My Lost and Found Life by Melodie Bowsher Page A

maker.”
    “Well!” she huffed, jerking it back indignantly. Her baby woke up and started to cry.
    Ignoring her, Davidson pulled a business card out of his pocket and pressed it into my hand. I studied it. In elegant, embossed letters it said, Curtis Davidson III, Partner, Warren Simmons & Co .
    “Give me a call, Ashley. We really need to talk. I’ve written my private cell phone number on the back.”
    He walked away down the drive as I stared after him.
    • • •
    Sunday was less busy than Saturday, but several people returned to buy what they had passed up the day before. By the time we called it quits on Sunday, I had managed to earn a total of $3,500. Of course, it was a pittance compared to the original cost ofwhat we sold. Still, knowing I had more than $3,000 in my purse was the only thing that eased the pain of seeing our beautiful furniture being hauled away to other people’s homes. Late Sunday I watched as an ecstatic couple with a young daughter heaved my white wicker bedroom furniture into the bed of their pickup. Again, I had to fight back tears. It used to take a lot to make me cry, but circumstances had changed me into a river oftears. As I watched our belongings disappear, my whole body felt tired and my arms and legs were so heavy that I could barely lift them. In my stomach was an uncomfortable feeling close to panic. What was I going to do now?
    • • •
    After the garage sale was over, Nicole and I collapsed atop some pillows on the living room floor. As I began telling her about the mystery man from my mother’s office, the unlocked front door opened and Tattie walked in.
    “Hey!” I said, too tired to get up. “You missed my really big sale.” Though we had talked on the phone, I had seen Tattie only once since she had been released.
    “I don’t exactly have the money to buy stuff anyway,” Tattie said. “I hope you got rich.” She plopped down next to us and pulled out a joint. “Anyone got a match?”
    I pointed toward the matches on the mantel.
    “Uh, should you be doing that?” Nicole asked. “Aren’t you out on bail or something?”
    “Yeah, so what?” Tattie said challengingly. “Are there cops hiding in the bushes?”
    I thought it better not to mention that there might be. Instead I asked, “How are you getting around these days without your car?”
    “I have to beg for rides,” she admitted, making a face. “Anyway, I don’t have a license now, so getting my car back wouldn’t help me right now. She dropped me off.”
    Tattie always referred to her mother as She, short for She-Devil. Not for the first time, I considered the irony of our three mothers. I wanted desperately to see mine, Nicole wanted to get away from hers, and Tattie hoped her mother would fall down a mine shaft.
    “No driver’s license! What are you going to do?” Nicole asked. Being without transportation was like slow death in the suburbs.
    “It’s just one of my many problems at the moment,” she said coolly.
    “What about the rest—the pills and all that?” I asked.
    “I still have to appear before the judge, but I’ll probably get probation—first-time offender and so on. I only had enough for personal consumption, not sale. My lawyer says I need to fix my appearance, you know, take out the nose ring and stuff, and appear contrite when I’m in court. You’ll have to teach me how to fake being sweet, Nicole.”
    Nicole squirmed uncomfortably.
    “Hey,” I said, in a warning fashion. “She doesn’t have to fake it. She is.”
    “Sorry,” Tattie retorted, not sounding very sorry at all.
    “That’s okay, I understand,” Nic murmured.
    Changing the subject, I asked, “Got any bright ideas for me, Tattie? I have to find a job, pronto.”
    “A job! From the look of things around here, you should be worrying more about where you’re going to live. I’d offer to let you bunk in with me, but She isn’t too happy with me right now.”
    “No problem, I’ll figure