The Man, The Moon And The Marriage Vow Page 3

  “I don’t know,” Becca said, “Thirty-three is pretty old.”

  Jenny nudged her sister, no doubt fully aware that Evie must be pretty near that ancient age herself. “It seems old to us, since we’re just kids,” she said tactfully, then moved on to the real issue. “We came to buy our dad a present. We heard that you had nice things here.”

  “Different things,” Becca elaborated. “Things that are special. Do you?”

  Evie smiled at that. “Hmm. Well, of course, I think so. I own the place. But special has a different meaning for everyone. Tell you what.” She lifted her hand in a gesture that took in the whole shop. “Why don’t you look around and see if there’s anything that catches your eye?”

  Becca liked that idea. “Okay.” Her round face a study in anticipation, she headed for the child’s bed in a corner that Evie had covered with a bright quilt and piled high with dolls and stuffed animals. Her sister’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

  “Becca. It’s for Dad. Not for us.”

  Becca sighed. Her small shoulders slumped. “I know that.” Dutifully, she returned to stand by her sister.

  Now both girls looked at Evie expectantly. “We thought maybe you could help us choose,” Jenny said.

  Evie felt distinctly uncomfortable at that suggestion. And then she immediately wondered what was wrong with her. After all, helping people choose gifts was a major part of owning a shop like this. But for some reason, the thought of helping to find something “special” for Erik Riggins bothered her no end. She recalled the way he had looked at her in church—with disdain and disapproval. She didn’t think he’d like the idea that she’d been instrumental in the choice of his birthday present.

  However, she had a job to do, and do it she would. Evie was pleased that her voice betrayed none of her apprehension when she agreed, “Certainly. Perhaps you could give me a few hints.” She recalled again the feel of the man’s big, rough-skinned hand beneath her own and remembered another detail about him that she’d heard from someone. “He’s a house painter, isn’t he?”

  “Um-hmm,” Jenny confirmed. “But we don’t want to get him anything do to with that. We want to get him something nice, something to keep forever and ever.”

  “Yeah,” Becca said, joining in. “It’s got to be so special. So he’ll never forget us, even when he’s as old as Granny Tilda and can’t hardly remember anything anymore.”

  “Granny Tilda’s our great-grandmother,” Jenny explained. “She’s ninety-three.”

  “And that’s really old, even for a grown-up,” Becca said.

  “Hmm,” Evie said, since she still had no ideas about what to suggest. “Help me out some more, all right? Tell me his hobbies, the things he enjoys doing when he’s not working.”

  “He likes to paint pictures and draw things,” Jenny said.

  Becca added, “And he does cally—cally—”

  “Calligraphy.” Jenny provided the word, then began looking around a little. She picked up a snow globe of a fairy princess in a wintry fairy glen and turned it upside down to watch the snow fly.

  “Jenny,” Becca chided. “Remember what you said. It’s for Dad. Not for us.”

  Reluctantly Jenny put the princess back on top of the display case by the cash register.

  Recalling that she was supposed to be coming up with some “expert” suggestions, Evie started toward the shelves and drawers of stationery and craft supplies along the back wall. “I do have a few artist’s supplies over here.”

  “He has all that stuff,” Becca announced. “We don’t want to get him more of that.”

  Evie had moved past Becca when the child spoke. She stopped and turned. Her eyes met the child’s eyes.

  Beautiful eyes, Evie found herself thinking. Soft and sweet and just a little bit sad…

  The longing rose in Evie, to take that sadness into herself, to know it—and to understand. She felt herself opening, relaxing, letting herself hear the things that couldn’t be heard, see the things that no one else saw.

  Evie knew what was happening. And there was a split second when she could have put up the wall. But she didn’t. Those beautiful eyes were too full of need.

  And inside Evie, something was melting.

  Reality shifted. The shop faded into shadow.

  It was another time, another place. And in that time, Becca’s blue eyes were red with tears. She sobbed in loss and wounded anger.

  “Mommy. I want my mommy. She can’t be gone. She said she was better. She was home. With us. She promised never to go away again. She crossed her heart…”

  Erik Riggins was holding the child in his big arms, rocking her so gently, kissing her spun-gold hair.

  “I know, honey. She didn’t want to go away. But it’s just the way it happens sometimes. People die. She loved you so much. So very, very much…”

  The vision faded, melted to nothing. The shop came into focus again.

  And so did Becca, as she was right now, her eyes clear and bright, her expression concerned. “Uh-oh,” Becca was shaking her head. “You don’t look so good, Miss Jones.”

  Evie blinked to clear her sight.

  “Maybe you better lay down or something,” Becca said.

  Evie sucked in a deep breath and managed a wobbly smile. “I’m fine,” she said, grateful beyond measure to hear that her voice sounded almost normal. “Just fine.”

  Becca smiled back, reassured.

  “Becca.” Jenny’s voice, a few feet away, was charged with hushed excitement. “Becca. Come look.”

  Becca hurried to join her sister.

  Jenny was peering into a display case right by the register. “See?” Jenny said. “See that?”

  “Oh!” Becca said, and nothing more, a sound of childish satisfaction and delight.

  “Gold,” Jenny said. “And with all those pearly colors, like the inside of a shell. He would love them, wouldn’t he?”

  “Oh, yes,” Becca whispered. “Oh, so pretty. Oh, yes.”

  A few feet away, Evie closed her eyes and took a few more deep breaths. As soon as she was positive she’d regained a firm hold on her composure, she approached the girls.

  “Have you found what you’re looking for?” She was pleased when her voice came out crisp and businesslike.

  “I think so.” Jenny pressed her index finger against the glass. “It’s those. Right there.”

  Evie looked where the small finger pointed, at a Deco-era fountain pen and pencil set of gold with mother-of-pearl and jet inlays. The set, in perfect condition, was nestled in its original black velvet case.

  “Could we look at them?” Jenny asked reverently. “Up close, I mean?”

  Evie glanced at the tiny price tag. It was turned facedown. Jenny had no idea that the set cost two hundred dollars—which was certainly a great deal more than what these two children had to spend.

  But still, Evie observed her own rules of etiquette for the situation. Evie never told a customer the price before the customer had either-asked for it, or said the magic words, I’ll take it.”

  Evie nodded. “I’ll get them out for you.” She slid behind the counter, unlocked the case with a key that she kept in the register and brought out the velvet box, which she held tipped up for a moment, displaying the beauty within.

  “The price tag!” Jenny exclaimed.

  “Excuse me?”

  “It fell.” Becca pointed to the space behind the counter, where Evie stood. “Down there.”

  “Oh.” Evie turned the pens so she could see them herself. Sure enough, the tiny tag was gone. She shrugged. “I’ll get it.” She handed the velvet case to Jenny and then knelt to look for the tag. She found it right away, and reached for it. But then, at the last minute, she couldn’t quite make herself pick it up. She straightened again without retrieving it, even going so far as to slide it beneath the display case with the toe of her shoe.

  “Well,” she said when she was facing the girls again. “It must have slid beneath the case. B
ut it doesn’t matter. I know the price, of course.”

  The girls hardly heard her. They were admiring their find.

  “Gently, gently,” Jenny chided her sister. She held the velvet case in cherishing hands as Becca lovingly stroked the barrel of the pen.

  “They’re perfect,” Jenny said.

  “Yes,” Becca concurred. “Perfect.” She looked up at Evie, then nudged her big sister. “We have to give her the money, Jenny.”

  “Okay.” Carefully Jenny set the precious pen set on the glass counter and reached into the pocket of her worn plaid dress. She removed a red plastic coin purse, snapped it open and emptied it onto the counter.

  Evie hid a tender smile as two sets of small hands got busy keeping the change from rolling onto the floor. Once the coins lay still, the girls set about flattening out the three onedollar bills and stacking the change into neat piles.

  “There,” Jenny said with satisfaction when their fortune was in order. “Seven dollars and thirteen cents. How much do we owe you?”

  “Well, let’s see.” Evie turned to the cash register. “That’s six-fifty for the pen set.” She quoted the preposterously low price without batting an eye. Then she checked her sales tax schedule, which was taped to the face of the register. “And forty-seven cents tax, for a total of…” She pushed down the old-fashioned keys in one stroke. The bell rang and the drawer slid open. “Six dollars and ninety-seven cents.”

  The girls watched solemnly as Evie collected their bills and their change and put them in the proper compartments within the cash drawer. When she was done, one shiny dime, a nickel and a penny remained on the counter. Evie scooped them up and extended her hand. “Your change, miss.”

  Jenny snapped open her change purse and held it out. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Evie dropped the change into the purse. “Would you like that wrapped?”

  “Is it extra?”

  “No. It’s a service to my customers, when I have the time—and when I know that their purchase is a gift.”

  “Could we pick the paper?” asked Becca.

  “Of course. Right this way.” Evie led them to the wrapping area, by the hall that led upstairs. They chose a red plaid, very close to the plaid of Jenny’s worn dress, only bright and fresh and new.

  Just as she finished wrapping the pen set, something else occurred to Evie. “What about ink and pencil leads?”

  “Ink and pencil leads?” Jenny repeated. The two girls exchanged glances.

  “They’ll be needed,” Evie said.

  Jenny, her awareness of how their cash had dwindled plain on her face, asked cautiously, “How much?”

  Evie thought fast as she realized that the prices were going to be clearly marked on the boxes. “Well, of course they come free of charge, when you buy a pen and pencil set.”

  Jenny looked doubtful. “They do?”

  “Absolutely,” Evie lied once more and didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it. “But remember. That’s only one bottle of ink and one box of pencil leads.” She tried to sound uncompromising. “After that, your father will have to buy his own.”

  Becca whispered something to Jenny, then Jenny said, “Okay. We’ll take the free ink and the pencil leads, too.”

  “Wrapped in this lovely plaid, just like the gift, am I right?”

  The girls looked at each other again and nodded in unison. Then Becca said, “Yes. Thank you…Evie.” Her shy smile was a beautiful thing to see.

  Evie wrapped up the leads and the ink, and then walked them to the door, where she stood watching after them as they headed off toward the turn to Pine Street. She felt good all over, warm and happy and full of a special, thoroughly self-indulgent satisfaction.

  It took several hours for the glow to fade a little. Then she scolded herself, told herself how foolish she was. She could never expect to make a living here if she developed the habit of virtually giving away high-ticket items to children she hardly knew.

  And selling a two-hundred-dollar pen set for a fraction of its value wasn’t all she’d done. She’d also let down her guard, opened herself to Becca in the old, forbidden way. She’d spied on Becca’s mind, witnessing Becca’s suffering at what had probably been the lowest point of her young life. Evie shouldn’t have done it. She had no right.

  And yet in Becca, she’d seen herself. Evie had lost her own mother when she was only five.

  Maybe that was part of the reason—that special sympathy she felt for the girls—that she had trouble making herself feel all that bad about what she’d done. The warm glow of happiness refused to go away—at least not until the next morning when she went to turn the Open sign around again and saw Erik Riggins waiting outside the door.

  Chapter Three

  He was dressed in painter’s overalls, which led Evie to suspect he must have taken time off from a job to be there when she opened up. He did not look happy—and the scowl on his face only deepened when he caught sight of her beyond the window as she peered at him anxiously over the top of her Open sign.

  For a suspended few moments, they regarded each other. Evie used those moments to breathe deeply and put up the wall inside her mind. She was taking no chances this time. This time, the pain he hid from the rest of the world wouldn’t come flying at her like invisible knives.

  She moved out of his line of sight to unlock the door. Then, before she even had a chance to zip behind the counter where she could have pretended she was safe from him, he was inside.

  Evie froze where she stood as the bell tinkled and the door swung shut behind him. They stared at each other again, like fighters squaring off before the first punch is thrown. Evie thought once more how big he was, an imposing man with a working man’s hand and a sad face. He dwarfed her shop, made it seem overcrowded with delicate, unnecessary things.

  He was the one to break the hostile silence. “I want to know what the hell you’re up to.” His tone was pure antagonism, yet he reached up and doffed his painter’s cap as he spoke.

  Evie was touched, in spite of herself, by the odd combination of courtesy and belligerence. She found herself staring at his hand, which clutched the cap so tightly. There was a faint spattering of whitish paint on the back of that hand. And there was paint in his hair, too. She could see it, a fine film of it, now that the cap was gone, on the strands that the cap hadn’t covered. He had interrupted a job to come here and confront her.

  She felt…such tenderness as she thought how he must work long, hard hours, to care for his children, to make sure they were fed and clothed. And she remembered, though she shouldn’t have let herself, the vision of him, holding Becca so tightly. She recalled how he had rocked the child, reassuring her that her mother had loved her, though she was gone now from the earth.

  Oh, the warmth inside her was a lovely thing, the need to reach out to this man so very strong…

  “What are you staring at?” he demanded.

  Evie stiffened. The wall was slipping. What in the world was the matter with her? She had to stop indulging herself, stop allowing herself to be moved by this person she hardly knew.

  She threw the wall back up again. She imagined she had ice water in her veins, a stone for a heart.

  Then, her defenses in place once more, she spoke in a voice like autumn’s first frost. “I’m sure I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. There is nothing the matter with me and I am up to nothing. Nothing at all.”

  He glared at her a bit, as if the force of his scowl might break her, then he marched toward her. With a gasp she couldn’t quite stifle, Evie fell back out of his way. But he didn’t touch her, only blundered on by, to the register, where he yanked a familiar black velvet box from his pocket and slammed it down on the glass case there.

  He stepped away from the box, and then gestured at it with his balled-up cap. “Is this yours?”

  Evie absolutely refused to be ruffled. She made herself stand very tall and kept her chin high. “It was. Until yesterday when I sold it.�
�

  “Sold it?” His tender mouth grew hard, it curled in disgust. “Gave it away’s more like it.”

  “No, I did not give it away.” She sounded so patient. So reasonable. She was proud of herself. “Your daughters paid for it, fair and square.”

  He grunted. “Fair and square. Sure. I know how much money they had between them. And even an idiot could tell that pen set is very fine. So unless they held up the Hole in the Wall before they came in here, they didn’t have anywhere near what they needed to pay for it.”

  Evie’s heart was beating faster. All right, maybe she’d used bad judgment in selling the pen set for such a ridiculous price. But he was acting as if she’d committed a crime, for heaven’s sake.

  This time, when she spoke, her voice was downright icy. “This is my shop. I set the prices here.”

  “Lady, you look smart enough to me. I think you know the value of your own merchandise.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “So that means you gave two little girls something they couldn’t even come near to paying for. What are you after?”

  “Nothing, I—”

  “Look.” He glanced away, then met her eyes once more. “I’ve got no time for women. I’ve got three kids to raise.”

  Evie felt her face grow warm as she remembered again the incident in church. He thought she was after him. “You think I was trying to, umm, get your attention?”

  He seemed as embarrassed as she was. “Were you?”

  “No. No, I certainly was not.”

  He stared in her eyes for a moment, as if trying to measure her sincerity. At last, he shrugged. “Well, I had to ask. From the way you acted in church, I wondered. Though I couldn’t see any reason why someone like you would be interested in…” He swallowed. “Hell. Never mind. If not that, then what?”

  “Well, I—”

  He didn’t let her finish. His gray eyes were stormy again.

  “Don’t make up any pretty lies. I know what.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. Charity.” He uttered the word with bottomless disgust.

  “No, I—”