Coming Home to You (22 page)

“And I miss you, but I think you’re holding out on me. Is Daddy okay?” I could hear the tinge of worry in my own voice, so I knew it hadn’t slipped by my mother without notice. She was much too observant for that.

“Daddy’s fine, I’m fine. There’s really nothing that you need to be worried about with us. I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking, and I really needed to talk to you about some things,” she replied.

“Things being…” I prompted, leaning my hip against the kitchen counter and stirring my spoon around in the soggy, rainbow-colored remains of my cereal.

“
Things
being Sam and what he told you. I should have said something about this a long time ago, right after it happened, but I didn’t want to meddle. It’s been bugging me ever since, though. I know you said you weren’t going to stay in contact with him, but what if he pushes the issue, Zoë? I don’t think that keeping in contact with him would be a good idea, for either of you. He’s not in a strong enough emotional state not to become overly dependent on you, and you don’t need that kind of stress.”

I stopped stirring and put my bowl down on the counter. “Mama, you don’t need to worry about that. Believe me, I have absolutely no intention of allowing Sam back into any part of my life.”

I walked into the living room and flopped onto the couch, reaching down to unbuckle the straps on my shoes. “Sam’s proven how reliable he is when people really need him, and I just don’t have the energy to deal with that right now.” I let out a long breath and sank back against the couch cushions. “I think I have enough to keep me busy, believe me.”

“I know you do, baby girl. And I can’t tell you how excited I am for you.” She paused, and I knew she was fighting back tears. “This is your time, Zoë. Your new life. And I think it’s going to be something better than you ever thought it could.”

Before, I might have doubted those words. But tonight, I found them comforting, believable. As I ended the call and cleared my dirty dishes, I savored the taste of the milk in my bowl, brightly colored and sweet from the cereal.

Bright and sweet, I thought with a smile. Just like this time ahead and the adventure I was taking.

Chapter 21

Glenn proved to be a God-send, in more ways than I would have ever dreamed. Not only had he practically given me the store, he’d made it his mission to see that I got it all up and running. He’d told me once that he’d always wanted children, but that his wife had never been able to give him any. I was, in his words, what he’d always imagined his daughter would have been like, which I took not only as a supreme compliment, but also as an explanation for why such a gruff fellow had taken such a shine to me.

While I had never truly ascertained the full extent of Glenn’s finances, it was obvious that the man was well-positioned for philanthropy. My own mission with the store only served to make him that much more passionate about seeing Lip Service become a smashing success.

Over the course of the next weeks, Glenn and I busted our butts getting the store finished and ready to open. We painted and scrubbed and pounded nails and hung fixtures until everything was up to code and prepared for the inspectors. I was truly and officially a store owner. The realization was mind-blowing.

“So, are you ready?” Kate asked one night as I lay sprawled on the couch, holding the phone with one hand while the other rubbed a sore spot on my neck.

I was beyond exhausted, but I was buoyed by the excitement I was feeling.

“
So
very ready. Do you think people will come?” I asked quietly.

I wondered if my exhaustion translated over the line—I could hear it straining my voice, but I also knew that wasn’t the only thing affecting my vocal cords. I was also worried. I’d heard so many statistics of failed businesses and lost money—broken dreams and having to start over from square one. I didn’t want to be one of those statistics. I wanted to be one of the lucky ones, one of the ones who didn’t just make it—one of the ones who thrived. I knew it was normal, but when my energy flagged, so did my confidence; and I went through a turbulent mix of emotional highs and lows that left me drained.

“Are you kidding? Of course they’ll come! What woman doesn’t love a good lipstick?” she reassured me. “Is your mom coming down for your big store-opening-day?”

I grimaced. “No, she and Dad can’t make it. They’ve got that trip scheduled, and it’s been all arranged for months. I told them I’d much rather they go than ask them to cancel. She and Dad never get to take a vacation, and they really need this one. It’s okay, though. She’ll come down soon.”

“Really?” The suspicion was thick in Kate’s voice, and she was right to be doubtful of my words.

I meant them, of course, but there was no denying the fact that I was disappointed. On the plus side, if she came later, then I would have had some time to get settled into a routine, which would hopefully mean that I would actually be able to devote some time to her visit.

“Really. Besides, that first week will probably be so hectic that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy her time with me. And then I would feel like she’d come all the way down here for nothing, you know?” I closed my eyes and let out a tired sigh. “I think I need a new body,” I groaned.

Kate laughed. “That bad, huh?”

“I’ve been running around moving displays and lugging around boxes of inventory and making last-minute little tweaks here and there. And now that I’m finally being still long enough for all the dust to settle, I’m starting to feel all of it. I guess this is what
old
feels like,” I grumbled.

“You poor baby,” Kate soothed, albeit with more than a trace of mockery in her voice. “It’s too bad you don’t have a big strong handsome man there to give you a back rub. I’d loan you mine, but…” she trailed off with a tinkle of laughter. I could just picture her curled up on her own couch, her eyes crinkled in impish delight.

“Oooh, ouch!” I sucked air in through my teeth and clamped a hand to my chest. “Oooh, I am truly, deeply wounded. You should see the blood! Blood everywhere, just gushing all over the carpet. You spare no sympathy for your best friend in her direst hour of need?”

“You’re nuts, you know that?”

“Perhaps, but gourmet. Only the best nuts.”

“Hey, Princess Pistachio?” Kate said.

“Yes?” I replied regally.

“Hang up the phone and go to bed. You’ve got a big week coming up, and you’ll need your rest,” she instructed. “After all, we don’t want to look like crap whilst trying to sell beauty products, now do we?”

“No, we certainly don’t.”

I opened the doors at ten sharp, feeling more than slightly nauseous. This was it.

My first day. My very first day of being officially open for business. If someone had stopped to ask me how I was, I would have been lying if I hadn’t said that I was scared to death. There was plenty of excitement mixed in there, of course, but I was immensely terrified. This was, after all, my baby. I didn’t even want to consider the possibility of this failing, so I tried my best to swallow my doubt and keep my breathing even and calm.

The walls were lined with shelves of lipsticks, glosses, stains, balms, liners—row after row of color that promised infinite possibility. It was like a candy store for grown-ups; and it cheered me, just looking around. Vintage magazine covers and raw fashion sketches were framed and hung on the wall, interspersed with an assortment of mirrors. There was a center island display for the featured product of the month, along with a glossy table tent spotlighting the history and functions of the particular charity it sponsored.

A black lacquered, L-shaped counter stood to the left of the front door, topped with a small cash register and a computer for keeping track of inventory, customer information, and orders. Not to mention its ability to keep us tethered to the latest in lip products and trends, as well as up to date on all of the charities we were supporting. Ah, the wonders of the Internet.

There were small speakers mounted near the ceiling, and I had an upbeat mix of classics and trendy top-40 being piped through them at a volume that was loud enough to register with the customers, but soft enough to allow them to shop without being distracted by blaring music. Personally, I was never a fan of being assaulted by the sound system when I entered a store. I wanted visitors to my shop to have the most pleasant, memorable experience possible—and to come back. Small pots of fragrance oils were being warmed at strategic points around the room, infusing the air with a pleasant hint of sweetly exotic melons and citrus fruits.

I took a deep breath and looked around, feeling a small flutter of pride at how beautiful everything had turned out. How could I not be pleased?

“Hi, Shop Girl,” a cheerful voice said from behind me.

I turned around, an irrepressible smile on my lips.

“Kate!” I said excitedly. “You made it!”

“Of course I made it,” she replied, gathering me into her arms for a hug. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world! It’s your first day open, and I’m your best friend—it’s in the by-laws somewhere that I am duty-bound to be here.” She released me and took a look around the store. “Plus, I really needed some killer lipstick to wear on my wedding day,” Kate said with a smile, her eyes twinkling as she said the words.

She was still so excited; it was like seeing a little kid talk about getting ready to go to Disney World.

I was so glad to see her, so relieved to see the friendly face of someone who could help me through this first day—even if it was only just by being there to keep me company. If no one else came to the store, Kate would be there to commiserate with me. And if I had a steady stream of curious customers, Kate would be there with me to celebrate my success.

“Well, by all means,” I said, sweeping my arm over the room with a flourish. “Take a look around, let me know what you think.”

“Ooooh, goodie.”

Kate rubbed her hands together and headed off to inspect my supply. Her obvious delight only added to my excitement, and I hoped that I would receive similar response from everyone else who walked through the doors.

If
anyone else walked through the doors, I thought nervously.

As if in reply to my unvoiced worries, I heard the door open behind me, and I turned to see a small group of women trail in. I wanted to grab each and every one of them for a hug, but I thought that might not go over so well. I didn’t want to earn a reputation as the Creepy Lipstick Lady, now did I?

The next eight hours passed steadily, bringing tides of people into the store. It ebbed and flowed in a pattern that seemed consistent with the work-day habits of the local professional population, heavier in the typical lunch-hour periods and tapering off during the mid-afternoon hours. Late afternoon traffic picked up as people got off of work and found their way into the store before heading home to dinner.

It was reassuring, really, to see how well people seemed to be responding. I’d taken out an ad in several of the local papers and a spot on the radio, as well, just to make sure people knew the store was there. Apparently, it had been effective, and several women made a point of telling me they’d marked my opening date on their calendars after they’d heard or read the advertisements. I also received great reactions to the store’s emphasis on charity support.

If this day was anything to go by, I had great hopes that Lip Service would enjoy a long and happy life, as well as a cult following.

Just one more sign, on a long and ever-lengthening list of signs, that I was finally doing what I was meant to do, and I had no doubt that Paul would have agreed.

Chapter 22

“The closet space in the bedrooms here is absolutely marvelous,” Sara declared, directing our attention to one of the closets in the bedroom we were inspecting.

Ray and I were on yet another walk-through with her, the fifth apartment today on the list of places she thought might suit what
we
were looking for. Ray had explained to me that realtors seemed to take couples a little more seriously than singles and sometimes worked better deals for them on the pricing. I’d smiled sardonically when he told me this, realizing there seemed to be no escaping the reminders that I was alone.

I looked at Ray, who was deeply engrossed in his inspection of the window seals.

“It’s lovely,” I said, nodding noncommittally. I knew from experience and from the advice of most of my friends that keeping a poker face in the presence of a realtor is the best strategy for price negotiation.

Sara looked at me with a raised eyebrow, trying to suss out whatever she imagined I wasn’t saying. I stared back at her blankly, then shifted my attention to the flooring. It was blonde wood laminate, newly installed from what I could tell. There were no wear marks, no gouges or scuffing. The apartment was great, and I liked it much more than any of the others I’d seen so far.

But my enthusiasm in looking for a new place to live was lackluster at best. I was losing time to find an apartment, a fact which should have catalyzed me; but I would have been happy to bury my head in the sand and conveniently “forget” to look.

“The windows were replaced six months ago and have a five-year warranty on the seals,” Sara said to Ray, flipping some pages on her clipboard and scribbling some notes. She hadn’t said much to me all afternoon, and I wondered if she had a general dislike of any other woman in her vicinity or if I was just one of the lucky ones.

“What about the floors?” I asked, wondering if I would get an answer with full sentences, or if she was going to continue to be clipped with me all day.

“The floors were replaced at the same time as the windows. The owners did a complete overhaul of the apartment when they decided that they were going to sell,” she replied, not looking up from her clipboard.

“So they want to sell, as opposed to renting?”

Sara nodded, finally glancing up at me. “The whole building was broken out to units, and most have separate owners. The couple that owns this one decided to sell after relocating to London.”

I really hadn’t thought about buying an apartment outright instead of renting one. I’d never been given the option, actually. I couldn’t afford to buy a house on my own, but most of the apartments in the area were rentals. This building, though, had been different right from the start. It was actually a converted warehouse in the business district of historic Pensacola, a four-story brick building that still had the novelty of the original company signs painted on the façade. It was worn, of course, but it gave the place a certain element of interest. It reminded me of something you would find in New York.