Mac and I unloaded the truck and put everything back in the storage room. Rose sold four teacup gardens and I helped her wrap them while Elvis entertained the customer. By the time we had finished it was five minutes past store closing time. Rose walked around tidying up the displays while I ran the vacuum over the floor and Mac swept the storage room.
“If you talk to Jess tonight tell her those boxes of clothes are ready, please,” Mac said, pulling on his denim jacket.
“I will,” I said.
Jess was my closest friend in North Harbor—closest friend of my age, anyway. I’d known her casually when we were teenagers, but we’d gotten close after we became roommates in college. She had a great sense of funky style, and with a sewing machine and a pair of scissors she could make over just about any piece of clothing. Everything she restyled ended up in a little used and vintage clothing shop on the waterfront. She’d also started making one-of-a-kind quilts from recycled fabric. I’d had two of them in the shop and they’d sold within a week.
Mac picked up Rose’s canvas tote bag. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. Now that sailing season was over I wondered what Mac would do with his free time. In the four months we’d worked together I’d learned very little about him. Any questions about his private life usually got only a one- or two-word answer.
Rose stopped to give me a hug. “Thank you for taking care of Maddie today,” she said. “Give Isabel my love when you talk to her.”
“I will,” I promised. I felt in my pocket for the little piece of paper Mr. P. had given me to write down the names of the women who had passed on messages to Gram. It was still there.
I locked the door behind Mac and Rose. Then I did a circuit around the store, trailed by Elvis, looking to see what was selling and what might need a little more tweaking. There were only three of the teacup gardens left. I knew there were cups in the storage room and more tiny plants upstairs in my office.
“Wanna help me do some planting?” I said to Elvis. He tipped his head to one side as though he was considering the question and then meowed. I took it as a yes.
I set up outside on an old, paint-spattered table we kept by the back door. Elvis jumped up and immediately began poking his whiskers in everything. He had to sniff the cups and the plants, and when I took the lid off the pail of potting soil he stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on the edge and pushed his face down inside before I could stop him.
And immediately sneezed. And sneezed. And sneezed. He shook his head vigorously, meowed indignantly and swiped at his nose with one paw.
I struggled to keep a straight face. Even though Elvis was a cat and not a person, it seemed mean to laugh at him.
“Let me see,” I said. I reached for him and used the hem of my shirt to wipe some of the dirt from his black fur. He sneezed one more time and glared at me as if somehow this whole thing was my fault. I fished in my pocket for a Kleenex to try to clean his face a little better.
“I don’t think he’s going to blow his nose,” a voice said behind me. I turned around to see Michelle standing a few feet away, hands in her pockets, a small smile on her face.
“He’s pretty smart,” I said.
“Oh, it’s not that I think he couldn’t. It’s just from his expression I don’t think he’s going to.”
Elvis was leaning sideways, watching Michelle intently as she crossed the space between us. He still had a slightly sour look on his face. I took advantage of the fact that his attention had shifted to clean his fur. He shook his head and took a swipe at my hand with his paw, but his claws weren’t out so I knew he wasn’t really that mad.
“What’s his name?” Michelle held out her hand so the cat could sniff it.
“Elvis.”
He sniffed a couple of times and seemed to like what his nose told him.
“What happened to his nose?” she asked, gesturing to the long, ropy scar that almost bisected the cat’s nose.
“Nobody knows,” I said with a shrug. “The best guess the vet could give is that he got into a fight with something that was probably a lot bigger than he is. The cat, I mean, not the vet.”
Elvis butted her hand with his head, kitty shorthand for “Give me a scratch.” Michelle obliged, stroking the top of his head, brushing away the last bit of soil and peat moss clinging to his fur. His eyes narrowed into slits and he began to purr.
“You have a friend,” I said.
She smiled. “I like cats. Is Elvis the cat that was wandering around downtown for a while?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“How did you end up with him?” Elvis was leaning against her arm, rumbling like a well-tuned motorboat engine.
“Sam,” I said, brushing potting soil off my shirt.
“That explains a lot,” she said, her smile widening. “The animal-control officer tried for weeks to capture this cat. He set up a cage in the alley by Sam’s place. All he ended up catching was one very pissed-off seagull.”
I laughed. “I’m sure Sam had nothing to do with that.”
Michelle rolled her eyes. “I’m sure.” She smiled down at Elvis, who was nudging her hand because she’d stopped scratching behind his ear. “Well, I’m glad he ended up with you.”
I didn’t know what else to say to her. Silence settled between us like a large rock. Then I remembered the silver service. That was probably why Michelle was here. “You came for the tea set that Arthur Fenety wanted to sell,” I said.
“I did,” she said
“It’s in my office,” I said, gesturing at the back door. “Come in and I’ll get it for you.”
Elvis jumped down and followed us. To be more exact, he followed Michelle. When we stepped inside the store she stopped in the middle of the room and looked around.
“This is really nice,” she said. “I should have come in before now.” She looked at me and it was hard to read her expression. Was that guilt I could see in her eyes? I felt as if that rock had just landed in the middle of the room between us.
I cleared my throat. “You’re welcome anytime,” I said. “If I’m not here, Elvis usually is.”
The cat gave an enthusiastic meow at the sound of his own name. We both laughed and it seemed to chase away some of the awkwardness.
I took Michelle upstairs to my office and gave her the box with the silver tea set. She looked quickly at each piece and then wrote me a receipt.
“You know this place was briefly a private smokers’ club,” she said as we headed back downstairs.
“That would explain the smell and the window boxes full of cigarette butts,” I said.
“I’m glad you’re giving the place a new life.” She gestured at the sign by the door. “A second chance.” Her expression grew serious. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable before, when I brought up your show.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “It was just a job.” I held out a hand. “And now I have this.”
“Not everyone bounces back as well as you did, Sarah,” Michelle said. “Believe me. I’ve seen people at their worst.”
I brushed my hair back from my face. “I’m lucky. I had a lot of people helping me. “
She nodded. “You are.”
I walked her out to the small parking lot. She shifted the box with the silver from one arm to the other and bent down to stroke Elvis’s fur. “Bye, puss,” she said. She straightened up. “I’m glad you’re back, Sarah.” She turned then and headed toward the street.
I watched her go, and then I walked back over to the table. Elvis jumped up again, made a wide berth around the bucket of potting soil and ended up sitting down in the middle of the collection of little plants—the second-most inconvenient place for him to be. Even with him pretty much in the way the entire time I still managed to get all the plants transferred into the cups.