Page 63 of Freak
Pink and white. Heart and soul. This was a good young woman, holding the compassion and capacity for love that came with understanding one’s place in the cosmos. Some might call her an ‘old soul,’ and the words occurred to Abigail, but she found melancholy in that notion—that only through the trials and sufferings of many lifetimes could one finally understand the world. Perhaps it was true, but there was so much pain in that truth.
She preferred to think of it as someone who’d found her truth inthislifetime.
Giving her waist a squeeze, Mel said, “This is my old lady, Abigail Freeman. Abs, this here is Trick Stavros and his daughter Lucie. They’re here from SoCal.”
The words ‘old lady’ had the same effect they’d had yesterday: Trick was shocked. Mel’s reputation for being permanently unattached was apparently nationwide.
Trick’s eyebrows went halfway up his forehead, before he shook it off and beamed at Abigail, offering her his hand. “Well, it’s great to meet you, Abigail,” he said as they shook. His grip was firm but not crushing. His aura was complicated, a swirl of colors, darks and lights, dominated, she thought, by red. There was conflict in this man—as, she’d noticed, there was in most members of the Night Horde. But not in Mel.
“It’s very nice to meet you as well. And you, too, Lucie.”
The girl had just picked up a toothpick with a sample bite of Abigail’s blackberry rhubarb tarts. When Abigail offered her hand, she popped the bite into her mouth before she grasped it and gave her a sincere shake. “Yes, and you.” She swallowed. “Wow! That’s delicious! I really love your stuff here.”
“Thank you.” She nodded at the basket still in Lucie’s hand. “Are you looking for a gift?”
Lucie nodded. “My mom’s birthday is today, and my little sister forgot her gift at home. Callie’s having a dramatic performance about it, so Dad and I are trying to save the day.” She gave her eyes a lighthearted roll. “Callie’s twelve. Her special talent these days is dramatic performance.”
Trick chuckled and sent Mel a look that screamedwomen, whatcha gonna do. Mel laughed, too.
“Do you make all this?” Lucie asked Abigail, ignoring her father and his friend.
“I do, yes, at home.” Displaying her wares with a game-show wave of her hand, she added, “Besides lavender-lemon, I have wildflower, which is a blend of different local floral scents, and then I have my seasonal scents—for autumn, there’s cinnamon-apple, orange-cedarwood, and balsam-eucalyptus.” She picked up balsam-eucalyptus beeswax candle. “This one is closer to a Christmas scent, but this is the time of year people are starting to think about the holidays, so I offer it in the fall, too.”
Lucie sniffed each of the scents, taking up one of Abigail’s coffee-bean sachets to clear her palate between each. “I think my mom would like the lavender-lemon best, but Dad, try this.”
She held up a bar of orange-cedarwood soap to her father’s nose, and he dutifully sniffed. That first sniff was obviously one to humor his girl, but then he took the bar from her hand and pressed his nose to it for a deeper take. “That’s real nice.” He turned to Abigail with a small, sincere smile. “Real nice. You do good work.”
“Thank you.”
“How much for both?”
“And some blackberry-rhubarb tarts,” Lucie said as she turned a look on her father worthy of a Disney princess. “Please, Dad? We can bring them back to eat with Mom and Callie.”
Trick’s wryly weary chuckle suggested he had little defense against his daughter’s pleading. “And four of those tarts, too. The ones Lucie likes.”
Her first impulse was to simply give the whole thing to Trick and Lucie. They were Mel’s friends, and she’d sincerely enjoyed this interaction. Lucie’s aura and bearing drew Abigail in a way she trusted, as if Lucie were a kindred spirit.
A gift was normally perceived as a kindness, a generosity, as it should be. But gifts could also cause friction. Things like expectation and duty and power were at play as well, and, depending on the relationships involved, those things could overwhelm the kindness—or remove it entirely. She didn’t know Trick or Lucie well enough to know how her gift would be perceived.
But she trusted Lucie anyway.
Besides, something was amiss among the Night Horde charters. Whatever it was, some goodwill for the people of Signal Bend, especially those associated with the club—a group which now seemed to include Abigail herself—might have some benefit to settle tempers and smooth rough edges. That would be worth more than a cash payment.
Deciding to follow her impulse, she said. “I’d be honored if you’d take them as my gifts to you.”
Trick shook his head. “That’s sweet, but no, we could—”
“Are you sure?” Lucie said over him. “I don’t want to take advantage. And you work hard, obviously, on all this. Your work has value.”
Abigail reached out and brushed her hand lightly over Lucie’s forearm. “You’re a dear, Lucie. The smile on your face is worth a lot to me today.”
Since Trick seemed inclined to let Lucie decide, Abigail proceeded like the matter was resolved. Reaching under the sales table, she brought out one of the craft-paper shopping backs she’d stamped with her name, then collected a few pieces of pastel purple and yellow tissue and a bit of curling ribbon. “Let’s make Callie a pretty package to give your mom, yeah?”
Lucie’s expression glowed with gratitude. “You’re my favorite person I’ve met here this weekend, Miss Abigail.”
The weekend had barely gotten started, but Abigail didn’t point that out. “You’re at the top of my list too, Miss Lucie.”
“I’m feeling pretty good about you both,” Trick threw in with a grin.
