by Richards
“I’m fine,” my grandmother said again. She tried to sit up and let out a groan. “Well, maybe not entirely fine, but I don’t need surgery.”
She eased back against a pillow and pressed a button that sent a drip into the IV tube connected to her arm.
“You’re gonna have to trust the doctors,” my father said in a soothing voice. “They know what they’re doing.”
“Since when do doctors know anything?” she asked, her speech starting to slur.
“Since you fell this morning and broke your hip in two places,” he replied.
Her eyes looked dreamy. “But what about the store? I can’t take time off to heal from some blasted surgery.”
My grandmother owns Truly Fine Fashions, the only women’s clothing store in Sequim. According to my mom, it’s a real pillar of the community.
“I’m afraid you are going to be housebound for a few weeks after the surgery,” my father explained so gently it sounded like she was about to depart on a tropical vacation. “The store will have to survive without you for a little while.”
“That’s impossible,” she argued. “My customers need me.”
She winced and pressed the button again. Another drip slid down her IV.
“They’ll still need you when you return,” my father countered.
Her eyes drooped until she looked to be half asleep. “But Elsa needs help,” she slurred. “I can’t afford another Elsa.”
Elsa was my grandmother’s only employee at the store. I met her one time when my mother dragged me in looking for some truly fine sundries, whatever those are.
“Don’t you worry,” my father crooned. “We’ll find someone to help out until you’re all healed.”
“I’ve got the perfect person in mind,” my mother added, all too excitedly. “Someone with all the time in the world until school starts again.”
She grabbed my hand and pulled me to the bedside.
“Stu!”
That led to a lively discussion that evening.
“I am not working at her store!” I said for the umpteenth time.
“The decision isn’t yours to make,” my mother countered for the umpteenth time. “Family helps family. That’s the way it works around here.”
Yeah, that’s where it usually goes wrong. The last time I helped family, it ended up with me wearing a rack of ribs costume in front of thousands of people at the Irrigation Festival Parade. That was less than two months ago. How could I be asked to help family again so soon?
“It’s not fair,” I whined, stealing a line from my little brother.
My father uncrossed his arms long enough to let out a heavy sigh.
“Life isn’t fair,” he explained. “But think of it this way, your grandmother has been giving you money on special occasions all these years, and this is your chance to repay her.”
Hang on a minute. No one ever told me holiday gifts were loans that had to be repaid. It put a whole new spin on the holidays, and I didn’t like the implications. If birthdays were putting me deeply in debt, how was I supposed to pay for college? Or a new game controller?
“Don’t worry,” my mother said. “I’ve been in touch with Elsa. She only needs help at the store between ten and two each day. That will leave plenty of time for you to lounge about the house and hang out with your friends.”
My mother didn’t seem to understand that the prime lounging hours were between ten and two. Also, before ten and after two, but now was not the time to bring that up.
“Do I still have to do my chores?” Being a shrewd negotiator, I saw an opportunity to sweeten the deal.
“When did you start doing your chores?” my father asked.
My mother muffled a laugh. “Yes, you will still need to do your chores, preferably without being asked.”
So much for negotiating.
“When do I have to start?”
“Tomorrow,” my father replied.
That gave me one whole evening of freedom before I became a working dog for the rest of my life and probably the afterlife, too. I slumped out of the living room and hurried over to Ben’s house for some much-needed guy time.
“I ordered pizza,” he said, ushering me into the family room. “My parents should know better than to leave petty cash lying around.” He handed me a can of Orange Splash. “Or sugary sodas.”
“Don’t worry, the soda is healthy,” I said, pointing to the label. It read Calcium and vitamin C injected into every can.
“Good point,” Ben agreed. “That offsets the tooth decay and diabetes. We better have two.”
We spent the rest of the evening enjoying our new favorite pastime: zombie football. After finishing level thirty-two of Death Intruders 4, several bonus games had been unlocked. Our favorite was zombie football. It was just like real football, except with chain saws and zombies. With practice, Ben and I had learned how to carry a football and a chain saw at the same time. The key was to remember which one was in your throwing hand before making a pass.
“How many times you gonna do that?” Ben asked, picking his receiver’s head up off the ground, an errantly thrown chain saw lying nearby in the grass.
“Sorry,” I apologized. “I’m distracted. My grandma’s in the hospital, and my parents are making me work at her store starting tomorrow.”
Ben made a choking sound. “You mean like a real job?”
“Kinda, but I’m not getting paid.”
“What? That’s crazy! There are child labor laws against that sort of thing. Did you show them your armpits? Clearly, you’re still a child.”
With that sort of eloquence, Ben had a future arguing cases in court. Or at least having his head used as a gavel.
“I don’t think those laws apply when your grandma has a broken hip.”
“Dude, that stinks.”
“You got that right.” Not even pizza could take the sting out of what I was being forced to do. I had two more slices just to prove my point. After popping open my second soda, I broached the other question on my mind.
“You talk to Kirsten since earlier?”
Ben swallowed a massive bite of cheese and took a swig from his soda, then crushed the can with one hand. “Nope.”
That pretty much ended that topic. Further discussion would have meant contemplating things neither of us knew anything about or wanted to consider. An hour later, gut stuffed, sugar buzz crashing, and thumbs numb from hours of zombie football, I reached the simple conclusion that it was time to head home.
“Don’t let your grandma down tomorrow, young man,” Ben said at the door with a parting wave. “Those pantsuits won’t sell themselves.”
If only they made a pantsuit large enough to bag that boy’s head. “Shut up.”
I headed home while massaging circulation back into my thumbs. Football really is a contact sport. My thumbs might actually need an ice bath when I got home.
Near the corner, I paused to stare up at Becca’s house. Since things had ended a bit awkwardly earlier, the prudent thing would be to pop in, pull her onto the porch, apologize for my friend’s brutish behavior, and give her a polite kiss good night.
Say what? The thought made my hands tremble, and toxic beads of sweat began dripping from my pits. How could I let such a thought bully its way into my mind? I shoved it to the side to make room for another, more urgent thought. Was there such a thing as a kissing phobia? If so, I had a severe case. I was probably the first boy to ever go out with a girl and not want to—
Wait a minute! Since when were Becca and I going out? Yes, we’d hung out a few times. And today there may have been a few minutes when our knuckles touched. But that didn’t mean we were going out, did it? And even if it did, we were a long way from our lips ever touching. Weren’t we?
Ben! It was all Ben’s fault for bringing up the idea. He had made me believe that handholding automatically led to kissing. But the only thing his fat lips had ever kissed was an ice-cold metal fence post in second grade. I knew how tha
t had ended. He’s lucky he still has lips.
He couldn’t possibly know what he was talking about. Right?
Ten o’clock the next morning came way too soon. I found myself standing at the front door of my grandmother’s store.
“Stu, it’s time to go in,” my mother said.
Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one being sent to a labor camp. I glanced around to make sure none of my friends were watching. Main Street at this ungodly hour was pretty much empty, except for two ladies heading our way.
“Hi, Molly,” one of the ladies greeted my mother.
“Hi, Judy,” my mother replied.
The other woman gave her a hug.
“We heard about Rosemarie’s fall,” she said. “Such a shame. I hope she’s better soon. We’re all going to miss her dearly at the store.”
“Yes,” my mother said. “I keep hearing that. They did surgery first thing this morning. The doctor said it went well and they expect a full recovery.”
“Oh, that’s marvelous!” Judy responded. “We’re planning to stop by the hospital and see her later today.”
“I’m sure she’d appreciate that,” my mother said, pushing me toward the door. “For the moment, I need to take Rosemarie’s replacement inside so Elsa can show him around.”
I tried to smile but stopped short. They were eyeing me like a rodent who had just crawled out of the sewer.
“Oh,” Judy said. “That’s … nice.”
“He’s excited to help out,” my mother lied.
The other woman put her hand over her heart, either to check her pulse or to ward off evil spirits.
“I see,” she muttered. “I’m sure he’ll … be … just …” Her voice trailed off.
I knew exactly how she felt. Though I would have preferred if she’d been less obvious in stating the obvious. A thirteen-year-old boy had to be the last person that women wanted working in a women’s clothing store. If only my mother had listened when I explained that to her. It might have helped if I had been less hysterical at the time.
I tucked my rodent tail between my legs and shuffled inside. Neither of the ladies followed. Their shopping needs had apparently changed. Strange, they had seemed so excited moments before.
The interior of the store was a spectacle of clothing, shoes, and accessories displayed on shelves, carts, tables, wall hooks, and circular racks, with mirrors conveniently placed pretty much everywhere. The smell of flower-laced perfume hung in the air. I’d been to the carnival lots of times but had never seen a house of horrors this frightening. All it needed was a ghostly soundtrack to complete the effect.
Elsa hurried over to where I stood gaping.
“Stu!” she cried. “I’m so happy to have your help.”
“Yeah,” I squeezed out. “Happy.”
She ushered me to the back room, where a bunch of unopened boxes had been tossed in a pile.
“Look what arrived today. Fall fashions!” She beamed as if the boxes were full of treasure. “I’ve worked here almost twelve years and I still get excited to see the latest inventory!” She looked at me as if expecting me to share her enthusiasm.
“Great,” I lied. “Can’t wait.”
She took me by the arm and proceeded to show me around the store. From her glowing descriptions, the place was a wonderland of beauty, art, and sophistication. I wasn’t exactly sure what sophistication meant, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t mean cool, fun, or free pizza.
“If you don’t mind working in the back room, I was hoping you could get all the boxes opened while I stay out here to greet customers. There’s a box cutter on the top shelf.”
Would I mind staying out of sight in the back? Seriously? The only thing better would be a secret door in the floor that led to a safe room underground. “Sure. That sounds fine.”
I found the box cutter and plopped myself down on the nearest box. After doing a little math, I calculated if I opened one box every fifteen minutes it would take exactly four hours to finish. Cutting tape that slowly wouldn’t be easy, but I was willing to man up and meet the challenge.
An hour later, I was bored out of my mind but right on schedule. My father always says a man should take pride in his work. Amen. My chest puffed out at the realization that not just any man could slice tape at snail speed. But I wasn’t just any man. I rubbed my smooth chin. Nope, I wasn’t a man at all. If I were a man I wouldn’t have been roped into this nightmare.
At least no one but Ben knew.
“Trying on a few things?”
I whirled to find Tyler and Ryan, my two closest friends other than Ben, grinning in the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“We called Ben to see if you guys wanted to hang out,” Ryan explained.
“He told us you’re into women’s clothes now,” Tyler added.
“Shut up. My grandma broke her hip, and I have to help out until she’s better.”
“Of course,” Tyler agreed.
“But we know why you’re really here,” Ryan added. “To meet the ladies.”
Tyler high-fived Ryan.
“Shut up.”
Their giggling went on for far too long.
“Hey, can you cut out early?” Ryan asked. “Ben wants to have a zombie football tournament.”
Tyler took the box cutter and tore open one of the boxes. “He talks like zombie football is the best thing ever.”
I scooted over to keep my leg from being mistaken for a piece of tape. “It’s a blast. But I’ll have to meet you there after I get off work.”
“Seriously?” Tyler lamented. “How long you gonna be working here?”
“Probably till I die. Or at least until summer’s over.” Both sounded equally depressing. “Hey, why weren’t you guys at the movie yesterday?”
The silly grins on their faces drooped.
“Gretchen and I broke up,” Ryan explained.
Huh? “You had been going out?” I asked.
A slow burn crept up his cheeks.
“About a week.”
“Annie broke up with me, too,” Tyler interjected. “Girls are the worst.”
“We’re better off without them,” Ryan said half-heartedly.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Who needs ’em?”
“What about you?” Tyler asked. “You still going out with Becca?”
Not them, too. Did my friends think Becca and I were going out? It’s one thing to wonder that in secret, but why was the whole world jumping to that conclusion?
“We’re not really going out,” I offered. “We’re just friends.”
“Yeah, right,” Ryan said. “You probably held her hand at the movie.”
A flush crawled up my face that would soon eclipse the one on Ryan’s. This conversation had gone far enough. What fool had even started it? Oops, my bad.
Tyler handed me back the box cutter and pushed Ryan out of the workroom.
“You better get going on those boxes if you ever want to get off work.”
“Yeah, see ya later,” Ryan added on their way out.
“Yeah, see you.”
The clock finally struck 2:00 p.m. just as the last piece of tape split open on the last box. Funny how that had worked out. I stumbled out of the workroom and headed for the front door, wondering how much the world had changed. It felt like years had passed.
Before I got to the door, Elsa waved me over.
“Stu,” she said. “I want you to meet Diane, one of our most loyal customers.”
A heavyset woman with dyed black hair and bright red lipstick grinned at me. “So, you’re Rosemarie’s grandson?” She held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Her hand swallowed mine. I didn’t know a woman could have hands that large. “N-nice to m-meet you,” I stammered.
“I’m so sorry to hear about your grandmother,” she continued, her voice choking. “She’s meant a lot to me over the years. Don’t know what I’d do without her.”
I nodded.
She dabbed at one eye. “But we’ve got to be strong. That’s the best way to show how much we care.” She gave me a wink. “That and a bottle of wine.”
Both ladies broke into giggles. I tried to smile, but mostly I just stood there feeling out of place.
“As long as the fall fashion show still happens, everything will be okay,” Diane said, fanning her face with one hand.
Elsa pulled a sky-blue blouse off the nearest rack and handed it to her. “Of course,” she said. “Right, Stu?”
“The what?”
“The fall fashion show,” Elsa explained. “It’s the store’s most important marketing event heading into the holidays. Every August since forever the store has hosted a fashion show to introduce the latest fall and winter fashions. All the ladies in town come.”
“It’s the event of the season,” Diane added. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
Elsa handed Diane a pair of sky-blue stretch pants that matched the blouse. “Don’t you worry. With Stu’s help, we’ll put on the best show yet.”
Diane gave me a way-too-pleased smile. “Sounds like you’re quite the fashionista, just like your grandmother.”
Huh?
I left the store and inhaled the fresh air of freedom. The horrors of womanly clothing, womanly undergarments, and womanly perfume faded as I strolled through downtown. By downtown, I mean the lone street that contains the town’s shops, including my grandmother’s clothing store. The only time our downtown seems impressive is during the Irrigation Festival Parade, when thousands of people line the street. In reality, Sequim is like a hole in one of my gym socks, big enough to cause a blister, but not big enough to get me out of running laps in PE.
At the next light, I hung a right and left the downtown area. After passing block after block of little homes, I turned onto Ben’s street and stopped short. Becca sat at the base of her steps with her arms curled around her legs, rocking slowly back and forth. Even from a distance, I could tell something was wrong.
“Hey, Becca.”
“Hi,” she replied through gritted teeth.
She scooted over, and I plunked down next to her.