She’d already pulled some chicken out of the freezer, and we opted to cut it up and marinate it for stir-fry with ham fried rice. It was too early in the summer to eat anything from the garden, though my mouth watered when I thought of the juicy cherry tomatoes that would be ready to munch by the end of next month.
Once the water was bubbling in the rice cooker and the chicken strips were floating in their marinade, Mom pulled me into her craft room. My eye was immediately drawn to a beautiful piece of furniture against the back wall. It stood at least six feet tall and three feet wide. “What is that?”
“The pièce de résistance. Remember Mother’s Day, when Dad said he had a surprise for me? Well, this came a week later.” Mom placed a loving hand against the cabinet. “He said it should do for at least the next five years.”
“Dad’s always trying to find an easy out when it comes to gifts. There’s no way he got this for you himself.”
“You know your father well.” Mom tugged on the handles of the cabinet and slowly opened it. “Jenna helped him.”
The knotty alder doors swung open and then folded out to reveal hundreds of compartments, drawers, and bags filled with paper, rubber stamps, buttons, stickers, inks, fabric, and dozens of others things I couldn’t see.
“Mom, this is amazing.” I examined a drawer full of vintage buttons. “I can’t believe Jenna kept this a secret from me. I want one.”
“It’s called a Workbox, and it’s made by a company called The Original Scrapbox.” Mom patted my arm. “Just wait until I show you what else they have. They’ve thought of everything for crafters.”
With a shake of my head, I fingered the bags of rubber stamps attached by Velcro to a wall of the cabinet. “Dad must really love you.”
For all my dad’s teasing about Mom and her craft addictions, I knew he was proud of her. “I’ll have to make sure Jenna knows what I want for Christmas.” I motioned to the rows of drawers. “So, which one of these compartments has something for me?”
“Right here.” Mom pulled out a ceramic dish lined with smooth river rocks and pine cones glued to the rocks. An herbal candle added a splash of color with dark green leaves and burgundy flowers mixed into the wax.
“This is perfect, Mom.” I examined the glitter spray on the pinecone that would catch the light of the candle when it was lit. Natalie wanted her wedding to be unpretentious, close to nature, reminiscent of where she first met Brock at Warm Springs. Lorea and I gave each other knowing looks every time we saw how hard Sylvia struggled with outdoing Natalie. If only she knew how minimal Natalie’s decorations would be. The Berlin-Grafton wedding would be elegant (and bring in a good commission) but in a much simpler way.
Mom was showing me how she thought some of the June wildflowers could be used in the centerpiece when we heard my dad stomping his boots outside. I hurried to greet him with a hug.
“Hi, Dad. How are you?”
“Looks like the weekend has finally started.” Dad kissed my cheek and tugged on my ponytail.
“I saw you out there working away, but Mom took me into the craft room before I could offer any help.”
“She showed you the Craft Monster for her role in that mashed potato business?”
I lifted my eyebrows in Mom’s direction.
“That’s what he calls my Workbox,” she offered.
Dad took off his hat and hung it on its peg by the door. Then he sat down with a grunt and unlaced his boots. His head of dark brown hair was still full, though the hairline was starting to recede a bit, but he would probably escape the baldness his father had experienced. His middle had thickened over the years, but at just over six feet he stood strong, still full of energy—a combination of good genes and Idaho farm stamina. Dad stretched his back. “So how are you holding up?”
“This month will pretty much put the mark of success or failure on my business. It’s a challenge, but I’m up for it.” I hoped I sounded convincing.
“I’m proud of you.” Dad stood and crossed the kitchen, grabbing a glass and turning on the tap. “Just make sure you know when to ask for help. Don’t get in over your head.”
With a nod, I ignored my conscience as it piped up about the layers of meaning in my father’s words. I savored Dad’s compliment. For all his teasing about my choosing to be a wedding planner for “hoity-toity celebrities,” his confidence in me was reassuring.
“I need to give Shayla Fitzgerald a call. She has some calligraphy samples for me to take back for display.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful. Dennis has been out of work for over a year now, and they’ve both been doing all they can to keep their home.” Mom twisted a dishtowel as she spoke. “They’re basically living off their farm and odd jobs right now.”
“I knew Dennis was out of work, but I didn’t realize it was that bad.” The grandfather clock in the living room tolled four times, and I checked my watch to be sure it was accurate. “If I hurry, I can get over there and back before dinner. Do you mind?”
My dad waved his hand at me. “Go on. We’ll make sure you don’t miss anything. Wes won’t get here until close to seven, anyway.”
I dialed Shayla’s number to make sure she was home. She was—no surprise. With her three young children, she didn’t get out much. She was a year older than I, so we hadn’t hung out in high school, but I knew she came from a good family, and her work ethic was impressive. It wouldn’t be ideal to have my calligrapher out of town, but everything was done so far in advance that I felt confident
