weight. In fact Dez and I went running this morning before work.”
Pansy shrugged. “You look better than you have in years. You look happy and I can’t tell you how much that lifts my heart.”
Moving the salt-and-pepper set back to the bottom shelf, Eleanor turned. Her friend’s eyes twinkled in true Pansy fashion. “I wish you’d share that tidbit with my daughter.”
“Is she still being a little shit?”
“She’s being Blakely.”
Pansy walked back toward the register, where her afternoon coffee sat. She waved at Mrs. Finebaum, who came every Friday to look. The woman never bought. “I love that child, but she’s a spoiled bitch sometimes.”
Eleanor winced, even though she knew Pansy’s words were tinted in truth. If she stepped back from her emotions, she could see she did Blakely no favors in protecting her so well from the ugliness of life. In trying to heal Blakely from the damage done by her father’s death and the scandal that followed, Eleanor had enabled her daughter, had created a bit of a monster who thought whatever Blakely wanted, Blakely got.
Life didn’t work that way, which her privileged daughter would eventually learn. Blakely wanted Eleanor to be what she’d always been—the self-sacrificing mother with no life of her own. Blakely was the world Eleanor should revolve around...even if she wasn’t talking to her mother. Obviously, the girl hadn’t forgiven her mother for winning Dez’s attention. Didn’t matter Dez wouldn’t be interested in dating a college freshman even if Eleanor hadn’t been in the picture. To Blakely, it was a ripe, fresh wound in her pride.
Earlier that week, Blakely had canceled the spring break vacation she’d planned with her mother, giving a fabricated excuse of friends not being able to go. Instead Blakely would go with Margaret to New York City. Eleanor hadn’t been able to get her rental deposit back, so now she was stuck with a three-bedroom condo in Seaside for three days.
“Don’t call her that, Pans,” Eleanor said without much conviction, her happy mood dampened by the imminent trouble brewing on the horizon.
“Why? If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck...”
After looking around to make sure no customers could hear their conversation, Eleanor straightened her business cards sitting beside the checkout. “She’ll get over it and regret her actions.”
“Yeah,” Pansy said, stilling Eleanor’s hand with her own thin one. “She’ll get over it when you stop taking her crap. You need to tell her how you feel and help her see her behavior is petty and selfish.”
“I did. She obviously doesn’t care. I’m losing her, Pans.”
“Bullshit,” Pansy said, clutching Eleanor’s hand and forcing her gaze to her own. “Blakely’s aligning herself with Margaret because she knows it drives splinters beneath your nails. And Queen Margaret loves it because that’s what she’s always wanted—to separate Blakely from you. It’s a total power move and Blakely’s playing right into her hands, but that girl is still the same girl you raised. She’s worth fighting for.”
“I’m not giving up. Just not pushing. I can’t force Blakely to accept I’m dating Dez. She’ll have to come to terms with that on her own, and if she loves me, then she will,” Eleanor said.
“Okay. Maybe pushing would be bad, but don’t take her crap and don’t stop doing what you’re doing with that prime piece of real estate.”
“I’m not. Dez and I are enjoying a friendship.”
Pansy snickered.
“Okay, a bit more than friends, but it’s nothing serious. Just two adults doing adult things.”
Pansy smiled. “That’s my Eleanor. Don’t give an inch. You deserve some happiness.”
Eleanor withdrew her hand and slapped both of them together. “Exactly. Now, I have to hit some garage sales tomorrow. You wanna come with me?”
Pansy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like getting up at five-thirty in the morning. It’s indecent.”
“Come on. We haven’t gone in a long time and we always have fun. Plus, you’re better at digging out the good stuff than I am.” Eleanor knew praise was Pansy’s biggest motivator, and she wielded it to her advantage. One of the best places to find smaller items for her store was at local garage sales and estate sales. In a city as old as New Orleans, filled with the descendants of immigrants from all over the world, there was much to be found on the lawns of old neighborhoods. She and Pansy often went on treasure hunts, armed with coffee, beignets from Port of Call and the Times-Picayune.
“Maybe,” Pansy conceded, which meant yes.
“Great, I’ll pick you up at five-thirty