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Stormy grinned at her new friend. “May I say, for a woman, you’re not too shabby at manipulation yourself.”
Noreen grinned back. “Well, thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone has said about me in months. For that, you can just stay put. I’ll go roust Liane for you.”
Over the next few days,the beach house was a zoo. Stormy commandeered the garage to sort all the stuffed animals by color, fabric, and size. Those that needed repair before washing she stored in the family room, where she repacked stuffing and sewed seams until her fingertips were raw from pushing a needle.
The laundry room stayed hot and steamy, the washer and dryer in constant motion. When the thump-thump of the wet toys turning in the dryer sent Nina into fits of vituperation, Stormy put them out on the deck to finish drying in the sun.
When he was home, Tully stalked the house like a wounded elephant, angry and complaining. Nothing Nina said or did or cooked pleased him. He behaved as if the lack of a television in his bedroom was a deprivation of the highest order. He squawked when the kids even hinted at watching a cartoon in the great room.
Stormy wrapped herself in a cocoon of enthusiasm to help deflect the bellyaching and barbs sent her way.
She had a couple of disasters. The red felt tongue in one teddy bear bled pink onto an entire washer load of animals. She also learned that those toys stuffed with cotton batting instead of foam, no matter how she tried to reshape them, dried into lumpy, misshapen, unrecognizable creatures.
She had to scour the washer and dryer after each load to find eyes and ornaments that had worked loose, and she had to find a local hobby shop that supplied replacements.
Meanwhile, she read the ads on the local Craigslist site and Facebook Marketplace, watching for moving sales, discovering that relocating families were most likely to sell toys by the box load at a single low price.
Liane sorted out the best of the cars, trucks, games, and children’s books forherend of the business.
Davie and Tommy happily explored andtested outthe purchases for hours on end every evening. Their time thus occupied freed up the television for Tully so that by the end of the week, a grudging calm had fallen over the house.
Stormy went to bed each night with a sense of accomplishment.
But she dreamed of Tyler and often awoke with a fluttering heart and tightness in her midsection. Awake, she replayed in her mind the taste of his gossamer-light kiss, the feathery trail of his lips on her neck, her eyelids. She was plagued with thoughts ofif only…
Daily, she expected him to appear on the beach.
She expected to find him sauntering up the dune walk or to surprise her in the grocery store. She expected to discover him in her rearview mirror as she took Liane to school or scouted yard sales.
Tyler knew almost everything about her, she reasoned, so why not her phone number? When the phone rang, she bolted to answer it. The caller was never Tyler.
Countless scenarios floated through her mind, but there was only one answer that made sense. She had convinced Tyler of her honesty. He no longer believed she had the stolen money. He had other leads and had gone off to pursue them.
In all those months of trial and incarceration, she had been denied her sensuality for so long that she had stupidly misread the chemistry between them. Nina was right. She’d gone ga-ga over the first man to pay attention to her after prison.
Anyway, his interest in Liane was dubious, too. Liane could not take the place of his daughter, and even though Liane could probably use a father figure, it was better that she not get too attached to a man who was clearly moving on as quickly as he could.
And the man was easy to get attached to. If there was one thing Stormy had learned about Tyler Mangus, it was that he was very good at psyching people out. He knew precisely which emotional buttons to push.
It was better that he was gone, out of her life.If that’s true, said a sagacious inner voice, why are you so miserable?
8
Stormy stepped back to admire her handiwork.
Two antique lace table cloths covered two six-foot-long tables. Stored beneath the table were boxes of inventory to replace what she sold. And if fortune favored her, there were still more boxes in the trunk of her car.
Piled every which way atop the table in what she hoped was an eye-catching display were stuffed animals of every description. Whiskered cats, fluffy dogs, teddy bears, both large and small, floppy-eared rabbits, gray whales, and two long-necked giraffes competed for space. A herd of baby elephants with droopy trunks and pink ears were lined up, trunk to tail.
Scattered among the larger animals were terry-cloth dolls and little white mice, fuzzy green snakes, and dappled horses with tails and manes of brand-new yarn. Toys that could be enhanced with antique clothes or colorful ribbons wore them.
The result was a riot of color, and the highchair she’d had trouble making room for in the car was worth the effort. Placed at the end of the table, it made her selling area seem more substantial. Perched in the chair was a big furry bear dressed in a plaid waistcoat and a red bow tie. She’d added a pair of old eyeglasses and had priced him higher than the others—her most expensive item. Flea-market shoppers wanted bargains, and Stormy was determined to provide them, but she also knew there were eclectic buyers looking for unique items.
At the other end of the table, Liane held forth at her own table—an upturned cardboard box on which she displayed all manner of small toys, from bean-bag stuffed characters and dolls to small metal cars.
Liane, too, had extra inventory beneath her display. She held up a small shiny red car. “What price do you think I ought to put on this one, Mom?”
“Try twenty-five cents. If it hasn’t sold by afternoon, offer a twofer.”
