Page 17 of The Tattered Gloves
Her hand stretched out across the table, an obvious attempt to console my fears. But, like always, she’d only gone so far, her fingertips barely grazing the tattered pieces of yarn on my glove as she tested my limits. I pulled my hand back, resting it under the table.
“It’s not about money,” she said warmly, clearly ignoring my blatant rejection of her never-ending efforts at showing affection. “I don’t want you to think you’re a burden, but I do want you to feel at ease living here.”
“So, you got me a job at a bookstore?”
I didn’t understand her logic. I didn’t understand why she thought this was such a brilliant plan. The idea of stepping further out of my comfort zone was truly terrifying.
“There are many jobs in town for kids your age,” she went on, explaining herself. “Most are usually snatched up before the Help Wanted signs make it to the windows. When Mr. Shepherd mentioned it to me, saying that he was looking for someone to stock shelves and keep the place tidy, I knew it would be a great fit for you.”
“Can’t I just come back here after school like I have been doing?”
In other words, couldn’t I just come here and hide?
She sighed. “I mentioned to you earlier that I’ve been trying to get a storefront in town for my business, but I haven’t succeeded.”
I nodded, remembering her bringing it up during our initial tour of the town.
“It’s why I met with Mr. Shepherd in the first place. He owns several of the businesses in town, and I was trying to convince him why my salon would be a good fit for the open storefront next to the bookstore.”
Shepherd.
The name sounded oddly familiar.
I remembered the boy just then, the one who had smooth-talked the ladies at the front desk while Allison snuck around the corner. I’d seen him around school and I think I even have a class with him. His last name was Shepherd, wasn’t it?
Was she speaking of the same family?
“But Mr. Shepherd won’t budge,” she continued. “He feels that, since Sugar Tree already has an established salon, there’s no need for another one. So, he’d rather leave the storefront empty than lease to me, but maybe something good can come from that meeting.”
I could see the disappointment in her eyes, and at that moment, I realized how important this was to her — the realization of her dream.
I’d heard of such things, people having aspirations and goals in life. Reaching for the stars and all that. But I’d never been able to dream bigger than my tiny bedroom. Until last week, my biggest aspiration was to make it to my eighteenth birthday, so I could walk out of that apartment, away from my mother, and never look back.
I looked down at my fingers, covered by worn red yarn. I guessed, in a way, these gloves and everything they represented had achieved that dream for me.
Too bad there wasn’t enough of me left to enjoy it.
“Look, I think it’ll be good for you,” my aunt said, bringing me back to the here and now. “To do something outside of school. And this is the best solution I could come up with for…” She hesitated.
“What?” I said, wondering what she was getting at.
Her eyes met mine. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but after that first day you arrived, I haven’t had a single client here before school.”
My heart rate quickened.
“And I’m not going to,” she clarified. “But it requires a bit of rescheduling. I’m going to need to work later into the evening hours, which means there will be clients here.”
I remembered that feeling — the helpless, frozen feeling I’d had when I awoke to discover I wasn’t alone in this unfamiliar house.
I finally understood the need for a job, why she’d jumped at the chance for me to take shifts at the bookstore in town. She knew I wouldn’t be comfortable with strangers in the house.
And, for once, she was right.
So, it was a choice between being trapped at home with my aunt’s random clients moving in and out of the house or being trapped at a boring old bookstore for five days a week.
It was a no-brainer really.
“I’ll take the job,” I said. “When do I start?”
