by Clover Tate
“Keep going.”
The dreadlocks were thick, but the razor-sharp scissors I used for the appliqués sliced through them easily. In five minutes, Sunny’s dreadlocks were piled around the chair, Bear sniffing at them.
I handed her a mirror. “What do you think?” I was sad to see the dreadlocks go. For me, they’d held some part of her spirit. I hated to think of her getting too corporate.
Sunny turned her head one way, then the other, and smiled. “I love it. It will show the tattoo I’m planning to get right here.” She pointed to her shoulder. “Of the formula for calculating interest earned.”
My concern for Sunny lifted.
“How do you think the admissions officers at Portland State’s business school will like it?” Sunny added.
“Oh, honey,” Mom repeated.
“PSU? That’s what you’ve been waiting on, haven’t you?” I said.
“Wherever you want to go,” Dad said. “We’ll make it work, Sunny. Or do you want to go by Belinda now?”
“Sunny is fine.” My sister worked at her hair with her fingers. It looked good. The shorter length brought out her jaw.
Once she’d opened up to Mom and Dad, she’d done it all the way, telling them everything from quitting Evergreen to seeing signs on the cliffs to applying to PSU’s business school. She’d been so passionate that Mom fell to the couch at Avery’s, and Dad’s mouth stayed open for the better part of a minute. They couldn’t possibly refuse her, especially once she’d whipped out the spreadsheet with the projected costs of her education compared to potential future earnings.
The shop’s front doorbell rang, and I went out, intending to tell the customer we were closing early so I could have a family lunch before Mom and Dad headed back to Portland. To my surprise, the Tan Man was at the door. I looked at Sunny and mouthed “Tan Man.” She slipped off the chair and followed me into the shop.
“Hello, madam,” he said to me.
He was as crisp and debonair as ever, and he didn’t flinch at my bruises or my sister’s hacked-at hairdo. Instead, he went straight to my competition kite, which I had hung across the shop’s ceiling. I’d pinned up the strands of “wind” so it would look like Father Wind was blowing, although the effect wasn’t as satisfying as it was on the beach.
“Beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“I looked for you at the kite festival.”
“I wanted to be there, but, um, other things got in the way.” Who was this man, anyway? He’d been showing up here and there for two weeks, but no one, not even Jeanette the Postmistress, had any idea who he was. Emboldened by the last day’s happenings, I planned to find out. “I’ve seen you around town, and if you’ll pardon my saying, you don’t seem like the usual tourist.”
A smile softened his sharp features. He pulled a business card from his wallet. “Carlos Negrete, Marketing, Ile Fantastique Caribbean Resorts,” it read.
“Oregon is a long way from the Caribbean,” I said. Sounds of shuffling told me my family had come out of the workshop and were lined up behind the counter. Mr. Negrete examined my competition kite while I made a “what are you doing?” face at them.
“You create these kites yourself?”
“Yes, I designed and made that one, along with these.” I pointed to the row of kites fluttering behind me.
“How many can you make in a week?”
“What?” I said.
Sunny stepped from behind the counter and peeled the business card from my hand. “Sunny Adler, Emmy’s business manager,” she said. “What a terrific idea to sell handmade kites at your resorts. They’re a high-end product, that’s for sure, but uniquely beautiful. You’d be looking for stock during the winter months, when you’re at your busiest, am I correct?”
“Yes.” An amused smile played on the man’s lips, but I thought he had respect in his eyes. “I believe we could sell all the kites Ms. Adler could make.”
“It’s a labor-intensive process,” I said. I already had patterns for two dozen kites or so. “I might be able to sew ten kites a week for some of the styles.” I pulled forward a kite shaped like a stingray. “Others,” I said, thinking of the late Rock Point kite, “take much longer because of the detail.”
“Let’s talk terms later this afternoon,” Sunny said. She and Mr. Negrete made plans to meet at the Brew House after lunch. Sunny shook his hand and waved as his elegant figure descended the porch steps.
When the door closed, Mom stared, slack-jawed, at Sunny. “Honey.”
Dad patted her on the back. “I’m proud of you, Sunny.”
“Oh, I’m not done yet,” she said. “We need to look into financing for buying this building. Right, Emmy?”
What was that line from Anaïs Nin that Nicky Byrd had quoted? “Throw your dreams into space like a kite.”
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