AllFreeNovel
Share Us
That was pitifully little consolation, however. Catherine was as emotionally damaged as he, and he meant to go slow, not merely for her benefit, but for his own. At least they could laugh together, and that was a damn good sign. Now all he had to do was find the courage to keep making her laugh.
Doubts still clouded his mind whenever he thought of her, and he absolutely refused to contemplate the future, but for now, Catherine Brooks brought a glimmer of hope that his emotions weren’t permanently numbed. It was a fleeting glimmer at best, and all too swiftly followed by an icy dread that they were drawn to each other’s sorrow when neither had anything left to give.
It was a disastrous combination, and yet one even his broken heart longed to risk.
Chapter Six
Joyce arrived at Catherine’s early Sunday morning to provide a ride down the hill to the Rose Bowl for the monthly swap meet staged in the parking lot. Vendors hauling a wide variety of wares in their battered vans and trucks had already set up shop for the day. Much of their merchandise was of dubious value, but Joyce occasionally discovered a treasure. Because she insisted the best bargains were to be found early, she and Catherine were always among the first to arrive.
While Catherine seldom made a purchase, she enjoyed the colorful spectacle and looked forward to spending the morning strolling the crowded aisles. She’d come often enough to recognize several vendors, and understood from their conversation that many spent their other Sundays at similar events scattered throughout Los Angeles and Orange Counties.
“This is an awfully hard way to make a living, isn’t it?” she whispered to Joyce. “If these people don’t make many sales, it must be tremendously discouraging to have to reload their vans at the end of the day.”
“Oh, come on. They’re all pack rats who love collecting junk and calling it a business. Now where is that woman with the beautiful old type? I should have bought all of her wood blocks with the italics capital letters. They’ll soon be impossible to find. Do you suppose they’ll stop calling letters upper and lower case now that printing is done by computer rather than hand set?”
“Frankly, I’ve ever stopped to consider the question, but we’re probably stuck with the old-fashioned terms. What do you think of these leather sandals?”
Joyce ran her thumb along a wide strap. “They’re good quality leather, but I doubt they’ll have my size.” She glanced through the rows of neatly stacked boxes and shrugged. “Oh well, there are plenty in yours.”
“Are you saying I should be grateful to have big feet?” Catherine lifted a pair of black sandals from their box.
“You don’t have big feet,” Joyce exclaimed. “You wear an average size, so there’re always bargains available, while I’ve even stooped to shopping in the children’s department.”
“Clothes and shoes are cheaper there, aren’t they?”
“Definitely,” Joyce admitted with a satisfied smirk.
“Then there’s no reason to complain.” Catherine sat on the child’s step stool the booth’s owner provided for customers and tried on the sandals. They were both stylish and comfortable, and she paid for them quickly so that she and Joyce could move on.
A few minutes later, Joyce plucked an aluminum hair roller from a table filled with knickknacks. “My mother actually had some of these. Do you remember them?”
“Yes, I do. Those are in remarkably good shape. They even have the little rubber disks on the clasps, but would anyone want them?”
Joyce gestured with the little roller. “Movie studio costume departments might, but I sure don’t. Now where is that woman with the type? I hope she hasn’t sold everything and moved to Florida.”
“We’ll find her.”
As they turned to enter a new aisle, Catherine paused to study some hand-woven rugs. They were colorful and well-made, but she had no use for one. Unless…
“Wait a minute, Joyce, I want to look at these rugs.”
“Do you need one?” Joyce raised her hand to shade her eyes and scanned the surrounding vendors for the woman with the type.
“I took some books into Lost Angel, and kids were just sitting on the floor to read them. There’s a carpet store next door, but remnants would be difficult to keep clean, and these are small enough to go into the large washers at a Laundromat.”
“Good lord, when was the last time you visited a Laundromat?”
“College, I suppose,” Catherine replied. “Do you like this one with the rust and black bands?”
“Now you’re buying rugs for Lost Angel? Can’t you just write them a check if you’re in a generous mood?”
A Latino clad in western apparel complete with cowboy boots and a wide straw hat approached them. “You like the rugs? I give you a bargain price on two.”
“How about three?” Joyce asked. “Or four?”
The man broke into a wide grin. “Six, eight, whatever you want, pretty lady. Make me an offer.”
With no interest in the striking area rugs, Joyce turned her back and scanned the crowd while Catherine debated which to select and then purchased three. “Oh, great,” Joyce grumbled, “now we’ll have to lug those things out to my car.”
