Summer Melody

Chapter 3 - Meg

Meg puttered around the exhibit area of Yesteryears, adjusting tops and hanging up new merchandise. She loved this time of morning, an hour before they opened, when she could work with the radio on and the lights off, natural light streaming in the storefront's wall of windows. The shop had just obtained a collection of antique aprons made out of cotton feed sacks in excellent condition, the prints still vibrant and bright. Meg wandered around the display, assisting the mannequins in tying the aprons around their waists. The store was beginning to resemble a scene from The Stepford Wives.

A small bell tinkled someone's arrival. Carla walked in the front door, grinning as she viewed Meg's handiwork.

"Already dreaming of being a housewife?" Her Jamaican accent was faint but still carried a musical lilt.

"Oh, about as much as you're dreaming about dying your hair blond."

Carla waggled a dreadlock at her, smiling. As she fingered the weave of the aprons, she said, "Mmm, these are really nice. Very retro. I wonder if we'll sell a single one to anyone who actually cooks." She walked over to the wall and started flicking on overhead lights. "Speaking of domestic hell, how are you and your prospective in-laws getting along?"

Meg began updating inventory on the computer. "I love Brady's dad. He's a total pussycat. And Mona's actually not so bad, in a frigid, WASP-y sort of way. We met for lunch last week – her club, of course – so that I could see the place before she booked it for the reception. She managed to book the church for the date we wanted, which is a freaking miracle, considering it's only a couple months away."

"Is she still pissed about that?"

"What, that the wedding's so soon? Probably. But she'd never say anything to me about it. I can mostly tell because Brady's bending over backward now trying to accommodate his parents and their Santa's list of invitees."

Meg loaded a new receipt roll into the cash register. "So what about your weekend? How was the concert?"

As Carla started to answer, the phone rang. Meg answered. "Yesteryear's Vintage Clothes."

"Meg, is that you?"

The voice on the other end was familiar, but Meg couldn't place the edgy tone. "Speaking. How can I help you?"

"Meg, this is Mona."

This was a surprise. "Well, hi, Mona. You don't sound like yourself. What's up?"

"I'm at the hospital, St. Elizabeth's." Mona's voice sounded tight, brittle as a twig. "Brady's been hurt."

"Are you sure?" Meg realized how stupid that must sound. Before Mona could answer, she said, "Sorry, I didn't mean that. But I just left him a couple hours ago and he was fine. What happened? How bad is he?"

"He was apparently mugged while he was walking Barkley."

Meg's hand ached, and she realized she had a white-knuckled grip on the phone. She consciously took a deep breath and tried to relax her body.

"His ankle is broken. He's got cuts and bruises everywhere. The doctors have said he has some broken ribs as well, and he has to go to surgery now so that they can set his ankle. He's never had surgery before."

With these last words, Mona's voice twisted and caught like fabric on a nail. The receiver went silent for a moment and then she resumed, her voice recomposed. "I apologize for not calling you sooner. It took me some time to find your work number. Do you want to meet us here? Or, if you're busy, I can call you later with an update."

"Of course I'm coming over! I'm leaving right now." Meg's mind was racing. A thought tripped over part of what Mona had said. "Oh, Jesus, Barkley. Is Barkley okay?"