“I can give some to my colleagues who have kids,” Kelsey offers. Apparently the sugar cookie sweetened her disposition.
“That would be great,” Allie says. “We can have a buffet of different candies, of course, like gobstoppers and lollipops. I’ll play music from the movie, and we can do trivia games related to the book. Oh, and we’ll have balloons with little prizes inside them that the kids have to pop to win. We might need to move a couple of shelves to make room.”
She bites her thumbnail and stares out at the store, where most of the shelves are almost bare.
“At least moving the shelves will be easy,” I remark.
Allie sighs and shakes her head, pushing her purple-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You think I’m a total basket case, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I really love your perseverance.”
Despite the daunting circumstances of downhill sales, a big rent hike on the building, loss of customers… Allie has never once wavered in her determination to turn things around with balloons and lollipops.
I have a pang of regret that I wasn’t able to help her out with a small business loan. All my other ideas sound fun and feasible, but not potential sources of revenue.
“Oh, I also saw an article about making edible teacups out of ice-cream cones.” Allie starts scribbling on a notepad. “And we’ll have a chocolate fountain. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“You’re really good at this stuff, Allie.”
“I like doing it. It’s fulfilling, you know?”
I don’t know, but I wish I did. I glance at Kelsey. “Are you fulfilled, Kels?”
“As long as I have a glass of wine every night, sure.”
Allie grins and pats my hand. “Everyone wants to do something fulfilling, Liv. It’s just that a lot of people have a hard time figuring out what that is for them.”
“So what’s it for you?” I ask.
“Being creative, helping people, doing neat things for kids…” She shrugs. “It’s why I like parties, I think. Everyone has a fun time, enjoys the food, forgets about troubles for a while, leaves feeling good. I love being able to give that to people. And I love giving people books, chatting with customers, learning new things, being my own boss, all that stuff.”
“How do you know that’s what you love?” I ask.
“It makes me happy. Isn’t that how you always know what you love?”
I look at Kelsey again. She shrugs, then gives a barely perceptible nod. Not even she can refute Allie’s statement.
I pick up my satchel and sling it over my shoulder. After giving Allie a hug good-bye, I follow Kelsey outside and we walk to Matilda’s Teapot. A grandmotherly woman seats us near the window and serves us homemade soup, quiche, fruit salad, and Assam tea.
I give Kelsey a brief outline of how things went for us in California. I’m not ready to tell her about the miscarriage—not ready to tell anyone—and I have no idea if or when I’ll be able to.
I do wish I could tell her about Maggie Hamilton. Kelsey would go into firestorm mode if she knew Dean was being threatened with a false charge. I’ve never actually seen Kelsey in firestorm mode, but I imagine she’d be a highly impressive and unstoppable force.
I turn the conversation to her work so I don’t give in to the temptation to confess. We split a plate of petit fours before gathering our things to leave. We part ways at Kelsey’s car, and I decline her offer of a ride home.
Instead I walk back to Avalon Street. There’s a fancy baby boutique located about halfway down the street, not far from the Wildwood Inn. I pull open the door and am greeted by the scent of lavender and the gentle cadence of a lullaby. Everything is in shades of pink, cream, blue, and yellow. The cribs are made of gleaming wood, the bedding looks fluffy and pretty, and artwork of cuddly animals lines the walls.
“Hello.” A well-dressed woman approaches me from behind the counter. “Can I help you find something?”
“Just looking, thanks.” I enter with a touch of caution, closing the door behind me.
I look at the tiny baby clothes, the ruffled bassinets, and patterned diaper bags. There are pink-and-white striped stepstools, hand-carved wooden blocks, butterfly lamps, and rocking chairs.
I stop beside a wall of baby clothes and pick up a blue cotton hat that is soft as a cloud.
“That’s one of our most popular newborn hats,” the saleswoman says. “Made of organic cotton and hand-stitched. Comes with a full matching layette too.”
I have no idea what a “layette” is. I didn’t have a chance to find out. I pick up another hat, the same as the blue one but in a shade of pastel pink.
“I’ll just take these.”
“Shall I wrap them up?” She goes behind the counter and rings up the hats. “Are they a gift?”
I hesitate. “Um, sure.”
“For twins?” She starts to package them up in a yellow-striped box with tissue paper.
“No. Just for… for a friend.”
“Oh, how lovely.” She finishes wrapping the box and ties it with a big yellow bow.
I pay for the hats, then go back outside into the cold winter air. Once I’m home again, I slide the box underneath the bed and tell myself not to remember it’s there.
CHAPTER NINETEEN