Page 17 of Threads of Kindness
“Would you be interested in seeing it, if I can arrange a showing?”
“Definitely,” Anita said. “I have nothing on my calendar for the foreseeable future that I can’t move. Set up a time and I’ll be there.”
“I’ll do my best,” Tim said. “And now I'd better get that card and be on my way.”
“Happy New Year to both of you,” Anita said, as Tim and Judy entered Celebrations.
Anita carriedher takeout lunch through the deserted workroom to the break room at the rear of the bridal shop. Her workroom supervisor and the two seamstresses sat together at a round table in the center of the room.
She smiled at the women who, after over three decades at Archer’s Bridal, were more like family than employees.
“We’re caught up, aren’t we?” Anita asked. “Every dress that was promised for next week is ready?”
“Yes. And the following week too,” the supervisor said. “After months of being behind, we’re finally up to date.”
“It’s slow this time of year,” Anita said. “Valentine’s Day always brings a surge of engagements, so we’ll be plenty busy in a couple of months.” She faced her employees. “You can go home now and get ready for your evening plans.”
One seamstress chuckled. “That would mean putting on my PJs and ordering a pizza.”
“Sounds like the perfect New Year’s Eve to me,” the other woman said.
“Well, you can get an early start on things.”
“Thank you, Anita,” the two seamstresses replied in unison. They replaced their empty plastic containers into lunch boxes and headed to their lockers along the opposite wall to retrieve their coats.
“The sign I posted on the door earlier in the week says we’ll be open until 3:00 p.m.,” the supervisor said. “I’ll stay until then.”
“You don’t need to,” Anita replied. “I doubt anybody’s going to come in. If they do, I’ll handle them. I appreciate the offer, but there’s no reason for both of us to hang around with nothing to do.”
“If you’re sure?” the supervisor’s voice ended on a question as she rose from her chair.
“Absolutely.” Anita placed her Styrofoam container with her sandwich on the counter and took a can of diet soda from the refrigerator. “I’ll eat my lunch while I focus on year-end paperwork. An uninterrupted afternoon is exactly what I need to get started on the books.”
“Okay,” the supervisor said. “Promise me you’ll close at 3:00 and head home. New Year’s Eve is not a night to get caught up in your bookkeeping.”
“Heh—I only did that once, and it was years ago,” Anita said defensively. “Believe me, I don’t want to be out on the roads tonight. I’ll lock up at 3:01 and be home by 3:10.”
“See you next year,” the supervisor said as she put on her coat and headed out the door.
Anita pulled out a chair, popped the top on her soda, and began eating her sandwich. Her mind drifted to the former Candy Alley building. It would be the perfect location for her museum. A seed of excitement formed in her chest as shecontemplated the possibility. It grew and blossomed the more she imagined the museum’s potential home.
The brick required a good power washing. She would need to hire a graphic designer to devise a logo and her sign. She closed her eyes and inhaled, picturing it.
Tim hadn’t even had a chance to contact the owners yet. Anita knew she shouldn’t get her hopes up. She picked up a chip and popped it into her mouth. It had been years since she allowed her dreams unfettered access to her mind.
If the owners were willing to sell, she would need to figure out how much she could afford to spend. Thankfully, she had money to invest. Archer’s Bridal provided a steady income over the years. Anita had lived modestly, and routinely saved more than half of her income.
She picked up the Styrofoam box and her soda and headed to her desk in the tiny office off the break room. It was time to check her bank accounts and make a budget for this new venture.
Anita took another bite of her sandwich and logged onto her computer. She spent the next hour and a half nibbling on her sandwich and chips while she scrutinized her financial situation and made a budget.
The sound of her cell phone ringing interrupted her thoughts. Her phone was in her purse in the break room. The ringtone told her Gordon was calling.
She abandoned her paperwork and hurried to answer her phone before it went to voicemail.
“Gordon,” she said.
“Hello, Anita,” he said. “You sound out of breath. Am I interrupting?”
