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Remembering the glass figurine in my hand, I open it slightly to look at the delicate piece. Lusanne notices it as she puts the bracelet back and picks up a necklace.
“A frog,” she says, catching my eye. She knows about her brother’s childhood obsession as well as I do.
“Yeah, I just found it this morning. Mom must have just gotten them in.”
“For Enzo?”
I nod as she looks back at the jewelry. “Yeah. I thought he might like it.”
“He will. I swear he’d keep a live one in that fancy apartment of his if they let him.”
She says it like she knows I’ve been there, which she almost certainly does. Should I say anything about Enzo and me?
What actually comes out of my mouth is less than inspired.
“He can’t have pets?”
She replaces the necklace.
“No, not even a frog.” She nods toward my hand. “Though maybe that one.”
The bell rings over the door. Another customer. Now or never.
“I’m sure he’s mentioned us?”
She picks up the original silver bracelet.
“He has. And we’re so thrilled, Chari,” she says, seemingly genuine. “Mom still can’t believe he came home two weekends in a row.” She walks back to the register with me. “I’m sure you know how rare that is.”
Unfortunately, I’m learning exactly why that’s the case.
“Yeah, he works a lot.”
Lusanne laughs. “That’s an understatement.”
The new customer isn’t someone I know. They explore the shop in the same way most of our newcomers do, meandering slowly through the shelves of eclectic souvenirs.
“We’re hoping”—I slide behind the counter and Lusanne hands me the bracelet—“maybe you’ll knock some sense into him.”
I begin to gift wrap it, realizing belatedly I never asked if she wanted it wrapped. I hold up the box.
“Oh sure, go ahead. Thanks.”
“How do you mean?” I ask.
“He . . .” She stops, so I glance up. Something about the look on her face freaks me out a bit. Part of me wants to tell her to forget the whole thing—that we don’t need to talk about this at all. I look down again and finish wrapping the box, adding a big purple tulle bow.
“How do I say this? We’re all so proud of him. Beyond proud, actually. But . . .”
“But?” I gently prod as I hand her the box and ring her up. Now I really do want to know what she’s thinking.
“I can’t pretend to know what it’s like. His business. That lifestyle. Ah, screw it.”
That sounds just like him. It makes me smile despite the warning in her tone.
“It consumes him. Sometimes, like when he came in to see you before Devon’s birthday, we see glimpses of the old Enzo.”
She takes out a credit card and swipes it in the machine.
