Page 39 of Afternoon Delight
“Oh, Meg. Hello. It’s nice to see you again.” Barbara gave off a matronly vibe—plump with glasses, her hair a short gray perm. Her faux-fur jacket was buttoned to her chin. Usually, she was very maternal and effusive. Today, she wore a look I recognized—like she expected to be arrested for entering such an indecent establishment.
I took pity on her and offered an exit ramp. “Did you think this was still Debra’s shop? The quilting store? She’s been gone a while. My friend Georgia owns this shop now. I’m helping out.”
“Oh. Um, no. Um...” Barbara turned bright pink but drew a piece of paper from her pocket. “My husband cut this out of the paper. He asked me to pick up these?” She used her thumbnail to indicate the furred handcuffs on the tantalizing list I’d printed on the coupon.
“Of course. Let me bag that up for you. Cash or credit?”
“Cash.” She handed me a couple of bills and turned to speak to Mom. I couldn’t help overhearing.
“Do you work here?” Barbara sounded astonished.
“I’m helping Meg. I told you about that,” Mom insisted stiffly.
“I didn’t realize it was this shop.”
“It’s temporary.” Mom’s voice had shifted to her most obstructive pitch. This conversation was clearly unwelcome.
I hurried to make Barbara’s change.
“I threw a couple of samples in there for you,” I told her as I handed off the bag.
“Thank you, Meg. Are you back here for good, then? Or...?”
“Just visiting, but I might be here through the summer. It really depends on what Georgia needs.”
“I see. Well, I know your mother enjoys having you around. See you at the thrift store, Vickie.”
“See you Tuesday,” Mom called pleasantly. The second the door shut behind Barbara, she rounded on me.
“She bought handcuffs?”
“Mom. I can’t betray her privacy.”
“You were right there, Meg. There’s an empty spot on the shelf. Why on earth would she let Bill put her in handcuffs?”
“Who says she’s the one who wears them?”
Mom looked like she’d swallowed her own tongue. With a very pissy expression, she went back to clipping a pleated schoolgirl skirt onto a hanger.
I took a moment to kick off my desire to mock or judge her.
“Are you more bothered by what she bought or by the fact that she saw you in here?” I asked gently.
“I’m helping my daughter. There’s nothing shameful in that,” she said snippily. Then she clacked the hanger onto the rack and rounded on me. “But she practically had me arrested for making an illegal left turn once. No cars were coming. We were late for the garden tour. It was perfectly fine, but you’d think I robbed a bank. She told everyone the second we were inside.”
I bit back my amusement. Mom was so sensitive to gossip or being the butt of a joke.
“Now every time I look at her, I’ll picture her and Bill playing Dungeons & Dragons.” She waved a hand, then dropped it. “Is that what that is? I’ve never understood that reference.”
“Close enough.” I started back to the stockroom but paused. “You know you can’t tell anyone she was in here.”
“I won’t. I don’t suppose she’ll mention she saw me here either.”
“Are you really that embarrassed that you were seen here?” It made me sad for her. “Helping people with their sexual health is legitimate work.”
“Oh, please.”
“There’s such a thing as vaginal atrophy, you know.”
