| Old Habits- concluded I can�t! I jerked the bag back; the contents clinked loudly. No good pretending you�ll be absolved somehow by refusing to take the money, my thoughts sneered. At least this�ll buy you a bus ride to the Big Apple. You�ll be on your way. But if I really believed that, why did I wait a week before coming here? I should have just gotten it over with the moment I left. It was the longest week of my life, with the heavy jangling bag a constant reminder at my side. But her words haunted me. �No matter what happened before, people can always change.� �Look, I ain�t got all day,� the man growled, his dark brows pulling together over a putty nose. �I don�t like waitin� on no street trash. I might just change my mind and call the cops.� My head was spinning. �Nothing is ever final.� I turned and left the pawnshop, lugging the bag after me. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The house was definitely purple by daylight. I walked up the sidewalk, my heart pounding. What would she say when she saw me? Would she yell? Would she slam the door in my face without a word? I lifted the brass knocker and let it fall, pushing the bell. It seemed an eternity until Amilee came. When she saw me there, she paused in pulling the door open, eyes fixing on my face. I was probably an interesting sight- ash-pale save the red guilt rimming my eyes. �I-I�m sorry,� I fumbled. She nodded. �I hope so.� Saw the huge bundle in my arms. �What�s that?� I held it out, accompanied with the sound of wind chimes as the crystal shifted within. �Something that doesn�t belong to me.� My voice quivered, but I lifted my chin and prayed I wouldn�t cry. �I�m sorry.� She took it, knelt, and opened the top, drawing in her breath sharply when she saw the contents. Raising her face back up, she squinted through the sunlight at me. �I shouldn�t have taken them,� I rushed on. �I know you can�t forgive me, but I just wanted to bring them back and tell you I won�t bother you again.� �That�s not necessary,� Amilee said, hefting the bag so that she could set it on a hall table. �Come in.� My step never fell inside her door. I merely gaped at her, wondering for the dozenth time whether she was slightly crazy. �Why don�t you hate me?� I stammered, my eyes brimming. �Why didn�t you scream and slam the door after what I did?� �Everybody deserves a second chance, Lauren,� she said, guiding me through the door. Within moments I was whisked back into the cozy kitchen, much more cheerful by daylight, with the sun streaming in the windows. She sat me down in the same wooden chair, while I just stared at her. �Something tells me you haven�t gotten a lot of second chances in your life,� she said, sitting down across from me and planting both hands face down on the table. �I don�t care about the stupid statues. They�re pretty and all, but they�re a pain to dust.� �I didn�t want them,� I pleaded. �I really didn�t. I just wanted to get away-� �And you saw your one-way ticket,� she smiled. �Who cares? If you want to go to New York, I�ll give you the money. You can go on an airplane- much faster. You�ll like it better, and then-� �I won�t take your money,� I said stubbornly. �I might have broken a few- I�ll pay for them, somehow.� The table had deep scratches from years of use. I traced every mark with my eyes rather than meet her gaze. �Who cares?� she repeated, a definite shrug in her voice. �A couple marred ones add character. Why don�t you stay here to work off the cost?� I was so stunned, I sat there without replying. The only sound was the hum of the wall clock. �I need someone to help me out around here: help clean up, cook stuff, while I do my writing. Minimum wage- maybe six dollars an hour if you work hard. Could you do that?� She made it sound like she hired homeless punks as housekeepers every day. �You mean s-stay here?� �Sure. Same room, if you like. And then when you�re done, if you still want to leave, you can. Or you can stay a while longer and get enough set aside for that trip to New York. Keep an old woman company. I won�t charge rent, but if you burn a TV dinner the way I do-� I detected a smile in her voice- �you�re out, okay?� I laughed. Tears spilled over, unbidden. �Okay. Deal.� She grinned, but her eyes were glimmering. �Good.� Old habits die hard. But when they do, the burial is sweet. |