Page 82 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

“Oh, my God!” Delilah said when she flipped through the pages. Her grandmother must have sold Avon products to every single person in Bell Cove, and she was scalping them with these prices. The total must be over a whopping thousand dollars, or two.

Some of the notations read:

“Ike bgt case Wild Country body wash, tried to sneak a feel. The old fart! Twin brother Mike, much nicer, still old fart. And they’re psychiatrists! Or maybe just psychos. Ha, ha.”

“Melanie Lewis . . . Natural blonde, my patootie!”

“Gave Harry depilatory. No more unibrow. Dandruff problem.”

“Try rosary society at Our Lady by the Sea. Pitch spiritual charms & angel fragrance figurines.”

“Wrinkle creams for all ladies at Patterson house.”

These were only a few of the entries. There were dozens. But then she noticed one in particular.

“Sell remaining Elvis figurines to Delilah for diner and motel. Family discount?”

Hah! Discount for a family member! With a question mark! How about free, you old bat?

Just then, she heard the clatter of metal on metal, a loud muffler, then an engine continuing to run when it was turned off, until it petered out. Immediately followed by car doors slamming and a young voice screaming, “Mommy! Mommy! You’re home!”

She went outside and caught her daughter on a running leap into her arms. She kissed her all over her hair, which was done in a French braid (her grandmother’s work, to her credit) and smelled of Avon’s Wacky Watermelon kids’ shampoo, her cheeks, which were sticky from whatever she’d had for breakfast, and her neck, which still carried the scent of pure baby skin, even if she was five years old.

“I have missed you so much, little girl. Bunches, and bunches, and bunches.”

Wriggling down to stand at her feet, Maggie said, “I’m not little anymore. I growed an inch las’ week. Gramma said so.”

“Now that you mention it . . .”

“Did you bring me a dog?”

“No, I did not bring you a dog.”

“Maybe tomorrow?”

Delilah crossed her eyes at the conniving little imp.

Then Maggie raced toward the back door, yelling back at them, “I gotta pee.”

Delilah directed her attention to her grandmother then. Her hair was braided same as Maggie’s, but that was where the similarity ended. She wore tight red spandex yoga pants that would require a crowbar to get on and off, white athletic shoes with pink pom-pom anklet socks, and a red tank top with a sequined logo, “Yes, They’re Real!”

She gave her grandmother a kiss on her heavily made-up face, barely avoiding the honey-scented e-stick hanging loosely from her lips, then surveyed her unusual attire—unusual for her. “Where were you?”

“Teaching a prebreakfast exercise class over at the Patterson house.”

“What? You don’t get up till ten unless you have to, and you once said that exercise is for losers born with the wrong genes.” And you were smoking those stinking e-cigarettes the whole time, no doubt!

“Can’t a gal turn a new leaf?”

“New leaf, huh? Does that mean you plan to stay?”

Her grandmother’s face turned pink. “For a while. It’s not as bad as I expected.”

“That’s a backhanded compliment if I ever heard one.” She gave her grandmother another once-over and sighed. There were so many things wrong with a grandmother in spandex, but Delilah had much bigger concerns where the old lady was concerned. “Don’t you think that, at your age, it’s time to cut back?”

“Age is relative. And, by the way, don’t take this the wrong way, sweetie, but you need an Avon Anew Brightening Clay Mask for those frowny wrinkles.” With those words, she swanned off toward the patio, with a swing of her too-perfect hips.

Delilah refused to let her grandmother get the last word, and she stomped after her. “I saw your notebook. Are you paying sales tax on all those products you’ve been selling around Bell Cove?”