Page 19 of Shattered Chords

#shred

There was no mention of the rich and famous man or the fact that he’d gifted the guitar to her. Yesterday, when the three of us walked out of the shop with the instrument, Ally had asked Dante for a photo and he’d agreed. Knowing how big of a deal meeting one of her idols was for my daughter, I was surprised she’d chosen not to share the details of it with the world. Instead, she was keeping it a secret, which only made me wonder what other things she was hiding.

Below the guitar post was a long line of comments that consisted primarily of emojis and strange abbreviations only known to teenagers.

What am I doing?I thought to myself, setting my phone aside.

Making sure my daughter isn’t being harassed, exploited, or bullied online.

Content with my own response, I rose from the chair and returned to the main floor to help Harper.

He was adding finishing touches to the large wall mirror in the lounge area. Outside, early shoppers scurried across the lot in the direction of the chain coffee shop that didn’t have the Frappuccinos Harper adored. We usually ordered them from the bakery down the street, whose owner, Tara, was my mother’s friend.

I heard the click of Renn’s heels against the marble floor and she emerged from the back with a stack of papers. Smile on, chin up, blond hair fashioned into a French twist. “Good morning, all.”

“Hey, sunshine.” Harper gave her a wave and continued to detail the mirror. His OCD was the best thing that had ever happened to Dream Bride.

“Frappuccinos are on the way,” I joked.

Renn marched through the rows of dresses and rounded the counter. “You know where I stand on the matter. Cold coffee is blasphemy, hon.”

“It’s eighty degrees outside,” Harper noted. “You have to be insane to drink anything that doesn’t have ice in it in this heat.”

Scrunching her nose, she dropped the papers on the counter and ducked down. “Knock yourselves out, kids.”

I heard drawers sliding and things rattling. Renn was a spitfire. She’d started at Dream Bride seventeen years ago when my mother was still running the boutique and knew everything there was to know about weddings. Without her, I would have been lost in the beginning. My first three years here were tough, with Ally demanding all my attention.

“What’s this?” I flipped through the printouts.

“Flyers.” Renn’s voice came from behind the counter as she continued to dig. “Kirk is hosting a fundraiser on Sunday.”

Renn’s husband specialized in classic car restoration. He co-owned a shop with his brother in Canoga Park. Just like mine, their family was well-to-do and Renn didn’t really need the money, but she had no kids, and working at Dream Bride was her way of achieving personal fulfillment.

I skimmed over the text. “Car wash?”

“We’re donating all the proceeds to BrightSide.” She fished out a plastic tray and slid a few papers in.

In the spring, Renn and her husband had adopted a puppy from BrightSide Animal Shelter in Simi Valley. Then they’d taken in another one a couple of months later. Now most conversations with her—when they weren’t work-related—revolved around little Zeus and Rocky.

“You don’t mind if I put these up in the store, do you?” she asked.

“No, I don’t mind at all.” I’d always liked animals. I’d just never gotten around to getting one, because Ally was such a handful while growing up. Taking care of her, Dream Bride, and a fur baby would have driven me to a mental institution.

“Ooooh, this sounds like a fun idea.” Curious, Harper leapt over. He grabbed one of the flyers and studied it with a critical eye. “Hot weather, soap, and wet T-shirts. Sign me up, baby.”

Inaudible laughter shook Renn’s shoulders.

“You and Ally should go.” Harper wiggled his brows.

“Ally? Washing cars?” I chuckled. “Have you met her? She can barely sweep.”

“There will be a thirty-minute training session and dinner for all the volunteers the evening before the event.” Renn added some more flyers to the tray and placed it on the counter, next to the flower arrangement. The rest disappeared into the bottom drawer. “It’s for a good cause. This shelter is operating mostly on donations.”

“We’re going,” Harper announced, knocking my shoulder.

“Okay.” I nodded. “We’re going.”

I spent the first half of the day in the office, working on spreadsheets and following up on orders. Our numbers were up this summer, which made my parents the happiest they’d been since I’d given birth to Ally. Fifteen years later, my father still gave me occasional shrewd gazes. An only child and knocked up during my first year in college, I’d disappointed him.

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