Ready, Scrap, Shoot

by Joanna Campbell Slan

Her strident manner was totally at odds with the cheerful yellow polyester pants suit she wore. Underneath her jacket was a white knit shirt covered with jaunty black-eyed Susans.

  I waited for Dodie to tell Margit that replacing me would be impossible. I was the only person on the staff who created projects, packaged them, and pioneered new techniques. I was also the only person who taught on a regular basis. Besides all that, I’d stood by Dodie when she had cancer. I’d always been fair and honest. For the most part, I was dependable.

  I expected Dodie to ask me what had happened. She knew I wouldn’t blow off my shift.

  When she didn’t say anything, I repeated myself. “I. Had. A. Family. Emergency.”

  “It’s always something, isn’t it? Your life is a circus without a ringmaster,” snapped Dodie. “My daughter needs a job. Maybe you don’t.”

  The words slapped my face. I thought about all the times I’d covered for her, about how many hours of extra time I’d put in while she was getting treatment. She seemed to forget all that. Or maybe it never registered on her.

  I thought about the evening ahead, and how dangerous it sounded.

  I thought about my mother and all the extra stress she added to my life.

  I remembered Sheila saying that Linnea made more money than I did.

  To my credit, I said nothing more. I walked past both women, put Gracie in her crate, and pulled up a chair at the sorting table in the back. After I made a few calculations, I knocked on the door of Dodie’s office.

  “This isn’t working, is it?” I stood in front of her desk. “I obviously don’t have any rights—or say—as a minority owner. I didn’t realize that when I bought stock in the store. Now that I understand I am powerless, I want to sell out. Please give me back my money. I would like to go back to being an hourly employee. I did the math. I would make more money if I had a second part-time job than I did with the bonus you gave me last year. When I came to work here, it was on the condition that family came first. This morning, you didn’t even ask what my emergency was, and you actually made fun of my life.

  “That’s intolerable. I will work the crop tonight, and I understand you need notice to replace me, but I’m giving you two weeks starting now.”

  I delivered this whole speech while looking at a spot on the wall right above Dodie’s head. I didn’t wait to hear a response. I walked out. I grabbed a cold Diet Dr Pepper from the refrigerator and started pulling together materials for the special technique I planned for the evening’s crop. Trying not to cry, I threw myself into my work.

  I heard Dodie close the door. I heard her talking on the phone. I was still hunched over the work table when Horace came flying through the back door. He entered Dodie’s office and slammed the door behind him.

  I hated the idea that they were mad at me. This had been a great job for me. I had learned so much, and I’d made so many friends.

  Once upon a time, I would have put up with being ridiculed and scolded.

  Not anymore.

  Kiki’s tape transfer technique

  This is a cool way to transfer an image so you can use it on a scrapbook layout or on a card. It’s so simple kids will enjoy trying it.

  You’ll need: packing tape, a color image, a bowl of water.

  1. Find an image you like in a magazine or advertising insert or on a package.

  2. Cover the image with packing tape. If the image is wider than the tape, overlap two pieces or more to cover the image. (Tip: Tear the tape pieces off in advance and have them ready. Try not to get any wrinkles in the tape as you stick it down.)

  3. Burnish the tape. Rub it flat repeatedly with the back of a spoon or a bone folder to get all the air bubbles out.

  4. Soak the tape and the image in warm water. After about five minutes of soaking, you can rub off the paper with your thumb or a dish scrubber. The image will stay adhered to the tape. The only part you are detaching is the excess paper pulp.

  5. Lay the tape flat on a piece of paper towel and let it dry.

  6. Trim and use as desired.

  Eighty-three

  This I believe: There really is a fickle finger of fate. It spins around and lands on us, bringing trouble, trouble, trouble. When that finger points your way, absolutely everything will go wrong.

  The fickle finger pointed my way.

  Dodie and Horace left together. Slipping out the back door. The fact that they said nothing to me confirmed my worst fears: They were actually glad I had thrown in the towel.

  Margit came out from her new “office” area. Dodie had gotten Margit a desk, a bulletin board, and a comfy chair so she could sit in the back and call in orders.

  Wasn’t that special? Whereas I didn’t even have a locker for my purse or a shelf in the refrigerator. No, there was no special area that I could call my own. None.

  “Time for me to go. I am taking two orders I must mail. Today’s postmark guarantees us free shipping.” The ring of her cell phone interrupted. “Ja? She is? All right. I am coming.”

  “My mother expects me,” said Margit in a stiff, formal voice.

  I thought about walking out, then and there, but I still cared about the store and our customers. However, the unfairness of the situation rankled. I couldn’t be late because of an emergency, but Margit could waltz in and out as she pleased!

  Clancy called two minutes after Margit drove away. “I can’t make it in. Mom got up last night to use the bathroom and fell again. She’s in surgery now.”

  Amanda called. “Rena McMurray died this morning. Obviously I can’t ask her daughter for the scoop on Claudia. I guess we’ll have to wait to find out who Beverly Glenn is and what the McMurrays know about her.”

  The vet’s office called. “Your cat is on the mend, but we’ll need to keep him two more days, instead of one. We need to make sure he’s hydrated.” The woman named a cost for this extra day of care that would max out my credit cards.

  Sheila called. “Your mother and her sidekick ran up $125 in pay-for-view movies. I got the bill today!”

  Lane called. “When will you be done with the memorial albums? I thought you’d be done by now. I really need to get the Fitzgeralds their copy. Can you have them done today? Tomorrow at the latest?”

  Right when I thought life could not possibly get any worse, Mert dropped in.

  “Here,” she said as she pushed a key ring at me. She wore her usual work uniform of black slacks and a white blouse. “I don’t feel right about keeping your house key.”

  “So that’s it? After all these years of friendship?” I couldn’t swallow, the lump in my throat was that tight.

  “You hurt my brother. Hurt him something fierce. And it don’t seem like you. I ain’t never seen you act like that. Not to no one, no how. Since what happened in the park, he’s been going out and drinking to all hours. I know that ain’t your responsibility, but you had a hand in it. I need time to think. To sort this through.”

  She turned and walked away without a backward glance.

  Eighty-four

  There was no way that I could finish both the Fitzgerald albums and get the store ready for the evening crop. I was feeling totally overwhelmed and it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet.

  To my vast relief, the fickle finger must have been moving on to ruin someone else’s life. I called Laurel. She picked up quickly and promised she could come in less than a half an hour. Of course, she arrived looking like a page out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog with her shiny black boots, tight-fitting pants, wide black belt, and ruffled cream-colored, low-cut blouse. She wore a light fragrance that formed an aura around her person like a fresh spring zephyr.

  “What can I do to help?” she asked. I set her to work cutting paper for the crop. That gave me the time I needed to finish the Fitzgerald album. As I worked, I trie
d to compartmentalize, to avoid thinking about my rendezvous later this evening.

  Stop it. Robbie Holmes has this all planned out. You’ll never be in danger.

  But would Johnny be? And if he got hurt, what would Mert do?

  I couldn’t stand to think about it. Luckily, we had a run of customers. For the next two hours, I located flower punches, coffee filters (they make great flowers when dyed), templates, and fake stamens. Being busy helped keep my mind off the fact I was leaving the store.

  “We’re completely out of the punch that spits out flowers in three parts,” said Laurel. “I took a customer’s money and told her the order would arrive on Tuesday.”

  That was worth double-checking. If a customer made a special trip, only to find we didn’t stock the desired item, she might justifiably get miffed. I told Laurel what I planned to do and went into the backroom to track down the order sheet.

  I’ll give Margit this, she was well-organized. I found the order form in no time, partially because it was sitting out on the top of her desk. With the other order form. Both of them needing to be postmarked with today’s date.

  Drat. If they didn’t go in today, we’d miss out on the free shipping.

  I couldn’t send it in. That would step on Margit’s toes.

  But I also couldn’t walk away. I still cared about Time in a Bottle. Sure, I was leaving, but I wanted to leave with my head held high. With any luck, Dodie and Margit would realize they’d lost a valuable partner.

  How could I both ensure the order was processed and be respectful of Margit’s role?

  I could run the form by Oak Haven. I could drop it off at the front desk or even sit there and wait for Margit, if need be. Laurel had the store under control. The croppers wouldn’t arrive until 5:30. I decided that it was the right thing to do, an action that would prove me to be a bigger person than Dodie and Margit.

  Ten minutes later, I entered the spacious lobby of Oak Haven. It had, as do all such places, the strong smell of pine-scented cleanser with a pungent undertone of urine. But the brightly appointed foyer and cheerfully attentive receptionist also told me the place was tiptop. I paused at the front desk and explained my mission.

  “Mrs. Eichen and her mother Gretel are here in the garden,” said the receptionist. “Sign in, take this visitor’s pass, then follow the signs.”

  Eighty-five

  I set off through the huge power-assisted door that led outside. Once there, I could smell the perfume of petunias. Tall purple spikes of salvia, roses in tight buds, and pink flowers I couldn’t name added to the visual profusion of color. White wrought iron tables and chairs sat in clusters along the brick walk. Several families moseyed around, enjoying the lovely sunshine and mild weather.

  Margit’s back was to me. She sat across from an older, more wrinkled version of herself. Between the two women was another chair. On it sat a large, gold and black stuffed tiger. The toy leaned to one side and threatened to fall to the ground so I grabbed it as I approached the twosome.

  “Kiki!” Margit’s voice was breathless with surprise. “There must be a problem at the store!”

  “Sort of.” I handed over the documents. “You needed to get these orders in by five, and you walked off without them—”

  Before I could finish, Margit’s mother half rose out of her seat and grabbed the stuffed animal out of my hands. In a thick German accent, Gretel Westheimer said, “It is verboten to touch Adolphus! He’s mine! He does not like strangers.”

  “Um. Sorry.” I looked around. “Gee, this is a great place for you two to spend time together.”

  “Tell her to go away! Adolphus does not like her!” With that Gretel made a shooing motion toward me. “I want Mutti!”

  My co-worker turned her face to me, her eyes begging for understanding. “Kiki … I … she …”

  “Mein Mutter und mein Vater! Where are they?” Gretel’s voice grew louder and louder.

  At first, I was confused. Never once had Margit mentioned her mother’s mental health. That was the key, wasn’t it? Your body wasn’t much good to you if your mind wasn’t functioning right—and Gretel definitely wasn’t “all there.”

  But Margit had pretended, visiting her mother regularly, acting as if nothing was wrong. Was that just for her mother’s benefit or for her own?

  Hard to tell, and not really any of my business.

  “I’m sure your mother and father will be coming along soon, Fraulein. In the meantime, isn’t it nice that Margit is here?” I put on my ultra-cheery voice, and my most sincere face.

  Gretel carefully placed Adolph back on his chair, as she grumbled a bit. “She can not have my kuchen.”

  “I won’t eat a bite of it. I promise.” Margit sighed. “I baked it for you. Just for you. It was my own mother’s recipe. My own darling Mutti used to make it for me.”

  Eighty-six

  Mission accomplished.

  Sort of.

  Margit walked with me to my car. “I keep this routine because it is good for her. That’s what they tell me. It is marked on a calendar with a big red letter ‘M,’ and the nurse crosses off the other days and reminds Mutti that I am coming.”

  “Is she ever, you know, more lucid?”

  “More and more she forgets who I am. But I know who she is and I know what she did for me. She worked two jobs so I could go to school. She helped me raise my children. She taught me to cook and to knit.”

  Margit wiped her eyes. “This is the time of our lives when children become parents and parents become children. This is how we honor them, by forgiving and giving and putting the past behind us. I ask myself, how could I live with myself if I ignored her now? What would I feel when I bury her? That ache is one I could not bear. So I visit three times a week.”

  “Why did you pretend? You could have told us. We would have understood.”

  Margit adjusted her cats-eye glasses. “I do not pretend for your sake, but for mine. Each of us must find a way to live through these things. Dodie pretends she is not sick. She tries to be strong, maybe too strong. You pretend that you are not afraid, but when you think we don’t notice, your face shows your terror. You are also pretending not to be pregnant. Ja? Why is that?”

  “I don’t know that I’m pregnant.”

  She stared at me.

  “Okay, all right.” I dug at a piece of loose gravel with my toe. “I haven’t decided how to handle it. I mean, of course, I’ll have the baby. It was an accident. Equipment failure, I guess is what you’d call it. But I know Detweiler. He will insist we get married.”

  I squinted up at a tree, the young green leaves fluttered like a dancing mist against the blue, blue sky. A faded daffodil drooped at the foot of the trunk, its pale blossom brushing against hopeful grass blades. “I don’t want to repeat my mistakes. I don’t want to wonder if he’s marrying me because of the baby. I want him to marry me for me. And if I wait, the baby will be a Lowenstein, in name at least. That will comfort Anya.”

  “We all do the best we can. Sometimes it isn’t enough. Most of the time, thank God, it is.”

  Eighty-seven

  I gave Margit a hug that she returned heartily and then I climbed into my car.

  Before I started driving, I called Laurel and she told me, “All the technique kits are done, the tables are ready for the crops, and I ordered pizza for the crowd tonight. I also took Gracie for a walk. She’s such a sweetie. I left Rita Romano in charge of the store for the five minutes while we were gone.”

  “Laurel, you are a wonder.”

  “Happy to do it for you, Kiki. Look, I know I shouldn’t bring this up over the phone, but is there a problem between you and Mert?”

  I sighed. “Yeah. I hope to get it straightened out tomorrow. She’s my best friend. I know she’s upset and disappointed
in me, but there’s nothing I can do until then. I miss her terribly.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Laurel said. “She knows you care about her. I’m sure you two will work everything out. Take your time coming back to the store. I’m sure you could use the break.”

  As I hung up, I wondered how Laurel knew that Mert and I were on the outs. We hired Laurel at Mert’s recommendation, so their relationship must pre-date Mert’s and mine. But that was odd because I’d known Mert for nearly ten years. She’d never spoken of Laurel until that day when I mentioned we were looking for part-time help.

  Oh, well.

  I dialed Clancy. “Mom’s still in surgery. Kiki, can you do me a favor? She had an appointment with Dr. Terra this afternoon at three. Could you call them and cancel it for me? I don’t have his number with me.”

  I had a better idea. I drove by Sheila’s and ran inside. I could hear the shower running upstairs.

  “Mom?”

  She sat in front of the television, half-asleep. Her skirt sagged a little, but she was dressed in a nice outfit and her hair was neatly brushed. My day was definitely getting better. “I’m tired,” she whined.

  “Mom, I managed to get a doctor’s appointment for you with the best doctor in town. It’s a last-minute opening, so we have to hurry.”

  “What about Claudia?”

  “We’ll write her a note. Since she loves you so much, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled that you’ll be seen by a specialist. Besides, we don’t want to hurry her through her shower, do we?”

  “What should I wear? Claudia always helps me choose.”

  I pushed hangers around in the guest closet. “How about this? Or that?”

  Mom shook her head. “I can’t decide. I need Claudia.”

  “I have a better idea. How about if we take two or three outfits? You can decide on one after we have lunch.” I picked up a canvas bag and slipped the clothes inside.

  Mom looked at me dubiously. “I am hungry.”