inventory. After a little resistance, Polly gratefully accepted our help. She didn’t know that we’d decided to turn the packing party into a surprise party.
Pris and I had done a little sleuthing, identified ten of Polly’s most loyal customers, and invited them to the party. When Polly looked up from the register a few minutes before she was due to lock the shop door for the last time and saw fifteen friends parading through the door, toting platters of food and presents, she burst into tears. They were a good kind of tears, the tears that come from soldiering on for a long time and suddenly realizing you’re not alone. But the tears she shed while opening the gifts were the best kind, the kind that underscore the uncontrollable laughter that bubbles out when people you like get you so thoroughly.
“Let me guess,” she said, as she swiped her eyes and pointed to the remaining pile of wrapped gifts, “all pot holders?”
Yep. All pot holders.
Quilted pot holders, knitted pot holders, crocheted pot holders, and even one with little lazy daisies and vines and a lopsided bumble bee, embroidered by Pris. As time was short and some of us were still crafting novices, pot holders were the only thing I could think of that could be finished before the party. Polly might not have been a financial genius, but as a craft teacher, she was a huge success. Hopefully, receiving handmade gifts from her students and friends would remind her of that.
“Well, I love them all,” Polly declared after opening the last one. “Now if only I knew how to cook.”
“I can teach you.” Vera, whose pink, green, and white quilted pot holder was an intricately folded pineapple block, and who had brought an insanely delicious hot artichoke-and-collard cheese dip, waved her hand. “Come on over anytime, Polly. I’ll teach you everything I know about southern cooking.”
“Sounds good,” Polly said. “But I think having a real job is going to cut into my playtime.”
“You found a job already?” Drucie, whose white pot holder knitted with a blue teacup and green saucer made my purple stockinette-stitched pot holder look sad by comparison, filled a cup with punch and brought it to Polly. “Doing what?”
“Property manager for an apartment complex in North Charleston,” Polly said. “I’ll collect rent, keep track of maintenance orders, and show property. The pay isn’t amazing but it comes with a free two-bedroom apartment. I’m going to sleep on a pullout sofa in the living room and use the bedrooms to store the inventory until I can figure out what to do with it. Hopefully, it’ll all fit,” Polly said, casting a doubtful glance around the overcrowded shop.
“Sounds like a good opportunity,” Drucie said. “Have you ever done anything like that before?”
Polly sipped her punch and shook her head. “Not even close. But they needed somebody right away, so when I said I could start Monday, they offered me the job. Speaking of which . . .” Polly put down her cup, slapped her hands on her thighs, and got to her feet. “I’ve got to turn in the keys to the shop on Sunday before starting work on Monday. Anybody feel like packing a box?”
“Way ahead of you.” Pris entered the room, carrying an armful of flattened cardboard containers out of the back room and then going around the circle, passing out boxes, packing tape, and slips of paper to each guest.
“Here’s the drill,” she said. “If everybody packs at least five boxes before they go home tonight, it’ll be a huge help. It’s a tight space so try to stay within the area I’ve listed on your assignment cards. For example, Caroline, you’re going to pack all the quilting pattern books from M to Z, listed by author, and all the crochet books.”
Caroline clapped her hands together. “Perfect!”
“No reading,” Pris cautioned, stabbing a finger in Caroline’s direction and then waving it from left to right to make it clear she was talking to everyone. “Just packing. Otherwise we’ll never get out of here.”
Caroline leaned over and whispered into Happy’s ear. “What was her major again? World Domination?”
“With a minor in Intimidation,” Happy muttered. “I fully expect her to be named dictator of a medium-sized country before she’s thirty.”
I snarfed out a laugh, unable to keep from snorting. Caroline dug an elbow into my ribs.
“Did you have a question?” Pris was staring at me, her arms crossed over her chest.
“No, ma’am.” I pressed my lips together to stifle