Margarita’s ladies?” Billy played barman on weekend nights. Through the week he tuned up Toyotas. “Good to see you, Abby.”
“You too, Billy. Been awhile.” She smiled at him and I watched him melt a little. They’d had a thing back in high school, but it didn’t last. LSATs and grease mats didn’t tend to work long-term, though I had a hunch they’d tried off and on in the years since.
Abby flipped back a brunette wave, and Billy ran a hand through his blond surfer cut, each not looking the other in the eye. I squinted at the pair. May need to do some investigating. Abs looked at me and widened her eyes. “Stop it.”
“What?”
“You know.”
I grinned and pointed to a table near the stage. “We’ll be sitting over there if you decide to take a break and join us later, Billy.”
He pushed two margaritas across the bar: mine with salt and on the rocks, Abby’s frozen and salt-free.
“Thanks, Billy.” I grabbed the glasses, and Abby flounced in the direction of the table I’d pointed to. Inside I was laughing, but I made sure I kept my face neutral. If I’d learned one thing about dealing with children, it was to not let them see you having a good time at their expense.
Wannabe-Blake Shelton finished his set by the time I got seated. Vonda was still close by so I asked for a cocktail napkin and pulled a pen from my purse. I set my drink out of the way and turned to Abby. “What do you think? ‘Walking on Sunshine’ for our first duet?”
“I don’t feel very sunshiny at the moment.” She took a slug of her margarita.
“Got ya.” I wrote the title in the lower third of the square. Best to wait until she’d had a couple of refills before suggesting that song again.
“Hey, Lissa’s here!” Someone shouted from behind us. “You gonna sing ‘I’ll Always Love You’ for us tonight.”
I turned and saw a karaoke regular at the next table. He didn’t come to sing but wanted the free show with local singers.
“Sorry, Red,” I told him. “Dek’s out of town, and that song’s retired until he gets home.”
“You can sing it to me.” He waggled his silver eyebrows. His hair color nickname was decades past its ability to honestly describe the man.
“Some other time.” I smiled to take any sting out, but he just grinned. “Pick another favorite.”
He went back to his longneck, and a retired husband and wife duo decided to try to out-do Kiki Dee and Elton John with “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.” Unfortunately, they broke more than a few notes along the way and had the room hunching our ears into our shoulders by the time they finished.
Vonda slinked up behind us and whispered. “I have my guitar and amp behind the stage if y’all want to do a little ZZ Top.
Abby grinned. “I can play air bass guitar to your real thing?”
“What I had planned,” Vonda said.
“And I su
ppose you want me to sing lead while the two of you have all the fun.” I huffed.
“Since you’re the one among the three of us who can actually sing lead, that sounds like the best plan,” Vonda said, slapping my shoulder. “I gotta go grab some orders, but I’m up for a break in a few minutes. I’ll take the stage when we can do this thing, okay? ‘Sharp Dressed Man,’ right?”
“You picked out the song, too?” I said.
“Yeah, and you know you love it,” she said. Before she flounced off, she added, “Get yourselves some sun glasses.”
Abby grabbed her purse and started rummaging. “We must look the part.”
“Too bad we don’t have beards,” I said, taking a small sip of my drink for courage.
A quarter hour later, we were wowing the crowd. Just we three females singing about how we loved sharp-dressed men, instead of the standard version. Vonda’s solo was a work of art. I had no idea why that woman still waited table when she could play like that, but it probably had to do with the fact that the lead guitarist in most groups is male.
As our song ended, I flipped my shades to the top of my head to walk down the steps from the stage, but several from the crowd started calling out song requests instead. I waved my hands for everyone to stop and moved back to the microphone. “Sorry y’all, but our set has ended for the moment. We’ll be up again once Abby and I get a little more tequila lubrication.”
Then someone shouted out, “Do ‘Amazing Grace’ for us.”
I shook my head. “It’s not on the karaoke machine. Sorry.”
“You don’t need no music, girl. You got it inside you.” It was Red again. I swear the man was out to get me.
A table started chanting “A capella, a capella.” I knew the jig was up then.
My grandma taught me “Amazing Grace” and “How Great Thou Art” when I was about four, so I honestly could not remember when I didn’t know all the words to both songs. I’ve sung them at dozens, if not hundreds, of funerals and memorial services, mostly without any musical accompaniment, and this motley crew knew it. So, there was no way I could talk my way out of singing the song tonight. Too darn many people in this town knew me.