That’s when she heard a knock at her door.
# # #
“Come in,” Amber said.
Mary slipped inside and closed the door behind herself. She took the chair that Ricky had been sitting in earlier. Amber sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the bag that she had just zipped up.
“You seem like you need to talk to someone,” Mary said.
“No. Thank you, but no. I’ve…” Amber gestured down. “I guess I’ve decided that I don’t want to impose any more than I already have. You have all made me feel so at home, but…”
“You used to have people up here, right?”
“Sorry?”
“Bill Engel? He lived off the Prescott Road?”
“Oh. Yes. A little unnamed road off of Prescott, but yes.”
“He died last year, if I’m remembering correctly.”
“Yes. Ricky must have told you that I was living in Bill’s house. I came up to take care of the estate and I ended up staying for a while.”
“And then went back south only to have another estate to take care of.”
“Right,” Amber said. She flattened her mouth into an annoyed line. Amber didn’t mind that Ricky had told his mother about these personal details, but she didn’t appreciate the way that Mary had brought it up—like she didn’t exactly know everything when she really did.
“Sorry,” Mary said. “I can be blunt. Everyone tells me so, but it doesn’t seem to help knock down any of my rough edges.”
“I wasn’t close with him—Bill, I mean.”
“No. I can’t imagine you were.”
They were silent. Amber was trying to think of a polite way to excuse herself, get in her rental car, and drive away.
“Not everyone needs people,” Mary said. “After you left the table, Ricky was telling us about his co-worker. She was giving him a ride home and she started telling him about how not everyone needs people in their lives.”
Amber nodded.
“Not you, though. You’re not alone by choice. You want to have people, don’t you?”
“I’m pretty sure that I need some time alone to figure that out. So far, circumstances have worked against me,” Amber said, looking down at her bag again.
“Yeah, I get it,” Mary said. “You’re a night owl, right?”
“I was working night shift back home. I’m still on that schedule.”
“So, what are you going to do—get a hotel room and stay up all night watching TV?”
“I was going to read, actually.”
“How about you make some money instead?”
“Pardon?”
“With me.”
“I don’t…”
“I work my rear end off this time of year so I can make my money during tourist season. Balsam pillows, scented candles, painted rocks, jams, jellies, and in a month, maple syrup. This time of year, there’s nothing better than staying up all night making a case full of nonsense that I can peddle to the tourists come summer. You can help. I’ll pay you by the piece.”
“Thanks so much for the offer, but…” Amber said.
Mary was staring at her. It was an uncomfortable, almost telepathic, stare that said, “I’ve taken you in and showed you hospitality. What’s the least you could do in return?”
“You really want someone to keep you company all night, don’t you?” Amber said.
“I do.”
“Okay then,” Amber said.
“You have something that can get dirty?” Mary asked, gesturing at Amber’s jeans.
“These are fine.”
“It can get messy.”
“These are fine.”
# # #
Amber surprised herself with her own creativity. Her favorite task was painting the flat rocks. The idea was simple but it made Amber smile every time. On one side of a small flat rock, she painted a couple of flowers and the words, “Please turn me over!” On the other side, a smiley face and the words, “Thank you.”
“People buy these?” Amber asked.
“Like crazy,” Mary said. She held up a mug that she was working on. The word, “Maine” was printed in big block letters on one side. On the other, Mary was painting a quick landscape of a lake and some trees.
“We got a bunch of these coffee mugs printed that had an amazing reproduction of a landscape that my friend Bridget painted. It was really a work of art. Couldn’t sell them. But if I do a terrible kindergarten version of the same scene, people will buy them at twice the price because it’s undeniably handmade. Either that, or they just buy them because they think it was done by an actual kindergartener.”
Amber laughed. “Maybe people just like to think they’re supporting someone who is struggling.”
Mary shrugged. “Could be. I try not to think too much about it. I just watch the trends, see what’s selling, and make more of that. For a long time it was t-shirts. Then it was salt-and-pepper shakers. At the moment, it’s rocks and mugs. Food always does well too, but those move more in late summer. Some years I make more than Vernon. Some years I don’t.”
“You enjoy it? Seems creative and satisfying,” Amber said. She picked up another rock and wiped it with her rag to make sure it was clean.
Mary answered her question with a question. “Have you ever worked in food service?”
“I bussed tables and washed dishes.”
“I tried it for a while,” Mary said. “There are some restaurants around here where you can work five months out of the year and make a decent living. It’s even better if you can get in at the right place on the coast. I can’t stand that type of work. Everything is so temporary. There’s nothing at all to show for your work.”
Amber thought about that for a second and then Mary continued.
“You start the day with a big delivery of ingredients and then spend all that time preparing, cooking, and serving. What do you have to show at closing time? Sure, you have a big pile of cash and hopefully you left a few people with good memories, but I can’t put all that time into a job where there’s no lasting evidence in the world of the thing you created.”
“Huh,” Amber said.
They both turned at the sound of
