Page 38 of Dallas

“Yeah,” I say, closing the door behind me and standing there on the sidewalk, looking at the cute, red building, gathering up my courage to go inside. As soon as I walk in, there’s a feeling of calm. The whole environment of the store is tranquil. But I know immediately that a big part of that is Sammy herself. She comes in from the back, a dreamy expression on her face. “Good morning,” she says. “I’m so excited to get started with your training.”

“Oh. Good. I… I’m nervous.”

Sammy waves her hand. “You don’t have to be. There’s really no mistake you could possibly make that would make me throw you out the door. It would have to be malicious. And I don’t think you’re malicious.”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not.”

“I didn’t think so. Everything is just basic retail stuff. Have you done retail?”

“A few years ago. But it was auto parts, not fine jewelry.”

“Well. That is different. I think the only specialty thing you might need to know is that we do forever bracelets here. You use a micro welder to put them on. But we won’t start you off with that. I don’t do all that many of them.”

“What are they?”

“Jewelry that you always wear. I mean, you can get it taken off, but the idea is to wear it all the time. I have one,” she says, holding her wrist out. “With my husband and kids’ initials on it. I’ll be adding another little charm once this one is born.”

“Oh.”

Forever jewelry. It’s a weird concept to me, and one I can’t wrap my head around. The idea of being so certain of your connections with people that you would get jewelry with their initials on it permanently anchored around your wrist is pretty wild to me. Like tattoos, which I also don’t really understand. Because nothing is permanent. Not a place, not a person. The only thing that seems to be permanent is trauma.

What a hilarious realization.

I almost roll my eyes at myself, but don’t, because then Sammy will think I’m crazy, or rolling my eyes at her.

“So, how do you know Dallas?” Sammy asks, ushering me back behind the counter. I worry a little bit about the answer, because I know that he doesn’t talk about his past as much as I do. He doesn’t like to throw his trauma out there like poorly conceived self-defense, which I’m personally such a huge fan of.

“I… I don’t know how much you know about his life before he came here…”

“I know that he was in foster care.”

“Yes,” I say, relieved. “That’s where I know him from.”

Her face softens, but it’s not the kind of pity that I’m accustomed to seeing. This is recognition. “Oh. Well, I’m sorry about that. I’m also a member of the dysfunctional family club. And my husband is a member of the orphaned club, so I have a lot of sympathy for anyone who grows up without stability as a kid. Regardless of the circumstances.”

“Oh,” I say. “Were you… In foster care?”

“No. I wish.” She pulls a face. “Sorry. That seems really insensitive.”

I laugh. Because no. It doesn’t. Not to me. I get that it would to some people, but as difficult as that was, it was far better than being in my mother’s custody. “No. I get it. The worst thing that happened to me was being sent back to live with my mother. After which she kind of dropped off the radar and kept me out of the system, and that wasn’t actually a good thing for me.”

“Well, I understand that. I moved into a caravan on my parents’ property when I was a teenager. I aggressively befriended my now husband, who lived on the ranch next door, and he was my… well, he was my everything. My lifeline, my only connection to a family that was somewhat stable, and his family wasn’t exactly traditional.”

I’m fascinated by Sammy. Obsessed with her, even. She’s so open and ethereal, funny and strange all at once.

While I do spend most of the day getting trained, it’s filled with interesting conversation. She tells me all about how her husband raised his siblings and his cousins in a blended family after their parents died in a plane crash.And how she weaseled her way into the family, finding it much happier than she found her own home.

There’s something sohopefulabout it, about her. She’s settled and happy; she has a business and children.

I deliberately avoid thinking about her relationship with her husband, and how the connection that she always had with him reminds me of…

No. I push that aside.

Allison comes in midway through the day, a scowl on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Oh. Nothing. Just my… my it’s my stepbrother. It’s not a big deal.”

---