“Are you sure you don’t need my help?”
Sally pauses, letting me know there’s something going on—or not going on—that’s keeping her from saying too much. “Not today, but maybe later.”
“What are you not telling me?”
She clears her throat. “Can you come over later? I need some advice.”
“Sure, I’ll be happy to.”
I have plans with Elliot later tonight, but I can call him and let him know that Sally needs me. He’s always accepted the fact that my family’s needs are important to me. In fact, he says that’s one of the things he loves about me.
I’ve barely hung up when I hear commotion out on the sales floor. “Shay! Can you come here for a sec?”
I walk out to one of the funniest scenes I’ve ever witnessed—Puddin’ trying to make her way out from beneath a clothes rack with naked mannequins towering over her on each side. In spite of my attempt to keep a straight face, laughter makes its way up my throat and out my mouth. “A couple of naked ladies attack you?”
“C’mon, Shay. Stop tryin’ to be funny. Get ’em off me.”
I pull the mannequins away and straighten up the rack, while she pushes the clothes to the side. Then I give her a hand and help pull her to her feet.
“What happened?”
“I have no idea, but I think it’s time to invest in some sturdier racks. This isn’t the first time it’s fallen.”
She gestures toward one of the mannequins. “I was changing out some of the displays.”
I glance over my shoulder toward the window that now features some of the bolder prints we’ve recently started carrying. “Looks like you finished one display.”
She lifts her hands up in surrender, steps over the clothes scattered over the floor, and lets out a breath of frustration. “I’m done. It’s all yours now.”
“Okay.” I can tell she’s at the end of her rope, and I can’t say I blame her. She’s been working some crazy hours lately, since both of the former owner’s part-timers left. With business picking up since we took over the shop, we should have hired at least one part-timer months ago. But with both of us being so frugal, we’ve held off as long as we could.
“It’s time to bring in a sales clerk,” I tell her.
“Tell me about it.” She plants her fists on her hips and looks around before meeting my gaze. “But who?”
I shrug. “There’s bound to be someone who needs a few hours a week.”
“You’d think.” She leans against the sales counter, folds her arms, and taps her index finger on her chin. “Ya know, there is one person who might be pretty good.”
“Who’s that?”
She grins. “Coralee.”
“She’s working for the twins.”
“And I’ve heard they’re not happy with her. Maybe we can take her off their hands.”
“Where did you hear that?” I can’t imagine Sally or Sara saying something bad about someone. I’ve known about Coralee for a while, but I definitely didn’t say anything.
“Actually, it was Coralee. She said Sally never told her she was horrible, but she could tell that’s what she was thinking.”
I squint my eyes and slowly shake my head. “I’m not so sure about hiring Coralee. She’s been rather distracted lately, with her new engagement.”
“Let’s give it a little more time … and thought. We don’t want to hire the wrong person, or it’ll wind up being more difficult than it is now.”
“Ya know, there is one other person we haven’t discussed yet, and I just happen to know she could use a little extra money.”
“Who?”
“My daughter Hallie.” Puddin’ scrunches up her face and blows out a sigh. “Or maybe not. She might try to pull strings if something comes up.”
“Pull strings?”
“Yeah, like if a better offer comes along during the time she’s supposed to work.”
I’m not about to say anything one way or the other, since the mother-daughter relationship can be so touchy. “I’ll have to leave that one up to you.” Then another thought dawns on me. “How about Missy and Foster’s daughter, Wendy?”
Puddin’ taps her finger on her chin and slowly nods. “Ya know, she just might work out for a little while. She’s taking the semester off from college and trying to figure out what she wants to do with her life.”
I grin. “Maybe she’ll discover that fashion is her thing. It’s not likely, but ya never know.”
“Maybe so. After all, look at us—two of the least likely people to become fashion professionals. You were always so bookish—and I was so shy and awkward I don’t think anyone ever noticed me.”
Coming from anyone else, I might have argued, but Puddin’ is always straightforward and calls it as she sees it with the people she loves. There’s really no arguing with opinion, especially hers.
I’m relieved when some of our regular customers begin to stream in. Puddin’ and I have a great method of tag-teaming each other. We take turns helping people, and when they come out of the fitting room to get feedback, the other one either gushes or recommends something else. Our customers love it, and they almost always leave happy and with more than they came for.
And we hardly ever get returns, except from Ms. Harvester, who likes to bring back anything she only wears once. The former owner of our boutique used to let her do that, but Puddin’ and I had to put our foot down the third time she did it after we purchased the place. She always chose the most expensive item on the rack, wore it once, and brought it back with some flimsy excuse. Puddin’ had a talk with her when she brought back a ball gown, saying it didn’t fit right. We just happened to have a clipping from the society column of our local bi-weekly, with a caption under her picture claiming that the gown looked like it was made for her.
She threatened to put us out of business after that, saying she’d tell all the members of the Pinewood Country Club that we didn’t care about our customers. Fortunately for us, her plan backfired, and folks said it was about time someone put a stop to her “borrowing” dresses for special occasions and then returning them. Other women from the club wear their dresses once and then donate them to Operation Prom Shoppe, a charity that lets girls who can’t afford to shop for something new come in and pick out a pretty dress.
The rest of the afternoon goes by quickly. There are still a couple of customers in the shop when it’s time to put up the Closed sign, but Puddin’ says she’ll stick around so I can go see what Sally wants.
As soon as I arrive, she flings open the front door, yanks me by the arm, and pulls me inside, slamming the door behind me. “I’m at my wit’s end.” She closes her eyes and rubs the back of her neck. “Coralee is trying so hard, but it’s simply not working out. She finally figured out how to make the bows, but she is so slow. When I told her to pick up the pace, she got sloppy all over again. How can I let her know she’s not cut out for this line of work?”
I remember what Puddin’ said earlier. “I think she knows.”
Sally squirms a bit as she gives me a curious look. “What makes you think that?”
I hesitate for a moment to make sure I say the right thing and that it won’t come across as gossip. “Well, she mentioned something about struggling with making them. Maybe you can just tell her the job was temporary, and now that you’re caught up, you don’t need her anymore.”
“I suppose I could.” She grimaces. “But she knows we’re slammed.”
“Do you think you’re too flexible with her hours? Maybe if you have set times she has to work, she’ll decide it’s not working out for her.”
“That’s what Sara said. It’s just hard to change the policy midstream, ya know?”
“Yes, I do know.” I gesture toward her work area. “Would you like for me to give you a hand for a little while? I don’t have to be anywhere for a couple of hours.”
She gives me an apologetic look. “Yeah, I could use a little bit of help with one of the gigantic wholesale orders that came in this morning.”
“Then let’s get to it. How many did they order?”
“A gross.” She starts toward the spare bedroom where she’s set up shop.
I stop in my tracks. “No way.”
She slowly nods. “That’s why I’m so frustrated. When it was Sara and me, both working full-time, it wasn’t any trouble at all to crank ’em out. But now that it’s just me, well, it’s next to impossible.”
“Let’s get as many done as we can now. Maybe we can brainstorm and come up with a solution.”
My phone rings. It’s Elliot, so I take the call. “Shay.”
His voice cracks, and my heart lurches. “What’s wrong?”
“My dad and his brother just got in a car accident, and my aunt wants me to go to Memphis.” He takes a ragged breath. “They’re not sure if either of them will make it. There was alcohol involved.” He tells me some of the details that break my heart.
“Then you’d better go help out. Have you called the school?”
“The principal said to take all the time I need. I have some paid leave coming to me, and if it takes longer, I’ll have to go on unpaid leave.”
I know he has a lot of concerns—including finances with all the bills from his first marriage. “I’ll get folks here praying for your dad and uncle … and you.”
“Thank you, Shay. I love you.”
After we hang up, Sally gives me a look of concern. “What happened?”
I tell her what I know. Elliot’s dad started drinking heavily a few years ago, and even though Elliot doesn’t know for sure who was driving, the accident happened on the way to his uncle’s house from a bar.