I circled the car, and felt the wind lash past and the rain slap cold, fat droplets into my face and onto my head.
I blinked and slowly raised my hand in the air. I sensed a rosy aura – some power distinct from mine that seemed also familiar – surround the car. The weather muted somewhat.
I felt compelled to try and boost that energy, so I concentrated, using thin threads of magic to weave a new tableau. The rain slowed to a gentle drizzle and then to nothing. The wind died down, its howl reduced to a whisper.
A moment later I roused somewhat, craning my neck to listen. The squall had slackened, and the rain had halted. I smiled and finally drifted off to sleep.
I woke early, feeling slightly excitable and anxious, but hopeful, too.
For extra fuel and comfort that morning, I made a stop at Emily’s for a bagel sandwich loaded with lox and cream cheese in addition to my usual latte. While waiting to pick up my order I scanned the café, hoping to spy Jordan.
I saw no sign of him.
Emily brought me my coffee drink and sandwich. “He hasn’t been in,” she said, knowing exactly who I was looking for.
I told her what had happened the previous day. I also added that Roger thought he’d show up, acting as if nothing happened.
“I think Roger is right,” she said. “If he does come in, though, I’ll feed him something to lead him where he needs to go. He’s clearly damaged and needs a bit of extra mending.
“You look rested, but a touch anxious,” she continued, handing me an orange. “Get a bit of this in you. The citrus’ zing will pep you up.” She looked over her counter, and tossed me a snack packet of Jordan almonds. “Take this, too. Share a few with him.”
“Because he needs almonds, or because he’s Jordan?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Either way. Protein or namesake magic.”
I chuckled, nodded and made my way out of the café, ready to get a jump on my day.
When I got to my store, my mother was next to the side door, leaning against the window, smoking her usual cigarette. She looked less glittery than normal. Usually by now she would have had her false eyelashes in place and her hair fully curled and poufed, wearing something colorful or sparkly.
Instead she wore an oversize flannel shirt – clearly one of Tom’s – and had her hair haphazardly pinned up. She had on eye makeup, but considering how much of it was smudged under her eyes, I was certain it was because she’d gone to bed without washing her face and not because she was trying some new lived-in look.
“Did you sleep okay?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
She shrugged, listless. “So-so.”
“You were worried about Jordan, weren’t you?”
“I was. When the wind and rain picked up, I hated to think he might be out there in that.”
“I was, too,” I admitted.
“Then I imagined that he was on some street, huddled in his car, and I mentally set up a huge pink tent to cast over everything to protect him from the rain and wind.”
I laughed at the image.
“What?”
“It’s kind of a funny – but cute – image,” I explained. “It’s also something a Freudian psychiatrist would have a field day with, I’d hazard.”
“I guess. But I imagined that he was protected and in my vision the weather calmed. Then I felt like there was another presence – like something was helping things along – and the rain and wind died back.”
I smiled. “I was in bed listening to the rain and wind, and imagined myself by a small, dark car and he was inside.”
“Was he huddled in a blue blanket?” Mom asked.
“Yes. An old knit or crocheted one. It had mom or grandma energy surrounding it.”
“Did you weave something over the car?”
“Something like that,” I said. “I felt this rosy warm presence and wanted to boost it to provide more shelter.”
“That’s curious. I think we linked up and tried to protect him.”
“I’d love to argue with you on principle,” I joked, “but in this case, I am inclined to agree.”
Mom chuckled, some of the tension leaving her face. She looked me up and down. “I think you need to freshen up your hair color. Or maybe change it up a bit. Maybe a coppery color for winter? Maybe even blonde?”
I knew she’d prefer me in a less eccentric hue, but I also knew she was throwing out ideas to distract herself and needed to fuss over something.
I patted her shoulder and said I’d think about it. I pulled out the packet of almonds. “Have a Jordan almond. Emily suggested them.”
She pulled a lavender one out of the sack, on auto-pilot, and placed it in her mouth. I heard a crunch as she bit into the nut.
Like a switch had been thrown, I instantly noticed a change.
“That’s odd.”
“What’s odd,” I said, fishing for a pale yellow nut.
“I feel better. A little more … hopeful.” She dug out another almond, this one pink.
I ate my nut, and felt better, too: Letting the candy dissolve on my tongue, savoring the mild sweetness, things appeared more optimistic.
We made our way to the bench in front of my shop and kept nibbling on the almonds.
“Emily’s got a funny sense of humor,” Mom mused.
“Because they’re Jordan almonds?” I asked.
She nodded. “I like that about her.”
It was turning out to be a pleasant day. The air was nice and crisp. We watched some tourists walking along the end of the park across the street. They paused and pointed to a passing freighter.
An older man in the group waved over to us. “Excuse me? Is the park entrance that way?” he asked as he pointed east.
“It is,” I called out. “There are a few, but the first one you run into is about a half block away. You’ll get a really good overhead view of the locks inside the park.”
“Is it free to go in?” he asked.
“It is.”
He thanked us with a theatrical salute, and the group made their way up the street. One lady in the group spoke very loudly and talked about how they needed to get fudge to take home.
My mother and I turned to one another and squinched our faces in crazy grimaces. “Tourists! And fudge!” we hissed in unison, before dissolving into giggles.
A moment later I looked up and saw a tall thin form making its way from the west, walking with purpose in our direction. I nudged my mother’s arm and pointed her in the direction of the green army jacket. Jordan waved and smiled, pulling off his gray cap and smoothing his wild mop of wavy hair. My mother stubbed out her cigarette and threw it in a planter. I saw the remaining tension slide off her shoulders.
He greeted us with a shy smile and said he was ready for work. “Where should I start this morning,” he asked.
I offered him some almonds. He took a lavender one to try. “These are good. I’ve never had them before.” He looked at the packet. “Are they really called Jordan almonds?”
“They are.” I gave him the bag, told him to take the rest. I knew I’d eat them all by noon if I didn’t get them out of sight.
“Poppy,” my mother started, “if you don’t mind I’d like to have Jordan for most of the day. I need more organizing done. The shop looks better already, and I think he can improve its appearance even more.”
“That’s no problem,” I said.
“I like that idea, Mrs. Wheeler.”
She held her hand up close to his face to cut him off. “Call me Fiona.”
“Okay, Fiona. I actually was thinking about it overnight, and I had some ideas.”
“Good. I like the sound of that. Let’s get this place in shape. We’ve got company coming and I want them to be wowed,” she said as she directed him toward Thingamajigs. “Did you have any breakfast? I’m going to fry some eggs, so put your request in now if you would like a bite to eat.”
“Eggs sound good. I’m willing to help around the house, too, if you�
��d like,” Jordan added.
“Consider yourself on the clock.”
It turned out to be a busy day. I didn’t see them before leaving for home.
10
THE FOLLOWING DAY it was sunny and unseasonably warm, and when I arrived at my store I saw Jordan and my mother laughing in her and Tom’s backyard, playing with the beagles.
I went over and greeted them. “You’re here early, Jordan,” I said as I reached down to scratch Beanie and Hooper’s heads.
“He worked late, so I cooked us all supper and Jordan ended up staying over,” Mom explained.
“Oh.” I worked my mouth to say something more, but Mom gave me a look that said “leave it be.” I smiled and a moment later followed them inside to greet Tom and see what kind of progress had been mad the day before.
When I walked into Thingamajigs, I gaped in surprise at what I beheld. Much of the clutter was managed, and while the shelves were overflowing with antiques and collectibles, they were arranged neatly and artfully. It was now a visual invitation to explore and shop, rather than a frustrating needle-in-a-haystack expedition.
I nodded and smiled, impressed.
Tom floated into the shop and stood next to me, sipping his coffee and bobbing his head in approval. “The kid is good, isn’t he?” he asked.
“He sure is. This shop looks fantastic.”
Jordan beamed at the praise. “Today I’ll be working in the house. I have lots of ideas for that, Fiona,” he said as he turned toward my mother.
“Can you transform the home into something like this?” she asked.
“Without a doubt.”
“I may want to buy a couple new things, to modernize and make it look more posh,” she added.
Tom groaned. “Shopping?”
“We want the house to look lovely,” Mom sniffed.
“Don’t worry, Tom,” Jordan said, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the revamped shelves and displays. “I think we can move some of the stuff in the store or that’s stored upstairs into the living room. I saw a couple items that will look good. Then when company comes, you can offer to sell it if they like what they see. Consider it an extended show room.”
“Oh, I like how this kid thinks,” Tom said.
The days leading up to Aunt Lindy and my cousin Plenty’s arrival went smoothly, apart from one incident.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!”
Jordan burst through my shop door, holding his hands up like they were on fire, his eyes fixed toward the heavens.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. Vanessa and I drew closer, wondering if he was somehow hurt.
“Did you get burnt by one of Mom’s cigarettes?” I asked. “She says she never does that on purpose. She just gets distracted and ash drops wherever.”
Jordan shook his head, and ran to the bathroom and we heard him scrubbing his hands.
A moment later he emerged, drying them.
“Do you have hand sanitizer?” he asked.
Vanessa went and retrieved a container of it from behind the counter.
Jordan grabbed it and pumped several squirts into his hand and rubbed them furiously. After a moment he looked back at his hands and eyed them closely, holding his fingers to his nose and sniffing them. To be safe he took another few pumps and applied more sanitizer.
“What on earth did you touch?” Vanessa asked, planting a hand on her hip and eying him as if he might be radioactive.
“Oh, it’s too awful!”
“Come on. Nothing can be that bad,” I soothed.
Vanessa gave me a look. “You’ve seen the Wheelers’ house.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “but I imagine the worst thing you’d find is either a rotten sandwich or an old pile of dog barf.”
“Ew!” Vanessa grimaced.
“It’s worse,” Jordan said. “So, so much worse.” He sniffed at his fingers once more and raced to the bathroom to wash his hands again. When he reemerged he repeated the hand sanitizing process.
“Okay, only nuclear waste would merit the Silkwood shower,” I mused.
“What’s Silkwood?” Jordan asked.
“A movie from the early 1980s, starring Meryl Streep and Cher.”
“Oh? I need to see that. What’s a Silkwood shower?”
“Meryl Streep gets exposed to nuclear waste and gets the shower of all showers to decontaminate her,” I explained.
“So, no songs from Cher?” Jordan looked somewhat disappointed.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Aside from movie trivia moments and the need to purify body and soul,” Vanessa cut in, “why the drama?”
“It’s too horrible,” Jordan said, clasping his hands in front of us. “It’s so embarrassing and so gross.”
Vanessa and I looked at each other with curiosity.
A few seconds later Mom made her way into my shop. “Jordan!” She fixed her eyes on him. “Why did you run out like that?”
He was avoiding eye contact with her and his cheeks turned crimson.
“Jordan! You’re seriously not that upset about your little discovery, are you?”
He still refused to look at her, instead focusing on his hands and checking under his nails.
“Come on! It was dry! It’s been missing for months. You actually did us a favor!”
“What on earth are you talking about?” I asked Mom.
“Oh, when he was taking the cushions off the daybed to dust and vacuum, he stuck his hands in between the cushions and … ” She paused to reach into her pocket and pulled out a bright pink, and very large, dildo.
“Oh my God!” Vanessa said. “That thing is massive!” She drew closer, her expression reflecting both wonder and revulsion.
“It sure is,” I said, moving nearer to examine the behemoth toy. “It’s like the saying goes, as big as a baby’s arm.”
“Ew,” Jordan said.
“Do you think that’s based on any particular guy?” Vanessa asked.
“If it is, I bet his nickname is Tripod,” I said drily.
Jordan looked intrigued by Vanessa’s question. If I had to be honest, I was wondering the same thing myself. I pushed the thought from my head and turned to him. “So this is what you found, huh?”
He nodded his head. “I touched it and everything.”
Mom rolled her eyes at him and waved the pink dong in his face. “Come on! It’s not like you pulled it out of anyone or anything!”
I snorted and Vanessa turned away, choking back a laugh.
“It’s not funny,” Jordan complained.
“Jordan, really.” Mom gave him another strained look. “It was in the couch.”
“I think he’s worried that it had at one time or another spent some time inside of you,” I commented. “Or maybe Tom – please, let it not be Tom – instead.”
Now it was Vanessa’s turn to go “ew.”
“Oh please,” Mom said. “It’s not that big a deal. Tom and I run our toys through the dishwasher after using them. Well, most of the time.”
“Again, ew,” Vanessa said.
“Double ew,” Jordan agreed.
“Are you telling me,” I started, “that you ran that through the dishwasher and then just jammed it between the couch cushions?”
“Well, no,” Mom said. “Tom and I used for Valentine’s Day fun, and lost it after we, um, broke it in?”
“Valentine’s Day?” I asked. “How do you know it was used Valentine’s Day?”
“It’s bright pink!” Mom explained. “Tom got me a hot pink dong for my, um, hot pink –”
“Okay!” I cut in, frantically waving my hands. “Let’s not go any further with this or we’ll have an HR crisis on our hands.”
Vanessa looked amused, but Jordan still looked horrified. “It’s October now, you realize,” he started.
My mother shrugged. “It’s not like it’s our only toy. Far from it, in fact. Now, come on back so we can finish getting the house fancied up.”
J
ordan gave me a pleading look. “Do you have any cleaning gloves?”
Vanessa corralled him. “Let’s go in the back and check. I think we have some under the bathroom sink.” She leaned in toward Jordan and whispered, “Maybe we should each get our own pair with our names on them so we can use them each time we enter the house proper.” She shot my mother a look that was more amused than disgusted.
“What makes you think we limit our fun to only the living quarters?” my mother asked.
Jordan, Vanessa and I all groaned in unison. “No place is safe, is it?” I asked.
Mom merely smirked. “I have one other thing for you, Jordan.”
He turned to look at her, his eyes wary.
“It’s a nice thing,” she said. “At least I think it is.” She reached into her other pants pocket and tossed something jangly his way. He reacted quickly and caught it, his expression first curious, then heavy with emotion as he looked at what he now held.
“Is it the key to Thingamabobs?” he asked as he looked to Mom.
“No, it’s the key to Thingamajigs.” Mom corrected.
“Oh. Tom keeps calling it Thingamabobs, so I wasn’t sure.”
“That’s Tom being Tom,” Mom said. “But yes, it’s the key to the store, but it’s also the key to the house.”
“I don’t understand,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing pink.
“You’ve stayed over the last few nights, working late, and I think you fit well in the Wheeler house,” Mom began. “When you finish up the room with the daybed, you can stay there until Plenty and Lindy leave. After that you can move upstairs into Poppy’s old apartment.”
Jordan’s mouth opened and closed, shock and confusion etched across his young features. “You mean, you want me to stay?”
“I’ve made it pretty obvious, haven’t I?” Mom said.
“But …”
Mom held out a hand to still him. “You don’t have to tell me your situation, but I think I know at least part of your story. So far you’ve proved yourself hard-working, capable, creative, and honest. I think you may need a bit of help to get on your feet. I was planning on renting that upstairs space out anyways.”
Plenty of Trouble Page 6