Plenty of Trouble

by Magenta Wilde

  5

  THREE HOURS LATER, I closed my shop and hopped across the gravel lot, curious.

  I should disclose that my mother can keep a cozy house. The front downstairs portion that is home to the shop they run together, when stock is low, can actually look like a cute little antiques and collectibles store. When stock is high – which is the norm since they always aim to keep plenty of items on hand to sell, be it to in-the-flesh customers or to buyers on eBay – let’s just say the shop looks like it’s well on the way to a Hoarders-type intervention.

  Mom had roped in Vanessa for extra hours devoted to organizing the shop and making it look more visually appealing, an act solely spurred by the upcoming visit of my Aunt Lindy and cousin Plenty. This way my mother could focus on tidying the house she and Tom shared.

  It was an interesting effort to observe, because Tom was a slob who liked to let things pile up. The space by his favorite recliner alone was a fire hazard from all the newspapers and magazines he let accumulate. Plus, there were the plates, glasses and dishes he often left around after a snack or meal. And he loves to eat. Especially sweets, since he gave up drinking some years back. Tom liked to insist the plates weren’t really that dirty because he usually let their beagles Beanie and Hooper lick the plates clean.

  I knew my services would soon be requested, to help make the Wheeler house look more presentable, and my goal was to keep out of the line of fire, so to speak, but when Vanessa plucked Jordan away to do something over there, my curiosity got the better of me.

  When I stepped inside Thingamajigs, however, I was amazed. It was still crowded, but the clutter had been more artfully arranged. Instead of wondering what I might end up falling over or whether something would tumble down onto me, it was quickly becoming an appealing space to explore.

  “Did Jordan do this?” I asked.

  Vanessa nodded. “He and I have been working together the last three hours. He got right to rearranging things. He’s in the kitchen now, taking a break with Fiona. He has an amazing eye for displays and artful arrangements. I actually got some cleaning and sorting done around the shop thanks to his help.”

  “You two did an amazing job.”

  “He’s a really big help. Where did you find him?”

  I explained how I first spotted him at Emily’s this morning and how he ended up in my shop.

  She nodded her head in approval. “He’ll be perfect.”

  “You think he’s someone to consider hiring?” I asked.

  “Oh, your mother already hired him an hour ago. Even Tom seems to like him.”

  I looked toward the back of the shop. The door there led to the attached house. It was closed, and I didn’t see anyone, so I felt certain Jordan wasn’t likely to overhear us. “Did you get any of his back story?”

  Vanessa’s eyes followed mine as she shook her head. “Not so much. I think he left his home because he was either kicked out or something. I’m not sure exactly. Fiona was trying to nudge a couple answers from him, but he’s reluctant.”

  “But you think he’s a good choice?” I asked.

  “Sure, especially if you and your mother’s instincts say so, too. And Emily must have done some sort of magic to send him to us. She always knows if someone is quality or if they’re trash.”

  I grew momentarily distracted as I scented something tasty. Vanessa noticed, grabbed my arm and guided me toward the living quarters. “Come on,” she said. “Your mother made a roast and potatoes au gratin – from scratch, no less – in honor of our new hire.”

  Wow. If my mother opted to ignore her standard box of dehydrated potatoes, then she must be impressed with Jordan.

  As we started making our way to the living quarters, we heard a rap at the door out front. I turned and saw Roger through the glass. I skipped over to let him in. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close for a second before stepping back and looking me over, touching a tendril of hair that Jordan had tumbled loose. “Your hair looks pretty like that.”

  “Thank you. What are you doing here?” I asked, happy to see him.

  He told me Tom had invited him, per my mother’s nudging. “Tom says your mother has some sort of surprise?” He looked around the shop. “It looks really good in here, by the way. More like a proper shop instead of an insane hoarder’s storage locker with price tags stuck all over the place.”

  “Hey!” Vanessa piped in. “I do try and keep this place organized. Fiona buys so much stuff at every estate and yard sale it’s hard to keep up.”

  Roger shuffled, uncomfortable, as he murmured an apology.

  “That’s okay,” Vanessa said. “It does look pretty junky in here most of the time.” She turned and made her way into the living area.

  I quickly told Roger about breakfast at Emily’s and about Jordan.

  He looked concerned.

  “Is there a problem?” I asked.

  “Your mom hired him, just like that?”

  I shrugged. “Some people get hired on the spot.”

  “Without references or some kind of background check? Did your mother interview him?”

  “Well, she kind of auditioned him.” I waved my hand around the store. “I think he passed.”

  Roger looked again at the reined-in chaos. “I guess. Tom mentioned he wanted my feedback on something. Maybe it’s on this kid.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed. “Don’t worry. My mother and I kind of put out an ad – to the universe, not in the paper – that we needed someone. It provided quickly, I think.”

  “How does the magic work?” Roger looked genuinely curious. “It seems natural to you and your mother, what I’ve seen of it, but I’m a bit confused how it happens.”

  “I’m not sure I can really explain it. It simply is.”

  He shrugged and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek – we hadn’t gone out more than a few times – and clasped my hand as he led me to Tom and Mom’s home. I smiled. It was proving an interesting day. Seeing Roger at the end of it was putting icing on it as far as I was concerned.

  6

  WE WENT INSIDE and my mother promptly gave Roger a warm hug. She mimed kissing her fingertips, silently letting me know she thought he was especially good looking.

  I wouldn’t argue. He was tall – more than six feet – with broad shoulders, and had sleepy eyelids that veiled piercing blue-gray orbs. Since it was evening, his stubble had grown more apparent, and it somehow accentuated his lazy grin. It was a nice combination.

  We found Tom seated in his usual recliner, his nose buried in the Sault News. Vanessa and Jordan were settled together on the loveseat. They were flipping through a fashion magazine, and I heard Jordan say a certain dress would look “absolutely amazing” on Vanessa. My mother smiled and gave me a telling look when she heard the comment.

  Roger craned his head over the half-partition wall to get a look at our new addition.

  When Tom saw Roger he stood up and greeted his friend – they’d met in Alcoholics Anonymous a few years back – with one of those manly handshakes.

  “Good to see you, Roger. Glad you could make it,” Tom said while clapping him on the back.

  Roger nodded. “Glad to see you, too. Thanks for the invitation.” He turned his head toward Vanessa and then to Jordan. “I hear there’s a new hire.” He approached Jordan, who had stood by now, and they clasped hands in greeting.

  “I’m Roger. Good to meet you. You’re Jordan, right?”

  Jordan’s eyes widened as he smiled and bobbed his head in affirmation.

  “Oh, it’s really nice to meet you,” Jordan exclaimed, holding tight to Roger’s hand. His eyes quickly drank in every inch of Roger before he finally released his palm, embarrassed that he’d been clutching it so long. “You look – well, the color of your eyes – they remind me of Paul Newman’s!”

  Roger smiled politely and thanked him as he made his way a bit closer to me, wrapping his arm around my back and setting his hand on my shoulder.

  “This kid knows
about Paul Newman?” Tom asked. “I’m impressed. Lots of kids don’t these days.”

  “I’ve seen Cat on a Hot Tin Roof a few times,” Jordan said. “And there are the salad dressings and pizzas at the grocery store.”

  “Yes,” Tom said. “Fiona’s secret recipe for spaghetti sauce involves Newman’s and some extra mushrooms. If I’m lucky.”

  “Excuse me?” Mom snapped. “You love it, judging from the amount you shovel in when I serve it.”

  “I wasn’t being sarcastic,” Tom protested. “I like your pasta sauce. It’s a good thing.”

  “Good compared to what?” Mom asked.

  Tom looked uncomfortable, his blue eyes wide. “My little cactus flower – ” he began.

  Calling her that was something he’d started once they’d returned from Las Vegas last month. While out west, they made a side excursion into Arizona and he was inspired by the scenery. He said he landed on the name because she was both lovely and prickly. Right now he looked like he was at a loss for words.

  I knew Tom was thinking of some of my mother’s cooking experiments. Some turned out divine, but others left something to be desired.

  “Well?” She had her hands planted on her hips, waiting for an explanation. “Are you referring to the store-bought pizza I made last week, when I topped it with pickled onions and beets?”

  “Oh my God,” Vanessa uttered before she thought better of it. My mother shot her a dirty look. “Well, that’s, um, I’m just so amazed at how imaginative you are, Fiona.”

  “Yes, my little cactus flower, you’re just so remarkably creative,” Tom cut in.

  “That’s not creative,” I cut in. “That sounds disgusting.”

  “So I experimented,” Mom shrugged. “You experiment, too, Poppy. I know you doctored the jarred sauce one time when you were in a rush and it turned out good, and you now do it all the time. Remember this the next time you tell me I don’t listen. This was something I learned from you.”

  Tom looked at me, stricken. “Poppy? Your pasta sauce isn’t from scratch?”

  “It isn’t,” I admitted, secretly wishing Mom hadn’t spilled those beans in front of Roger.

  “But your spaghetti sauce is so much better than Fi’s,” Tom said. “How is that?”

  “I doctor mine more,” I explained. “I sauté garlic, maybe add Italian sausage or peppers to the mix before serving.”

  “Well,” Tom brightened. “That’s practically homemade. “Fi, why can’t you put in that extra effort?”

  My mother shot him a lethal glare. She never liked being told she wasn’t putting out the extra effort, especially when she kept her nails manicured, her hair blonde, and her eyelashes affixed no matter what. “I’ll fix you up with some homemade pasta sauce when Lindy and Plenty come to town. How about that?” My imagination ran wild for a moment. It could be a sauce so spicy that no one would be able to stomach it. She could throw three cans of stewed tomatoes into a crockpot with a box of spaghetti noodles and let that cook for hours. She had tried both in the past, among many other unusual experiments.

  Tom caught on to her expression and quickly went to her and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, who am I kidding? Your pasta is a delight, my love.”

  The look on her face said he was anything but forgiven.

  He reached out and touched one of the ruby earrings she wore. “These are actually kind of small. Too small for your big personality, in fact. Maybe we need to get you something new and more sparkly to wear.”

  Now the look on her face said he was forgiven.

  My mother smirked, then clapped her hands together. “Now, you boys, the three of you go into the living room while we put food on the table. Go,” she said, making a shooing motion with her hands. “Go, and amuse yourselves while we finish in here. And take the dogs with you.”

  “I could help,” Jordan started.

  “I wouldn’t hear of it,” my mother said. “For the rest of the night, you’re our guest. I insist.”

  “Don’t worry,” I teased. “She’ll be putting you to work soon enough. And from the looks of things out front, you’ve already put in quite the day’s effort.”

  While the men retreated, Vanessa shook her head in amazement at my mother. “Fiona. How do you do that? He knew you were mad at him – for telling the truth, no less – and he bribed you with jewelry.”

  “It’s important to train your men.”

  “And?” Vanessa asked.

  “That’s the lesson.”

  “There has to be more than that,” Vanessa pressed.

  “There is,” I agreed, “but she’s not going to share with the class right now. The best way to do it is to tell her what you want to change about Ethan, and you’ll get more suggestions than you can shake a broomstick at.”

  “Okay.” Vanessa shrugged and began setting the table.

  My mother peered into the living room, smiling. “Both of you, go take a look in there,” she ordered.

  We did as told. There the three men were, sitting and chatting. Jordan was next to Roger, and he was hanging onto his every word.

  I turned and saw another telling look flash across Mom’s features. Vanessa wore a mysterious smile on her face, too. We went back to finishing our dinner preparation.

  “What are those looks all about?” I began.

  My mother’s smile was serene. “I think Roger’s appearance just confirmed something for me,” she replied.

  Vanessa nodded meaningfully.

  I knew what they were hinting at, but I wanted verbal confirmation nonetheless. It would make the gossiping portion of the evening more satisfying.

  “I think you’ve got competition,” my mother teased, nudging me in the ribs with her elbow as she slid her eyes in the direction of the living room. Jordan had inched closer to Roger.

  “And I always thought I’d lose him to someone who looked more like Vanessa,” I joked.

  “I knew you picked up on what we had picked up on,” my mother said.

  “Was it a feeling, or did he say something in particular,” I asked.

  “I don’t want to deal in stereotypes,” my mother began, “but he’s good at decorating, with fixing hair, and just now, ogling Roger.”

  “That he managed to keep his eyes planted in his head shows great restraint,” Vanessa mouthed.

  “I have a feeling he was kicked out of his home,” I said. “Maybe this was at the root of it.”

  “I want to say I can’t believe it would happen these days,” Vanessa started, “but when I tended bar a couple years back, some of the stuff I’d hear was unbelievable. Once, two guys came in who were clearly a couple and I had to call the police because a few of the patrons were calling them names and saying they should be strung up.”

  I nodded because I understood. I’d been out with a couple friends on the other side of the river one night when a pale young man staggered in, his eyes dazed as he clutched his side and struggled to walk upright. Blood was gushing from his nose and mouth, and his cheek had a vicious red welt forming. A group of bullies had cornered him in the parking lot, landing punch upon punch until someone spotted them and shouted that they were going to call the police. I was certain I’d never be able to erase that image from my mind.

  “Let’s see if we can coax out more of his back story in the days to come,” I suggested.

  “We should also see if he has a place to stay,” my mother added.

  “You didn’t ask where he was staying?” I asked.

  “I did a couple times, but he acted like he was distracted,” Mom said.

  “Maybe he didn’t hear you,” I offered.

  “Oh, he heard me.”

  “He wasn’t carrying a bag,” Vanessa supplied.

  “Maybe he’s staying somewhere,” I mused. “Or he could have stashed his things behind a Dumpster or something.”

  “Let’s make sure we find out,” my mother said. “It’s getting really cold at night. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.�
��

  My mother, despite her braggadocio, did not like the idea of someone so young being kicked to the curb by his parents.

  Vanessa caught the look my mother sent my way and started to ask what we were talking about. My mother shook her head as if to say, not now. She put a happy expression on her face and turned to the living room.

  “Dinner is served, gentlemen!” she sang out.

  “Is it too much to hope he’s into drag stuff,” I whispered to Vanessa. “I always wanted someone like that around who would go shopping for clothing and makeup with me.”

  At that moment, my phone pinged. I looked and saw it was a message from Plenty. “Speaking of makeup and shopping,” I grumbled.

  “What is it?” Vanessa asked as she peered over my shoulder. “Is that a picture of garcinia cambogia? That’s some trendy diet pill, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “I guess it is.”

  “Why is she sending it to you?”

  “She Skyped me last night and said my face looked fat. She went on to mention diet pills that helped her lose a few pounds in a hurry.”

  “Your face isn’t fat. Neither is your body, for that matter. You’re not seriously considering trying them, are you?” Vanessa asked, looking alarmed.

  “No. She just foisted the suggestion on me. Plenty’s so happy because that she’s a size two, so she wants to cut everyone, or at least me, down to her size.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to like her very much,” Vanessa said.

  I had a feeling she was right.

  All three men eagerly tucked into the roast and potatoes. From how skinny Jordan was, I wasn’t surprised, but Roger and Tom ate like they’d been famished. My mother smiled, pleased. To her, seconds and thirds, from the menfolk, in particular, meant that her cooking had been a success.

  Tom set his fork down and leaned back, patting his belly. “So, did you happen to bring some dessert along, Poppy?”

  I was the designated dessert maker, in his eyes. My mother could make a good main meal – sometimes seemingly out of nothing – but she had little talent for making sweets. Tom often mentioned – out of my mother’s hearing range – that he was happy he married a woman with a daughter who could bake treats.