The Farewell Season (5 page)

The woman looked at me kind of doubtfully. No one expects a guy my age to know anything about antiques. "Well … as a matter of fact, I'm looking for kitchen glassware from the depression years. Not the dishes, mind you. The kitchen glassware."

"We have lots of kitchen glassware," I said. "Several pieces, lots of colors." I ticked them off on my fingers. "Amber, Blue Chalaine, Clambroth, Green Jadite—"

"Yes!" The woman exclaimed. "That's what I collect—the Green Jadite."

"Let me show you what we have." I crooked a finger, indicating that she should follow me, and led her past crowded tables and shelves to an old wall hutch loaded with kitchen glassware.

The woman gasped. "Harold, you should see this. I've never seen so much Jadite kitchen glassware!"

"Mmmm, hmmm," Harold said. He was busy picking through a box of old tools.

"Oh, my." The woman held up each piece, checking the price, feeling the edges for flaws. Then she came to a vinegar cruet. She ran her fingers across the word,
Vinegar.
"The letters are so clear. Even the stopper is in excellent condition."

I thought I'd racked up a $150 sale, but she put down the cruet and picked up a wedge-shaped refrigerator dish that cost only forty bucks.

"This piece is in excellent condition," she said.

"Yes, m'am." Just buy the darned thing so I can get out of here.

"The vinegar cruet is so lovely." She let out a small sigh. "Decisions, decisions."

"They're both fine pieces and at very good prices." I sounded like my mother. I was hoping she'd quit thinking and buy both. I wasn't handing her a load of bull. I'd been helping out in the shop for years and knew Mom's prices were fair.

"You know, I can't decide. I guess I'll just have buy them both!"

"Yes, ma'am." I said in my best business-like voice. "Is there anything else I could show you?"

"Oh, no, thank you. I think I've spent enough!"

"Okay. That'll be $190." I rang up the sale on the antique brass cash register. Nothing too modern for Mom, especially in her shop. I guess I should be glad we had electricity and running water. I pulled out some old newspapers to wrap the purchases.

"Wait, Mildred, I'm getting this too." Harold plunked down an old brass plumb bob.

I checked the price. Ninety-five dollars. Whoa. I was racking up a bigger sale than Mom did yesterday with that old whale oil lamp Mrs. Carlson bought. "Okay, let's see, that'll be $285."

Harold laughed as he pulled out his wallet and handed me cold hard cash. "Well, Mildred, at this rate we'll have to cut a couple days off our vacation."

Mildred smiled. "It isn't every day you find just what you're looking for."

"Of course, we didn't know it was just what we were looking for until we found it," Harold said.

I actually found myself smiling as I closed the cash register. I figured I'd have to bug Mom about what a great salesperson I was.

I decided to hang out in the store for a while, in case more customers dropped by. There were a couple of lookers, then a woman came in, browsed for a while and was just about to leave when she picked up a painting. It was just a picture of the lake done maybe fifty years ago by some local guy. It ended up in a garage sale and Dad picked it up, thinking it might be something for Mom's store. It wasn't really an antique, but Mom thought it was good folk art. The area around the lake was way less developed back when the painting was done, so it was sort of a piece of local history too.

The woman came up to the counter. "I'll take this."

Even though it was a fairly large painting, it was only fifty dollars. This put my sales up to three-hundred-eighty-five dollars. I wrapped the painting in newspaper, then covered it with brown paper and tied that up with string. "Would you like some help with this out to your car?"

"Oh, yes, thank you!"

The painting fit perfectly in the trunk of the car. As I set it down, I suddenly felt as if there were dark shadows around my eyes. It was as if I'd packed up a little piece of Dad and sold it. Totally dumb thought, but there it was.

I stood in the doorway and watched as the woman drove away. As I turned to go back inside, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was Glynnie riding slowly by on her bike.

A black pickup pulled up next to her. A guy was driving, so I decided to wait—just in case there was trouble. I could see that he said something to Glynnie. She said something back. He drove off. Probably he was just asking for directions. For a second it looked as though Glynnie was heading to the shop, so I tried to look as if I was busy rearranging some of the stuff out front. She sped up and rode on by.

Maybe Rolf was right. Maybe we should've stopped and invited her to lunch. If she was going to interview me, doing it in the kitchen with Rolf and Kirstin there would've been more relaxed than some one-on-one thing.

On the other hand, who said I had to let her interview me, anyway?

Chapter Four

The next morning I bragged about my sales in the shop. I got the cash out of the lockbox in the pantry where Mom wants the money stashed when no one is in the store.

"More than three hundred dollars? That's wonderful, Eric!" Mom pointed to some of her loot. "Look at this set of Jadite canisters, all in perfect condition. Maybe I should start charging more for the kitchenware."

"Maybe …." I said. "But the woman who bought the stuff today said how reasonable your prices were."

"That's just it!" Mom got this excited look in her eyes. "If she thought the price was good, maybe it was too low."

"Maybe …." I really didn't want to get dragged into a debate about business strategies. "The store does have a reputation for fair prices. I think that draws a lot of customers."

"Hmm …." Mom's eyebrows drew together in a concerned frown, but she let the subject drop.

***

At morning practice it was already broiling. I went all out. I hit at full speed, practiced aggressively. There was the feeling, as Coach Horton skulked around, that I had to step it up, that I'd better not make a mistake in front of him. The start of two-a-days was always tough, but suffering the constant evil eye made it a hundred times worse than usual.

It was a total understatement to say I was glad when practice was over.

As Rolf and I walked to his truck, we were on a direct path to where Glynnie was standing under a tree in front of the school talking to Jamar.

I don't know if it was guilt, or what, but I thought I should at least talk to her for a couple minutes.

"Hey, Rolf, I, uh, gotta talk to, um, Jamar and Glynnie for a sec."

"No problem," Rolf said. "I'll just plop down and wait for you."

True to his word, as soon as we got near the maple tree, Rolf dropped down and stretched out in the shade.

I walked up to Glynnie as calm and casual as possible and said, "I'm ready for you now." Man, what made me sound like such a jerk?

She gave me a cool stare. "Ex
cuse
me?"

"I've got a couple minutes. I could answer a few questions. If you have time."

"I guess I could squeeze you into my schedule," she said, all business-like. "Give me a minute, and then I'll be right with you."

I noticed Hedy and a couple girls from band walking by with their instruments. I put my hand on Glynnie's shoulder and said, "Sure, I'll wait."

Glynnie glanced at my hand for a nanosecond before saying, "Okay."

I plopped down next to Rolf and told him about my "interview" with Glynnie. "It won't take long. A couple of quick questions, then we can go to my house."

"No problem," Rolf said. "It was great of Kirstin to want to fix us lunch again."

It's not as if I was eavesdropping, but I could hear Glynnie talking to Jamar. Standing there in her black bike shirt and shorts, she looked as slender as a thread. She glanced at me. "Be with you in a sec." She turned back to Jamar. "Thanks again. I hope I didn't take up too much of your time."

Jamar pointed to his taped toes and laughed. "It was a nice change from, 'What's it like to be the coach's son?' or 'What's it like to be one of only three black guys on the team?'"

"You'll probably get tired of being asked about your fractured toe too. But at least I got first crack at it." Glynnie groaned. "No pun intended."

"Your questions were different than most sportswriters," Jamar said.

"That's because I'm not a sportswriter," Glynnie said in mock seriousness, as she lifted on eyebrow. "I'm a
columnist
."

It was then I realized she had a funny way of saying her esses. Not a lisp exactly. Just sort of a faint buzz, as if maybe she'd overcome a lisp. I hadn't really spent much time with her before, so I guess that's why I'd never noticed.

After Jamar took off, I expected a quick getaway after a couple questions from Glynnie. So it kind of threw me when she came over and said, "How 'bout if I take you guys to lunch? I'd like to talk to you both. In depth. It'll take a while, and I know you must be hungry."

"Sorry," I said, "we already—"

"I've got a better idea!" Rolf said. "Have lunch with us at Eric's. His sister loves to cook and she makes enough to feed an army."

For a second I stared wordlessly at Rolf. I really did not want some girl I barely knew chowing down at my house. "Glynnie probably has other plans. Besides—"

"I've got all afternoon." Glynnie brushed off my remark with a wave of her hand. "I rode my bike. You live in the center of town right on Main Street, don't you, Eric? Where that antique store is, The Treasure Chest? I live just a couple blocks from there on Grove Street, so it's right on my way home."

She pretty much defused my excuses before I could even make them.

Rolf didn't help any. "It's set. See you at Eric's in a few minutes."

"Okay." With a quick wave Glynnie headed for the bike rack.

I glared at Rolf and said, "Thanks a lot."

"Hey," Rolf said, "It'll be fun."

"Yeah. You, me, my sister and some nerdy girl I barely know. What could be more fun than that?"

"Maybe Glynnie's okay. You know she's smart, at least. Anyway, it's just one afternoon."

"It's just for
lunch
. I don't plan on spending the whole afternoon being interviewed."

Rolf shrugged. "Whatever."

I was too wiped out to argue.

***

Rolf waited until Glynnie locked up her bike at the rack next to the shop then held the door open for her. I wondered what he was getting us into by inviting her to lunch. Sometimes he was too polite for his own good—and mine.

As we walked through the living room, Glynnie oohed and aahed over all our furniture, especially the old upright piano. "I love all these antiques!"

"Thanks." I respected her appreciation of our stuff. Though sometimes the clutter got to me, I did like the sense of history behind most of the things in our house.

"Hi, Kirstin," Rolf said when we got to the kitchen. He introduced Glynnie. "Hope you don't mind a guest."

"'Course not." Kirstin turned over a couple of meatcakes, put others on a platter and set it on the table. "There's tons of food."

"I figured," Rolf said. "This looks like a real smorgasbord!"

"Oh, Rolf. Puh-leeze," Kirstin said, pretending to dismiss his compliment. But her bright pink blush gave her away. "This doesn't even come close. There's not nearly enough food—and not a bite of sill."

"Sill?" Glynnie asked, thoughtfully chewing a bite of meatcake. I could see the question mark forming over her head.

"Marinated smoked herring in cream sauce," I explained.

"It's not a traditional smorgasbord without sill!" Kirstin and I said simultaneously.

"One of our grandmother's favorite sayings," I explained.

"Piling your plate high with food is one of the traditions too," Rolf said. "I'm keeping that part alive."

"So I noticed." A smile played at the corner of Glynnie's mouth.

It was then that I noticed she was jotting notes into a small notebook next to her plate. I wondered how sill and smorgasbord would fit into an article about football. But I didn't say anything. It was her article.

I munched some red grapes. Once when I was little, to get me to try some, Dad told me they were little balloons filled with grape juice. I ate one and decided he was right, and they've been a favorite food ever since.

Between crunches I noticed that whenever Rolf said something about his family Glynnie scribbled furiously, as if she were writing the entire Holst history. I figured she was like those actors who had to know everything about a character before playing a role. Well, if Rolf wanted to pour out his entire life history, fine. I would stick to football.

"What's it like being a team captain, Rolf?" Glynnie asked as she nibbled a rosette. It was the first football question she'd asked.