Page 5 of Lightning in a Mason Jar
He’d been through three divorces, six career changes—none by choice. After the most recent, he’d moved back in with his mother under the auspices of caring for her. But folks in this gossipy town knew he was flat broke.
Wiry, like his mom, with graying dark hair, Keith dislodged the wheelchair from a mushy patch of grass before helping her shift into a seat beside Bailey Rae.
“Here, Mom.” He picked up her cane from the ground, a floral aluminum model today. It must have rolled from her lap in the confusion.
Libby draped the cane across her lap and patted Bailey Rae’s arm. “Go take a break, have some lunch, kick up your feet and dance a little.” She paused. “My son will keep me company so I don’t get confused about the prices. Right, Freddie?”
“Mama,” he said softly. “I’m Keith.”
Confusion only flickered before she smiled. “Of course. You just look like your father.”
Did he? Bailey Rae couldn’t recall seeing photos of him. Winnie had always said Libby was so heartbroken by his death that she couldn’t bear reminders. And soon Libby wouldn’t even have those memories. Regardless of what latest failure had brought Keith home, thank heaven he was there to help his mother.
Bailey Rae slid an arm around Libby’s shoulders—thinning and hunching with age. “That’s sweet. But I’m fine. Although if Keith wants to go wander around, you’re welcome to hang out with me.”
He glanced back and forth from her to his mom. “If you’re sure. Maybe I could pick up food for all of us?”
The question in his tone settled around her, making her realize ... She reached into the cashbox and peeled off a pair of twenty-dollar bills. “If you don’t mind, that would be great.”
Keith backed away, waving the pair of bills. “I’ll let you get to your customers.”
Customers? Oh, right. The pig thing had thrown her off balance. And, truth be told, sorting through so many memories even just packing the truck that morning had been draining.
She dropped into a folding chair and chugged the rest of her water bottle since Libby was already working a sale with Mrs. Watson—the mother of identical twins Missy and Sissy, who had been in Bailey Rae’s class growing up. No one seemed to remember the pair’s real names anymore. Winnie had always insisted a person’s name didn’t matter nearas much as how they treated others. Which meant Missy and Sissy were worthless as gum on a bootheel.
More than once, Bailey Rae had wondered if Mrs. Watson knew that her precious little darlings used to enjoy chanting,Winnie Ballard’s a cuckoo bird, Winnie Ballard’s a cuckoo bird ...
Bailey Rae had put up with it until her seventh birthday—which her mother forgot—and then let her fists fly. The Watson girls fought dirty, biting and pulling hair. She’d only managed to break free by headbutting Sissy. Bailey Rae got three stitches, and Sissy had a chipped front tooth.
Sissy and Missy weren’t identical twins anymore.
Mrs. Watson lingered over a wedding ring quilt and traced the tiny stitches, her fingers arthritic from decades of teaching piano. “We sure do miss seeing Winnie at the market, but I bet she’s smiling down from heaven knowing you’re here.”
For now. “I’m not nearly woman enough to fill those floral Crocs of hers.”
“Winnie would disagree.” Mrs. Watson tucked her credit card into the reader and scrawled her signature with her finger on the screen. “Would you mind holding on to the quilt for me until I’m fixin’ to leave? I’m supposed to meet my girls and their babies for lunch.”
“Of course,” Bailey Rae said, rubbing the scar in her eyebrow.
Libby waggled a wave. “If you see Freddie over yonder, could you send him back over with our lunch?”
Mrs. Watson turned, penciled eyebrow lifted. “Freddie?”
Libby frowned, her gray eyes searching as if the memories would materialize. “My boy ... My boy ... Keith.”
Wrong name again? Libby was having a rough day. Bailey Rae considered calling Keith back to see if he should take his mother home.
“Excuse me,” an unfamiliar female voice interrupted.
Bailey Rae held up her hand for the person to wait, scanning Libby’s face for further signs of distress or disorientation. But the older woman seemed at peace, thumbing through one of the cookbooks, humming. The Freddie-Keith mix-up had already been forgotten.
Biting her lip, Bailey Rae willed away tears over losing this woman too, in a different way from Aunt Winnie. But a loss all the same. An end to the chapter that had started when the two women came to Bent Oak at the same time, responding to an ad for jobs at the paper mill.
Bailey Rae was more than ready for a fresh beginning of her own. She turned to her next customer. “Yes? If you don’t see exactly what you’re looking for here, I have more canned foods and quilts in the truck.”
A dark-haired woman leaned closer, maybe in her early thirties, with a toddler girl hiding her tiny face against her mother’s legs. The young woman looked like she hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in weeks. “I need your help.”
Her words were so soft they were almost swallowed by the bustle of shoppers and echo of beach music.
