The Makeover (19 page)

EPILOGUE

“Shelby, look at this!”

Camellia held out an arm, adorned with green and yellow bangles.

Shelby cut through the thick crowd of shoppers to inspect the find. “Pretty,” she said, brightly, examining the smooth, colorful resin. “Are they good pieces?”

Looking around them first to ensure no one was listening in, Camellia nodded, keeping her voice low. “They’re Bakelite.
Very collectable.”

Noticing a similar bangle in red mixed in with a pile of beaded necklaces, Shelby plucked it up and slid it onto her arm. “This
one, too?”

Camellia ran her fingers repeatedly over the bangle Shelby was wearing and sniffed the scent. “Yes.”

“You can tell by smelling it?” Shelby’s look suggested she was questioning Camellia’s sanity.

“Yes, it’s one of a few ways to tell. Come on, we’re taking them all. Don’t let on that we think they’re anything more than cheap costume jewelry. Most vendors at flea markets have no idea what they’re selling and we want the lowest possible price.”

Bending down to gather the bags at her feet, Camellia felt a dull pain in her low back and groaned lightly.

“Are you crazy?” Shelby asked, clicking her tongue. “Get out of the way and let me get them.” Her long hair whipped across her face as she scooped up the hodgepodge of accessories they had purchased from a handful of vendors at the other end of the mammoth tent.

“Please, I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”

“Three months from now,
you can lift your car, if you want. But until that baby comes out, consider me your personal bellhop.”

As Shelby pulled a bag onto the crook of her arm, the tiny diamond on her left hand glistened in the light. Camellia was relieved when Shelby explained it was a promise ring and not an engagement ring. While Justin would surely make a fine husband one day, Camellia didn’t want Shelby to rush into marriage. It was easy to understand wanting to hold tight to something good after experiencing a substantial loss. That’s precisely why she and Henry insisted that Shelby come live with them at the lake. They didn’t want her to endure the loneliness she was feeling in her childhood home, or have financial worries for both the diner and maintaining a house on her own. They were the types of emotional fragilities that could make a person do something she wasn’t ready for or didn’t fully want. Especially at Shelby’s age.

Once Shelby had taken the time to grieve Sharene’s death and determine what she truly wanted to do with her life, Camellia knew she would step back and let the young girl fly. But until then, she and Henry would be there to support and guide her.

Shelby’s text alert beeped, and with her free hand, she maneuvered the phone from the front pocket of her jeans and scanned the message. “Good news,” she said, turning sideways to escape a flock of teenage girls shrieking over a stack of one-dollar DVDs. “The realtor got me a renter for the summer. They’ll be in the week after school lets out.”

Camellia let out a whoop. “Shelby, that’s fantastic! Now give me a moment to do my thing, and we can head home to celebrate.”

After a fervent round of negotiating with the vendor, Camellia emerged from the stall victorious, waving her bag of bangles in the air.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, shuffling toward the parking lot, which looked busier than Times Square. “I want to get all the new stuff priced, photographed, and uploaded to the website by the end of the week. It’s supposed to be summer-like this weekend, and I want my parents’ first trip to Markleeville to be primarily spent on the patio, with virgin piña coladas and juicy grilled steaks – my
latest cravings.”

Shelby huffed, loading the packages into the back of the Escalade. “Save some for me. I scheduled myself at the diner all day Saturday so Irene can go to her son’s wedding in Detroit.”

“You’re a good boss,” Camellia said, hiking her extra weight into the driver’s seat. “I’m glad you decided to keep the diner. I can’t imagine anyone else owning it.”

“Neither could I.” Shelby flipped open the visor mirror and checked her lip gloss. “When is your story due for
Vanity Fair
?”

“Not for another week. It’s only three hundred words; I could write that in my sleep. Especially when the topic is vintage.”

“It’s a start.” Shelby took over the radio, landing on a guitar-heavy anthem she immediately turned up, and Camellia swiftly turned back down.
God, I’m getting old
, Camellia thought, laughing to herself.

Camellia looked over at Shelby, who was singing along to the song, her head and long legs bouncing up and down to the driving beat. Feeling a kick of her own, her hand went instinctively to her swelling belly, her bracelet from Henry jingling with a new baby carriage charm.

Pressing her foot harder on the gas pedal, Camellia navigated her way along the winding road – brilliantly lined with the yellow-green hues of late spring – leading back to Markleeville. The next chapter of her life was waiting.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Karen Buscemi has been writing professionally for 16 years, with articles published in Women’s Health, Self, The Huffington Post, Figure, Successful Living, The Detroit News, plus a number of metro Detroit magazines. She is the editor of StyleLine magazine, a style magazine based in Michigan.

Karen is also the author of Split In Two: Keeping It Together When Your Parents Live Apart (Orange Avenue Publishing/Zest Books, March 2009), a self-help book for teens shuffling between houses; and I Do, Part 2: How to Survive Divorce, Co-Parent Your Kids, and Blend Your Families Without Losing Your Mind (Norlights Press, February 2011).

acknowledgments

Gobs of gratitude to:
Jim Benton, Susan Shapiro, Nicole Bokat, Camille Noe Pagán, Matt and Allison Malmstrom, Theresa and Mark French, Kelly Johnson, Emilia Delena, and Raffaella Naurato.

And, of course, my crazy-amazing family:
Frank Buscemi, Noah Correll, Jesse Buscemi, and Margaret Shulzitski