Free Carpe Bead'em by Tonya Kappes Page A

again.” I refuse to
give into guilt and regret. The beaders around me are all ears.
    But of course I
give into the guilt. That is the one good thing my family is so darn good at.
    “Dee, I must be
going.” I gather my belongings.
    For the first
time since moving back, I’m enjoying myself. 
    “Oh, okay.”
There is twinge of disappointment in her voice. “I know this sounds really
strange, but I really like the designs you made. I think a lot of my clients
would love your fresh young bracelets. Are you interested in making a few for
the store?”
    She touches my
wrist, looking at my bracelets one more time.
    She wants me. Me ? Me to make bracelets and sell them here!
    “I…I don’t know
what to say.” My cheeks flush from the flattery. “I have never made anything in
my life.”
    “Of course, I’d
pay you.” She points to the display case with other bracelets for sale.
    “I would be
honored.” Why not? I can make bracelets since I have nothing else to do with my
downtime.
    “Great. You can
make them for about five dollars a bracelet and sell them for about twenty
dollars. You’d get ten dollars for each bracelet sold.”
    I do the math. I
made four bracelets today, and that took about three hours. That included
learning how to do them. Plus the conversation with Dee and the other beaders
is enjoyable.
    I don’t care
about the money. It’s the activity itself that makes me feel good. Isn’t that what
those endorphins are supposed to do? 
    “Deal.”
    We shake on it.
    I know it’s a
quick decision and I’m new at this, but I’ve got a really good feeling.
    “Great. Take
some beads, wire, toggles, clasps and get started. What you don’t use, bring
back. If you need more, come get them during store hours. You need to make
business cards to attach to them.” Dee helps me gather all my materials and
even throws in a bead board, crimpers, and pliers. All I need to get started.
    My mind is
racing, trying to come up with different names. The pressure of a name. The
scene from Pretty Woman comes to mind, the one in which Julia Roberts’
character is next to the pool talking to  Laura San Giacomo’s character.
    Still no name.
I’m going to sleep on it.

 
    Chapter Sixteen
     
     
    Why does the
city feel so much hotter than the suburbs? I pat the sweat from my brow while
looking for a safe place to park near Aunt Grace’s building.
    The kids playing
in the water, shooting out from the fire hydrant, bring back memories of me
running around the same spouting hydrant years ago.  
    “Hey, Uncle
Jimmy.”  
    “What?” he
yelps. “What?” He’s sitting in the spot as always with a Cincinnati Reds
baseball cap pulled way down, covering his eyes. “Your aunt is upstairs. Crazy
old broad.”
    “Now, now, Uncle
Jimmy. That’s no way to talk about your bride.” There’s no way I’m going to
fight with crazy. 
    “Bride my ass.”
He still won’t look at me. “She’s always on me about having a little nip here
and there.”
    A little nip,
right. He reeks of alcohol and I’m standing three feet away.
    “Nothing wrong
with a nip, as long as it’s a nip.” I laugh and climb up the stairs behind him.
    The lingering
heat compounds the stagnant smell of urine, vomit, and bugs. It’s just dirty
here. Many times, members of my family had tried to get Aunt Grace out of here
and move her to the suburbs. She’s always refused. Now that burden is all on me.
    “Aunt Grace?” I
push open her slightly open door and launch into my speech. “You really should
think about moving. All the kids running around, you probably never get any
peace and quiet.”
    The hot plate is
sizzling, the television is blaring. Aunt Grace is under her bed.   
    “Here.” She
hands me a dingy yellow bag, and motions me towards the door.  “Now get out of
here.”
    She didn’t want
me to visit. She wants to get everything worth anything out of her house. Her
idea of rehab for Uncle Jimmy, who will apparently steal what