Fair plan. “Well, good luck, then,” I chirp and hold out a five, more than enough to cover my stuff plus the bottle the suit-hole stole. “Keep the change.”
“No. You take them. On the house.”
“But I really hate to take charit—”
“And I hate to see things go to the landfill,” she replies. “Not when they still have use.”
Guess that explains why the suit-hole took that bottle from my hand and marched off. He must’ve had his eye on it when she told him this was really more of a giveaway, not a garage sale.
Too bad I didn’t arrive a few minutes earlier, because that old green bottle was pretty cool. It had gorgeous colorful cabochons—kind of like round, polished marbles cut in half—stuck all over it.
“Well,” I say, “I am a fellow non-waster of useful things, so I thank you. And happy retirement.”
“Oh yes! Happy indeed!” The woman trots away toward a man looking at a bicycle.
How lucky. I wish I could be like her. Not a care in the world. Just happy days ahead. But I have enormous financial hurdles to overcome, a struggling business I love with all my heart, and, well, a broken heart. I can’t say that my ex, Greg, was perfect, but I loved him. Enough to move from Colorado to New York State, buy a house with him in my name, and then loan him twenty thousand dollars to start his own real estate company. Oh yeah, and he also convinced me to quit my steady job as a teacher at the local Montessori in order to pursue my art full time. A few months later, I find myself cheated on, with a mortgage I can’t afford, and fighting for a fading dream.
I wish…I wish I saw this coming. But I didn’t. And I refuse to let Greg and his wandering dick destroy everything I’ve worked for. Which is why this recent uptick in orders is a godsend, a tiny glowing ember in my nest of despair. With a few strategic puffs and some hard work, I just might turn this ember into a fire worth something.
I get into my old yellow VW van—a collector’s item I rarely drive—which I inherited from my grandmother when I was sixteen. I’ll never get rid of this ’70s beast. Not ever. My grandmother passed away a little over a year ago, and I miss her like hell.
I crank the engine and listen to the sweet, bubbly sound of Bessy the Yellow Wonder Bus come to life. Seriously, I have no clue how this thing’s still running, which is why I usually drive my white workhorse—my Ford pickup. Sometimes I think Bessy is alive out of sheer will. She doesn’t want to go to the junkyard, and I don’t want that either.
I pat the dashboard. “Come on, Bessy. Let’s go home and make some art.”
Chapter Two
The next morning, I’m sweating bullets, because my lampshade is due tomorrow, Saturday, and I still haven’t finished the pieces for my booth at the farmers’ market on Sunday. Lately, the little coasters and picture frames with bees have been selling, but finding yellow and black glass is difficult. I’ve been to over a dozen thrift stores today, and this place, Rose’s Garden Thrift Store, is my last stop.
I park around back, next to a dumpster where the rejected donations go. I can’t help eyeing the big blue metal box. The last time I went dumpster diving for glass, I ended up with a nail through my foot. I’ll go there if I have to.
I grab my big leather purse and reusable shopping bags filled with bubble wrap and head around to the front. In the window is the most creative display I’ve ever seen, filled with silk rosebuds all tied together to form different objects: a small tree, a table, and a chair. A mannequin with a big sunhat sits reading a book about roses. Whoever did this took a lot of time, because it’s an entire garden scene made from silk roses.
I enter the store, and the silver bells announce my arrival, but the clerk doesn’t notice since she’s ringing up a customer. I grab a shopping basket and take in the brightly lit, busy room packed with goodies—clothes, old board games, golf clubs and…
Bingo! Kitchenware. I head to the back corner, towards the tall metal shelves cluttered with mismatched plates, dusty wineglasses, and colorful coffee mugs. No useable glass. Darnit.
Wait. What’s that? To my right is a long narrow hallway with dim, flickering lights. It appears to lead to the sorting room, but along the walls are more shelves, all filled with vases and glassware.
Yes! My inner treasure huntress goes wild. Wow. Wow. Wow! There has to be twenty different colors of glass, including yellow tumblers, black champagne flutes, and green beer mugs—everything I need to finish my order and make thirty or forty coasters for the farmers’ market.