One Frosty Night. Janice Kay Johnson
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and went to the kitchen.
Mom even wore an apron as she tore lettuce into a bowl. At the sight of her daughter, she offered an uncertain smile. “I didn’t hear you come in. I hope you didn’t already have dinner.”
“I’m just late. It smells good.”
“Beef stroganoff.”
“I can tell.” She forced a smile. “What can I do?”
“Oh— If you’d like to set the table?”
Olivia did escape upstairs briefly to dump her messenger bag and change into slippers, but then she went back down. Were they actually going to have a real conversation?
Apparently. Olivia had no sooner spooned stroganoff onto her noodles than her mother said, “I’m sorry I took you by surprise today.”
Olivia didn’t know how to respond to that. It’s all right? It wasn’t. Why didn’t you tell me what you were thinking? Now, there was the question.
“Lloyd’s wife wants him to look at those houses, too,” she offered.
“They’re really very nice.” Mom sounded so hopeful.
What could she say except “I’m sure they are”?
Both finished dishing up.
“I didn’t stop to think how you’d feel,” her mother said in a burst. “I mean, that this is your home.”
“You forgot I grew up here?”
“Of course not!” Mom visibly settled herself. “It’s just that it hasn’t been home for you for a long time. Until these past few months, of course.”
“I’ve been home for nearly a year now, Mom.”
Little crinkles formed on her forehead. “But I never dreamed you’d stay. Or were even considering staying.”
“I was focused on keeping things going for you and Dad,” Olivia said honestly. “I...hadn’t gotten so far as to think about what would happen when he was gone.” Unlike Mom, who apparently had been revving her engine waiting.
“Would you consider staying?” her mother asked after a minute.
Would she? Olivia felt a tug both ways, and that surprised her. Newly graduated from college, she’d have laughed at the idea that Dad’s hardware store was the sum total of her ambitions.
“I’ve been...happy at work since I came home,” she said slowly. “Making changes. We’re selling a lot of Christmas gifts.” Thanksgiving weekend, never that big in the past, had been fantastic this year, despite the death of Charles Bowen only days before. “There’s more that could be done to make the business even more successful.”
“But there must be an upper limit.”
“That’s true,” she agreed. “We can’t draw a lot of new customers unless the population increases.” Which they both knew wasn’t happening. “But what we can do is meet the needs of locals so that they don’t feel the need to drive to Miller Falls or even Everett to shop. We can be more competitive for builders, for one thing.”
“How?”
“Initially, lower profit margin. Long-term, we’d be buying in greater bulk. No, we still can’t compete directly with a Home Depot, say, but if we can come close, convenience will trump cost savings for local builders and remodelers.”
Her mother nodded her understanding.
“What I’d really like to do is to continue to expand stock. Go way bigger into clothing.”
That’s where much of the boosted sales had come from; Dad had never carried anything but the most utilitarian of carpenter pants, work gloves and the like. Olivia had added rain gear, parkas, hats, gloves and socks. Flannel shirts for men, cute T-shirts for women and even some clothes for kids. Mostly outdoor and work related but attractive. The last clothing store in Crescent Creek had closed six or eight years ago, and its stock had appealed to the matrons, not younger shoppers or men.
“We’ve got the floor space in the loft to make clothing into a huge sideline. I see a possibility for gift items across the board. Garden art as well as shovels and wheelbarrows, for example. And then expand in every area. We have electrical—why not sell a line of lamps and expand the number of lighting fixtures we carry? Plumbing? More choice of sinks and fixtures plus add some extras, like bath mats and hampers. We can keep our core business but appeal more to women.” She hesitated, the rush of ideas slowing as she broached the opportunity she’d been toying with. “You know that Swenson’s next door is going out of business.”
“Yes, I was sorry to hear that. Mr. Swenson’s in poor health, you know.”
“I do. My first thought was that we could use the floor space for some of my ideas.” She eyed her mother a little nervously. It was supposed to be Dad she’d have to sell on the idea. “My second was that we could buy Swenson’s and integrate it into our business. Appliances are pretty closely related to hardware and home improvement. Maybe we could pare down the stock to the bestselling brands and do both—sell appliances and use some of the floor space for other stock.”
Mom was staring at her, either riveted or shocked. Olivia was a little startled to have heard the energy in her voice and to realize how enthusiastic she was.
So, okay, maybe she had been thinking ahead. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that her mother would very likely want to sell the business once Dad was gone. As in, the minute Dad was gone.
Mom blew out a breath. “Well. I knew you’d made some changes, but I hadn’t realized how many ideas you have. I’ve been...well, a little self-absorbed.”
“Dad hasn’t been gone very long.”
Um...not the most tactful thing to say, when they’d both been trying to be conciliatory.
Without moving a muscle, Marian withdrew. “No, of course not,” she said with obvious reserve. “I suppose my instinct is to tell you to go ahead with your plans within reason. Even if we decide to sell, success should bring a higher price.”
At least she’d said “we.”
“Why don’t you talk to Mr. Swenson so we can get an idea what it would cost to take over his business and lease?” her mother suggested. “After that, we can both think about what’s best.”
“That makes sense,” Olivia agreed. “I can...help you with the house in the meantime.”
Mom lowered her gaze. “Thank you. My goodness, our food is getting cold.”
Prompted, Olivia picked up her fork. It occurred to her that eating together wasn’t something they seemed to do very well anymore.
Several bites later, her mother said, “Did I see you with Ben Hovik today?”
She froze with the stroganoff halfway to her mouth. Mom could only have seen them in the rearview mirror while she was retreating.
“We talked for a minute.”
“Such a handsome man. It’s a shame you let him get away.”
Olivia set down the fork. “Let him get away? He ditched me, Mom.”
Her mother must have seen the gathering anger on her face, because she said hastily, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounds. It’s just that, well, I’ve had the impression he could be interested again.”
“Would you want to open a second act with a man who’d dumped you the first time around?”
Her mother’s mouth trembled, and after a moment she neatly folded her napkin and set it on the table to signify that she was done, although she hadn’t eaten half of what was on her plate. “No,” she murmured. “When you put it that way...no.”
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