Sisters In Love Part 6

"Maybe."

They strolled past a tobacco shop, a candy shop, and another coffee shop.

"There it is." Danica pointed to a door with a decorative, wooden sign hanging above that read, "Jewels of the Past." Danica had heard about the shop and sought it out for just this reason.

"What is it?"

"Vintage stuff." The cool air and her youthful clothing invigorated Danica. She grabbed Mich.e.l.le's hand and pulled her up three brick steps and into the store. Incense filled the air. Wind chimes and festive decorations hung from the ceiling. Shelves lined the walls, filled with vintage clothing, books, and knickknacks. A bejeweled woman came out from behind the cash register. Bracelets gleamed halfway up her forearm.

"How are you ladies today? Welcome to a little piece of heaven." Her deep, brown eyes danced with a spark of energy. Her hair was cut above her shoulders, and like Danica's, was a ma.s.s of dark, natural curls gone haywire.

Danica was reeled in by her warm, wide smile. "I love your shop!" Danica exclaimed. From the eclectic feel to the earthy aroma, the shop reminded Danica of her college dorm. In college, her room had been filled with posters and knickknacks. She'd had interesting, mismatched furniture and even a little tree branch that she'd used to hang her necklaces on. She wondered what her condo smelled like to strangers. She'd have to pay more attention to that. She thought of her perfectly organized house, with the banana holder, place mats, and matching furniture right down to the bathroom trash can. She had the odd feeling that she'd become stodgy and she'd let her condo become stodgy, too. Boy, had she changed.

Mich.e.l.le touched each box in a set of what looked like three shiny, smooth logs with intricate lines and hidden tops. She picked one up and flipped it open, then gasped. "Danica, you have to see this."

Was that excitement in her voice?

"My son makes those," the woman said proudly. "He lives in Canada on a small communal farm with my two grandbabies." She put a hand on Mich.e.l.le's shoulder and watched her run her delicate finger along the edge of the smooth bark.

"Those are lovely." Danica looked inside. Atop a red velvet interior was a miniscule sculpture of a tree; tiny jewels hung from slivers of limbs made from copper wire.

"I can't believe your son makes these." Mich.e.l.le set the smallest box down and picked up the next one in line. "They're so cool."

"He's pretty talented. But, then again, I am his mother." The woman leaned against a cabinet. Her plump behind stretched her blue, cotton pants. "You have the most beautiful eyes. How old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?"

"Almost fifteen." Mich.e.l.le shook her head, skillfully maneuvering her bangs into her eyes.

"I love your style, too. Have you ever thought about adding a splash of something to your dark aura?"

Aura?

The woman snagged a multicolored scarf from the branch of a display tree and placed it gently around Mich.e.l.le's shoulders, carefully lifting her hair and draping the scarf down her chest. "You are gorgeous!"

Danica's jaw dropped open. Was it that easy? She could have just reached out and done what a mother might have? Or a cool aunt? Envy squeezed its fingers around her heart as she watched the woman chat easily with Mich.e.l.le. Danica worried about every word that left her lips. Was it the right one? Did she sound too much like a therapist? Would she tip off a bad memory?

The woman was a blur of activity, moving from the scarf to the counter, where she chose a long necklace that had a flattened piece of tin on the end imprinted with overlapping moons, stars, and flowers around the edges, creating a frame around the word "imperfect." There was a fingernail-sized green charm that hung over the top. Danica held her breath, worried that Mich.e.l.le would take offense to the statement.

Mich.e.l.le lifted her finger and touched the necklace. She glanced at Danica from under her bangs.

Danica sighed and refrained from telling Mich.e.l.le how the green in the scarf made her eyes pop, or how the addition of the simple necklace made her ninja outfit suddenly appear feminine and unique. She knew Mich.e.l.le wanted her reaction, but she was afraid to say too much and scare her off. Instead Danica crossed her arms, her right hand drifting over her heart. Mich.e.l.le looked like someone every teen girl would be envious of-tough and soft in the same breath. "It's just beautiful," she said.

The woman took Mich.e.l.le's hand and guided her to a mirror; then she pulled Mich.e.l.le's hair from around her face and set the thick of it down behind her shoulders.

Mich.e.l.le stepped closer to the mirror, stroking the scarf, touching the necklace. Then she leaned in even closer, inches from the mirror, as if she didn't recognize her own face. She lifted her eyes and caught Danica's attention. She bit her lower lip and wrinkled her brow.

"Oh, Mich.e.l.le. Look at you." Danica stood behind her, watching Mich.e.l.le in the mirror. She was delighted with Mich.e.l.le's new look, but she knew better than to fawn over her-anything she said might cause Mich.e.l.le to say, Whatever, roll her eyes, and walk away.

Mich.e.l.le turned to the woman and hugged her. Hugged her!

The woman laughed. "Oh, sweetie, you're welcome."

"Do you like it?" Mich.e.l.le asked Danica.

"Do I? Mich.e.l.le, you look like a million bucks. Cool and confident, but not like those snotty girls who spend hours getting ready." Good, that was good, right?

Mich.e.l.le's lips spread into a smile, then faded. She unwrapped the scarf and handed it back to the woman. "Thank you. That's really pretty, but I don't have enough money to buy it."

"Well, that's okay, hon. You know it's here." The woman glanced at Danica as Mich.e.l.le turned her back.

Danica nodded, indicating that she'd buy them.

The woman smiled.

Mich.e.l.le removed the necklace and held it in her palm. "This is so...me."

The woman placed her hand beneath Mich.e.l.le's and wrapped her fingers around the necklace. "It's yours."

Mich.e.l.le's eyes grew wide. "What? No. I can't take this. Thank you, but..." She shot a look at Danica.

Danica was so happy for Mich.e.l.le that a lump formed in her throat.

"Listen to me. It's rare that someone like you comes in. I mean, lots of high schoolers come in, filled with p.i.s.s and vinegar," the woman waved her hands around, "talking too loud and not taking the time to really see what they're looking at. Something tells me that you see the beauty in owning what makes us each special."

Danica took out her wallet and paid for the scarf.

"Danica, no. I can't let you do that," Mich.e.l.le pleaded.

Danica put her arm around Mich.e.l.le and pulled her into her side. "I'm your Big Sister, right? I want to do this."

"Are you sure?" she asked, her eyes shining with delight.

"One hundred percent."

Throughout lunch, Mich.e.l.le touched the scarf and ran the necklace through her fingers, almost as if she were afraid they might disappear. Danica noticed Mich.e.l.le sitting up straighter, walking taller, and the smile that had been so rare last week had remained consistent all afternoon as they meandered through more of the shops.

In the car on the way back to her grandmother's house, Mich.e.l.le clenched the ends of the scarf.

"Do you think I look stupid?" Mich.e.l.le asked.

"Stupid? No, just the opposite." Danica shot her a smile.

"I felt great when we were in the Village, but now I'm worried everyone at school will, I don't know... think I look stupid, like I'm trying to be something I'm not." Mich.e.l.le looked down at her lap.

Danica pulled up in front of Nola's house and turned in her seat to face Mich.e.l.le. "I know what you mean."

"You do?" Mich.e.l.le's eyes pleaded for understanding.

"Yeah. When I got dressed this morning, I felt young, maybe even a little bit cool. But now, as we head back toward town, I feel a little...I don't know...wrong, maybe? I'm so used to dressing more professionally that it feels funny to be so comfortable."

"I do love your sneakers and jacket," Mich.e.l.le admitted.

Yes! "Really?"

"Uh-huh. You look great, not so...stuffy."

They both laughed.

"Yeah, not so stuffy. That's exactly how I feel. In fact, I like it so much that I'm going to try to dress a little more like this every day. I like how I feel when I wear this. My whole outlook is different."

"You totally should."

"Mich.e.l.le." Danica reached for her hand, then thought better of it and pulled back. "My sister said something to me that really rang true, and I think it will for you, too. We don't have to be who our parents or people around us expect us to be."

"You have a sister?"

"Yeah." Danica smiled, thinking how odd it was for someone not to know Kaylie. "A beautiful, fun, outgoing, treacherously risky, younger sister."

Mich.e.l.le laughed.

"Anyway, what my sister meant was that we don't have to live up to the expectations of others."

"What do you mean? You always tell me to be the best person I can be. So does Grandma."

"Yes, you should be the best person you can be. That's not really what I was referring to. Let me give you an example. All my life, I've been seen as the smart one, the responsible sister. And everyone saw my sister as the creative one, like that's all they expected of her. She was allowed to be less...I don't know. Academic, I guess. But with me, they expected the bookworm, the college graduate." Danica thought of her inability to separate who she was at work from who she was at home. "The conformist. So, that's who I am, and I'm trying to figure out if that's who I am because of what was expected, or if it's what I really wanted."

"And?"

Danica sighed. "I don't know. I just realized this recently, and I'm only in the thinking stage. But don't you see? This relates to you, too."

"Yeah, I'm totally not the bookworm, so I don't think so," Mich.e.l.le joked.

"That's not what I mean. With you, everyone expects you to be the-for lack of a better word-the damaged girl, and I don't mean that you are damaged. What I mean is-"

"I know just what you mean." Mich.e.l.le turned her body to face Danica. "I'm that girl! I live it. Everyone looks at me like there's something pitiful about me because of my mom or because I live with my grandma. It's like, my normal is their pity. Is that what you mean?"

Danica could not believe she was having this discussion in such a calm, meaningful fashion. She expected a snippy retort, a teenage rolling of the eyes. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. And you don't have to be that person if you don't want to."

Mich.e.l.le looked down, fingering the fringe on the scarf. "I kinda do. I mean, I am damaged."

Danica touched Mich.e.l.le's hand. "No, you're not. Your mother is damaged, not you. Your grandmother is a sweet woman doing the best she can to raise a teenager. It's not you who is damaged, Mich.e.l.le. It's what you were born into. I won't say you're perfect, because that would be a lie."

"You hate lies."

"Yup." Danica smiled, pleased that Mich.e.l.le understood this about her. She'd been lied to only once by Mich.e.l.le. When they first began the Big Sister program, Mich.e.l.le hadn't called Danica to cancel an outing, and when Danica had shown up to pick her up, Mich.e.l.le had lied and said she'd left a message. Danica had made no bones about her requirement of honesty, and Mich.e.l.le had never lied to her again. "I do hate lies. The truth is, we're all imperfect. Those girls in your cla.s.s who think you are a pariah are just scared. What if their moms had trouble? What would they do? How would they cope? See, you scare them because your situation makes them think."

Mich.e.l.le squinted, nodded. "I guess I can see that."

"I don't want to lecture you. Just know that you aren't damaged. You don't have to fit into that square that everyone wants to put you in. You can wear your colors proudly, wear your necklace, and own your imperfections. Because, Mich.e.l.le, that is more attractive than the fear those other kids are wearing." Now, if only I could take my own advice.

Chapter Fourteen.

Monday morning rolled in with a flurry of snow and bl.u.s.tery wind. Blake rolled out of bed and walked groggily to the bathroom. He leaned over the sink wearing nothing but a pair of black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. His lean, muscular body moved stiffly. He stretched his arms above his head, gearing himself up for returning to AcroSki; Dave's absence had settled into his bones and muscles like a dull ache.

He splashed cold water on his face, then patted it dry with a towel, mentally ticking off his agenda for the day: Coffee and egg whites, open the store, more coffee. He wondered if he'd see Danica at the coffee shop. A hint of a thrill ran though his chest. He lifted his lips into a smile. He'd made it through the night without the company of a woman and without falling apart. That had to be a good sign. He'd take things day by day. He wondered if, while he was working out of his womanizing ways, he'd be like a heroin addict, begging to get laid.

He had an appointment with Danica later that morning. Dr. Snow, off limits, he reminded himself. After seeing her, he would call Sally and talk about Rusty. He felt guilty for not telling her about his ditching sooner, but every time he picked up the phone, he remembered Dave's recollection of the basketball practices. Something wasn't right, and he didn't want to open a can of worms he couldn't handle. He hoped Danica would have solid advice on how to handle that situation.

He turned on the shower and pulled off his boxers, flexing his thighs reflexively. Feeling the tension build, then release. He repeated it again, enjoying the rush of adrenaline as his muscles came to life.

He continued his daily to-do list: Hire someone to do some of the work that Dave handled, and think about finding a hobby. A hobby. What was there besides women and skiing? He'd wondered, right after the accident, if he'd ever ski again; then he'd quickly realized that skiing was not something he'd ever want to give up, and he was sure Dave wouldn't have wanted him to, either. He'd certainly take more care and fewer risks. He couldn't ski every day. He had quickly adapted to that change in lifestyle when he'd gone from being a ski instructor to owning a ski shop. He'd given up a lot of freedom, but it had been the right thing to do. Financial freedom was not overrated.

He stepped into the shower and stood beneath the flow of water, letting it roll down his face and back. He closed his eyes, feeling the strain in his muscles ease. Blake turned around and set his palms on the ceramic shower wall. The water beat the tension from between his shoulder blades.

One day at a time. He could do this.

AcroSki came to life at ten o'clock. After Alyssa, the part-time employee, showed up, Blake set a sign on the counter in the hopes of avoiding multiple inquiries about Dave. It read: Dave Tuft, co-owner of AcroSki, pa.s.sed away this past weekend. He will be deeply missed. Please send condolences to..." followed by the address of the church Sally attended. Blake longed to hear Dave's taunts and stories about his family-filled weekend, although now Blake wondered how much of them were true.

Blake had looked over the files on Dave's desk and realized just how much Dave had taken care of. They'd been so in sync with each other that dividing and conquering had become natural. Now he'd have to sort out the dealings of the inventory, accounting, and staff schedules. Anxiety p.r.i.c.kled his spine. He needed a few minutes to regroup before he dove into Dave's desk.

"I'm gonna grab a coffee. Would you like one?" he asked Alyssa.

Tall and lean, with a skier's muscular build, Alyssa turned her ponytailed head in his direction. "Nah, I'm cool. Go ahead. I've got this."

Blake headed out the door. He'd been disappointed when he didn't see Danica at the coffee shop before work. He braced himself against the cold and headed there again.

The aroma of coffee reminded him of the morning he'd accidentally struck Danica. He laughed to himself. It is a small world. Three women looked up from their table, their eyes devouring him like he was a giant chocolate bar. He took his place in the back of the line.

The line moved quickly, and when it was his turn, the familiar barista said, "Hiya, Blake. The usual?"

"Yeah, sure." He thought about it, then said, "No, wait. How about a vanilla latte instead, and a bagel with cream cheese."

"Wow, bring it on," she joked.

Change is good. Blake hadn't eaten a bagel in what felt like years. He stuck to a strict diet of coffee, protein, veggies, alcohol, and-of course-women. He took the bag and cup from the barista, paid, and headed back out into the snow. He walked with his head down, shoulders hunched against the wind, rethinking the bagel.

The door to AcroSki pulled from his hands with the weight of the wind. He tugged it shut behind him and wiped the snow from his shoulders.

"It's a cold one, huh?" Alyssa said.

"I brought you something." He took off his parka and made his way to the office. He set the coffee down and handed Alyssa the bagel. He was already tackling changing his personal habits; changing his eating habits would have to wait.