“Uh, my brother does the deliveries, but he’s not here right now…”
“He’ll be back soon, right? My assistant is coming at noon to start decorating.”
Kerry glanced nervously at the trailer, where she could hear Murphy’s muffled snores.
“I’ll take care of it,” Kerry said, handing her the receipt book. “Just write your name and address on the top here, and your phone number.”
“I’m Susannah,” the redhead said. “Don’t forget. Noon.”
* * *
The morning passed in a blur. The weather cleared, the sun came out, but she estimated that the temperature hovered in the twenties. People streamed in and out of Anna’s, coffees in hand, ready to pick out their tree. Customers arrived by cab and by bus. Most took their trees with them, but at least half a dozen were added to the pile for Murphy to deliver. She chatted with neighbors asking about Jock and her brother, and she assured them that her father was on the mend, and Murphy was only napping.
At ten, Patrick and Austin joined the crowd.
“Here,” Austin said, handing her a foil-wrapped package. “We made this for you.”
Patrick’s lips twitched with a barely suppressed smile.
Kerry peeled back the foil and peered at the contents. A fat, roundish brown blob inside oozed a thick red fluid.
“It’s a pancake and strawberry jelly sandwich!” Austin announced, unable to contain his excitement.
“With low-sodium turkey bacon,” his father added. “Super healthy, right?”
“Oh. Wow. That’s so … thoughtful.”
“Try it!” Austin urged.
Patrick handed her a foam cup of steaming coffee. She took a sip, then lifted the sandwich to her mouth and took a small bite.
The pancake was tough on the outside and undercooked on the inside. But the contrast of the sweet, fruity jam and the salty, crunchy bacon was, she decided, a pleasant surprise. She chewed and swallowed, then beamed at her young friend.
“This is the best pancake sandwich I’ve ever tasted. Even better than my mom makes.”
Father and son were dressed for the outdoors. Austin wore his blue puffer jacket, corduroy pants, red snow boots, and a red knit ski cap. Patrick had on jeans and a quilted flannel jacket. He was bareheaded. Both wore waterproof gloves.
“Where are you two headed?” she asked. “Hiking?”
“Nooo,” Austin said. “We came to help you sell trees.”
“I tried to talk him into going ice skating in Central Park, or to the puppet show at the children’s museum, or something outdoorsy, but he insisted on coming down here.”
“That’s so sweet,” Kerry said. “But I couldn’t let you give up a Saturday working here with me.”
“I want to!” Austin exclaimed. “Murphy lets me help, doesn’t he, Dad?”
Patrick shrugged. “But Murphy’s not here right now, bud.”
“He worked pretty late last night. But if you’re really serious, I actually could use some help,” Kerry said.
“Name it,” Patrick said.
“I’ve got a customer who needs a custom wreath by tomorrow morning, but I’m out of supplies and the wholesale flower mart closes at noon. If you guys wouldn’t mind manning the stand, I’ll cab over there, get what I need, then come right back.”
“Cool!” Austin said.
Kerry scribbled her cell phone number on the top of the receipt book. “Call me if you have any problems or questions. Okay?”
* * *
Kerry hustled through the market, turning a blind eye to buckets of gorgeous blooming blossoms, instead concentrating on what she needed for wreaths. She chose dried white and purple statice, milky-colored wax berries, more sprigs of mistletoe, tiny pinecones, and sprays of seeded eucalyptus. In the ribbon aisle she found a roll of wide amethyst-colored ribbon.
After paying for her purchases she walked out to the sidewalk and for the first time, noticed a small pop-up vintage market in a vacant parking lot across the street. She still hadn’t solved her wardrobe dilemma for tonight’s party.
She hesitated, then darted across the street. Patrick would call if there were any problems, right? What difference would another fifteen minutes make?
* * *
An older woman with a short silvery bob, dressed in a moth-eaten leopard-print fur jacket, black leather miniskirt, fishnet hose, and platform ankle boots sat at a high-top table at the entrance to a booth called Frock of Ages.
“Looking for anything in particular?” she asked.
“Something to wear to a party tonight. Holiday festive,” Kerry said.
The woman pointed a long crimson-polished finger at a rack of dresses. “Start there.”
The dresses were crammed in tightly and formed a rainbow of eclectic styles and decades; chiffon and taffeta ’50s prom dresses, eye-popping psychedelic prints from the ’60s, and poofy ’80s bridesmaids’ dresses. Kerry checked the tag on a cranberry satin jumpsuit and gasped. It was one hundred and fifty dollars.
She was on her way out of the booth when she spied a dark green velvet sleeve poking out of a box of clothing. It was a men’s Ralph Lauren jacket, but in a small size. She removed her barn jacket and slipped the blazer on. It was big in the shoulders, and smelled like it had been in someone’s basement, and there was no price tag, but this, she decided, was as good as it was going to get.
Her phone rang as she was starting to dig through the rest of the box’s contents.
The call was from what she recognized as a New York City area code.
“Kerry?” It was Patrick.
“Everything okay?”
“Uh, well, there’s a cop here, and he says your trailer’s parked illegally.”
“What? Where’s Murphy?”
“He woke up a little while ago and went to deliver a tree. It’s just Austin and me, and uh, I’m kind of concerned cuz the cop just called for a tow truck.”
“Did you call Murphy?”
“I don’t have his number.”
“Oh God.” Kerry tucked the velvet jacket under her arm and race-walked toward the shopkeeper. “I’m headed back now. Just don’t let them tow Spammy away. Please!”
“I’ll do what I can,” Patrick said.
The shopkeeper was chatting on the phone in a language Kerry didn’t recognize when she approached.
“Price?”
The woman held up her hand and kept talking.
“Price, please?” Kerry held out a twenty-dollar bill. Without stopping her chat, the shopkeeper plucked the money from her fingertips.
chapter 13
By the time Kerry emerged from the flea market it had started to sleet. Buses and cars and cabs whizzed by as she frantically waved from the curb, trying to hail a cab. Finally, she stepped into the street, the way she’d seen it done in the movies, jumping in front of a cab as it slowed for the traffic light, then ran around and got in the back seat.
“Hey!” The driver turned an outraged face to her. “I’m off duty.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Friggin’ tourists.”
Kerry backed out of the cab and it sped away.
She tried calling her brother, but the calls went directly to voice mail. She walked two more miserable blocks, sleet pelting her face and bare head, before finally managing to flag down a cab. She called again, her fingers stiff from the cold.