handles apart, I spotted six or seven wallets, all the same style but in different colors. I recognized them immediately because I had a green one exactly like them in my purse.
We’d been on one of our rare mother-daughter shopping trips when I’d found the wallets on the sale rack last year. They came in a dozen colors ranging from hot pink (definitely not me) to more muted sage and cobalt blue. They were perfect because they weren’t filled with spaces for photos of the friends I didn’t have. Just room for money and a license if I ever got one. I was looking at the display when Mom came up behind me.
“Ooh, these are nice,” she said. She picked up a pink one and opened it to see the inside.
“Yeah, I need a new wallet,” I said warily. I never knew if Mom would be in a bad mood and accuse me of wasting money even if it was mine. “I’ve been using my black one for such a long time, it’s falling apart. What do you think, green or blue?”
Mom took both of them from me and looked from one to the other. “They’re both so pretty.” She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “You know, Christmas is just around the corner. Maybe Santa can bring you a new wallet, and you can save your money.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “Besides, these are expensive.” I’d learned not to expect too much for Christmas or my birthday. Mom always seemed to have some sort of financial crisis right before a major holiday.
“They’re not that much,” Mom said. She turned the blue one over and looked at the back. “They’re already forty percent off—and I’ll bet they’ll go down more closer to the holidays. What color do you think Santa should bring?”
I smiled at her. Sometimes, mom could be cool like in the old days. “I don’t know. Why doesn’t he just surprise me?” I put both wallets down on the display. “But Santa shouldn’t bring me pink.”
“I’ll let him know,” she said.
On Christmas morning, we went over to Aunt Bernie and Uncle Jack’s house to open presents. They weren’t really related to us, but they’d been friends with Mom since before she and Dad got divorced and were the closest thing we had to family nearby. They didn’t have any kids, and we’d been opening our presents at their house since I was little. Best of all, they had a huge house in the hills, so there was always room to play with whatever new toy we’d been given.
I still had a few presents left to open when Mom handed me a big, square box. Things shifted inside when I shook it, and I couldn’t imagine what was in there. As I tore off the wrapping, Mom sat excitedly on the sofa waiting for me to see what was inside. I lifted the lid to find not just a green wallet, not just a blue wallet, but a bunch of wallets in all different colors scattered in the box.
“Do you like them?” Mom asked, clapping her hands like a little kid. “Remember, we saw the wallets in Macy’s that day?”
I set each one out on the carpet in front of the fireplace. There were eight of them, in every color except pink. I looked at Mom. “I remember,” I said. “But I thought you were only going to get one.”
“Well, they were such a good deal, I decided to get a few,” she said, waving the cost away with her hand. “You know I can never pass up a bargain. Your present is that you get to choose whichever one you want.”
I picked up the green one. “Thanks, Mom. But what are you going to do with the rest of these?” I could see Aunt Bernie staring at us with a strange look on her face.
“I don’t know,” she said. “People always need gifts, or I’ll take the rest back.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “I just want you to be happy.”
Aunt Bernie laughed. “Well, Joanna, my birthday is in February. Just remember I’ve got my eye on the gold one over there.”
“You got it,” Mom said, laughing like it was all a big joke.
As I sat there with the Macy’s bag in my hand, I realized she’d never intended to return any of these. She always bought things for people and then could never remember where she’d put them, so they just got swallowed up with everything else—the gold wallet meant for Aunt Bernie was sitting right on top. Bernie and Jack always left for a long vacation in Hawaii after Christmas, but maybe I’d surprise her with it when they got back.
I turned it over to look at the price tag. Fifty dollars. Even if she’d gotten these at half price, it still meant there was almost two hundred dollars’ worth of wallets in just this one bag.
I sat down on the recliner and picked at the pile on the couch. Who knew what was in the rest of the house? How many more Macy’s bags was I going to find? How many shirts still had their tags? How many pairs of shoes did she buy and then toss in a pile, never to think of them again? I could feel myself starting to get angry, but I tried to get back to work. I didn’t have time to feel things right now. I tossed the Macy’s bag to the side and figured I’d decide what to do with it later. There was one last box full of paper sitting in the hallway, so to make room I grabbed it and yanked open the front door.
“Hello?” The delivery driver stood on the porch with an equally big box in his arms, his eyes peering over the top of it.
Startled, I dropped my own box in the doorway, and then shoved it out of the way so I could shut the front door quickly. My heart was pounding, but I tried to look calm.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said. He shifted the weight of the box to one hip and glanced down at his clipboard. “I’m looking for Mrs. Tompkins.”
From the lack of alarm on his face, I didn’t think he’d seen anything inside. At least he wasn’t giving anything away. I looked back at the door to make sure it was shut. “You, um, you just missed her.”
He nodded at the door. “Do you live here?”
“Yes,” I said.
He held the clipboard out to me. “Would you mind signing on that line at the bottom?”
I scribbled something that looked like my name at the bottom of his list. He took a step toward the front door. “This is really heavy—how about I bring it in for you? I can just drop it inside the door.”
“No!” I said too quickly and then caught myself. “No, it’s fine. I’m just going to put this box in the recycling. I’ll get it when I come back.” I pointed to a spot along the wall. “You can just set it there for now.”
“Are you sure? I’d be happy to bring it—”
“I’m sure. It’s fine.” I picked up my box and watched as he set his down by the door. “Thanks.”
“No problem. You have a good day.”
I waited until he got back into his big brown truck and drove away. After dumping my box out back, I examined the delivery on the porch and wondered what on earth Mom could have ordered this time. It was huge and had the logo of that TV shopping network on the side, like most of the empty boxes I was pulling out of the garage.
The street was quiet, so I took the keys out of my pocket and sliced open the tape that held the top shut. As I peeled back the flaps, I could see what it was Mom had to order just three days after Christmas. I pulled it partway out of the carton until I could see what it looked like, then let it slip right back inside.
A mixer. One of those huge red mixers that sat on a counter, with a big silver bowl, and whipped up endless batches of cookies for waiting children. For other people’s waiting children, because we hadn’t baked anything in this house for years. It was something for a house we didn’t have, probably bought with money she always said we didn’t have. But I bet she got a really good deal on it.
I kicked the box but it just wobbled a few inches. I hadn’t realized how heavy it was, but the pain in my big toe felt almost satisfying. My eyes watered as I walked back into the house and slammed the door with my heel. The walls rattled, and this time I didn’t feel guilty about it. With any luck, someone would come up on the porch and steal the stupid thing.
chapter 7
2:00 p.m.
I stood in the hallway, sweat beading at my hairline, my hands already aching from carrying the bags and boxes to the back. I’d been busting my butt for over three hours now, and the place didn’t look any different. My eyes fell on the stacks of newspapers that still reached to the ceiling and the mountains of clothes and bags I hadn’t even had time to touch. The kitchen still reeked of garbage and rot, and the paths were no wider than when
