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Getting a Booth
Last Updated:
2025-04-01 06:23:39
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I spent the afternoon gathering supplies, then worked through the night preparing pieces for the fair. I created six more complete jewelry sets, each built around those distinctive spiral beads. By dawn, I had enough inventory to fill a small display, if not a full booth.I arrived at the square precisely at eight, carrying a folding table I'd found in the cabin's shed and a wooden tray that displayed my pieces against dark velvet. A few other vendors were already setting up, arranging pottery or paintings or handwoven textiles. Eleanor pointed me to a corner spot beneath a massive oak tree, the dappled shade perfect for displaying jewelry without harsh glare."You have your own table. Good." Her tone was clipped, but not unfriendly. "Need anything else?""I'm all set, thanks."She nodded and moved on, but I noticed her watching me from time to time as I arranged my pieces. Something about her attention felt oddly specific, though I couldn't place why.I wondered if she recognized me.
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I left without waiting for her response, clutching my earnings—just over six hundred dollars—and my remaining jewelry. Instead of heading directly to my truck, I ducked into the general store and waited near the window, watching the street. The SUV had disappeared, but my nerves remained on high alert.After fifteen minutes with no sign of the vehicle, I hurried to my truck and drove back to the cabin, taking two wrong turns just to make sure I wasn't followed.Back at the cabin, I tried to research "Vega technique" and "Lupe Vega" online, but the internet connection was spotty at best, and my searches yielded little useful information. A few obscure references to innovative glass bead techniques from the 1980s. A mention in an archived design magazine about "promising newcomer Lupe Vega." Nothing that definitively connected this designer to my Mami
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FionaThe white walls of the rehab center wouldn't stop spinning. Thirty days sober and I still couldn't get my balance. The therapist said it would pass, but what the fuck did she know? She hadn't lost everything in one night.I studied my reflection in the bathroom mirror. They'd taken my makeup during the "contraband check," claiming the compact mirror was a "cutting risk." As if I'd slice my wrists with a cheap plastic mirror. If I wanted to die, I'd do it with style. Nothing half-assed for Fiona Kingston.Kingston. I traced the outline of my face, searching for traces of them in my features. Was my nose Robert's? My eyes Caroline's? I'd spent years finding family resemblance where there was none."You're making excellent progress, Fiona." Dr. Levine's voice echoed in my head, that patronizing tone she used when lying to make patients feel better. "These breakthrough revelations about your adoption are painful but necessary for healing."Breakthrough. Like I hadn't known since I w
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I hurled the notebook across the room, my carefully maintained composure cracking. The soccer mom—Tracy? Stacy?—jumped in her bed, eyes wide with alarm."Sorry," I muttered. "Bad memory."She nodded with the instant forgiveness of the perpetually frightened and turned back to her recovery romance novel.I closed my eyes, but the memories kept coming. The day my parents brought Maya "home." The press conference, the tearful reunion carefully staged for maximum emotional impact. Me, standing to the side, watching Caroline Kingston touch Maya's face with a reverence she'd never shown me."Look at you," she'd whispered. "You have your grandmother's eyes. We thought we'd never see them again."I'd given interviews, playing the ecstatic sister. I'd shared my room, my clothes, my parents. I'd shown her the family business, introduced her to industry contacts I'd cultivated for years. All while watching Caroline and Robert orbit around her like she was the sun and I was just some distant, dis
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A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. One of the staff, not bothering to wait for an answer before entering."Phone call for you, Fiona. Your mother."I followed her to the communal phone, accepting the receiver with a practiced neutral expression."Hello, Mother.""Fiona." Caroline's voice was tight, controlled. "How are you progressing?""Excellently. I'm journaling my feelings and embracing sobriety one day at a time."The sarcasm was thick enough to spread on toast, but Caroline ignored it, as she ignored anything unpleasant that couldn't be fixed with money or public relations."Good. We've arranged for you to stay at The Residence when you're released next week. It's a transitional living facility for people in recovery. Very discreet.""I thought I'd be coming home." I knew the answer even as I said it."That wouldn't be best for your recovery." The practiced line of someone who'd consulted experts for the right way to abandon their child. "Besides, your father and I are
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A week passed in self-imposed isolation. I'd barely left the cabin since returning from town, the memory of that black SUV creeping through Spring Creek still nagging at me. Could have been anyone—some rich tourist looking for a quaint mountain café, some lost city driver checking addresses. But instinct told me otherwise. Daniel had resources, connections. Just because he hadn't found me yet didn't mean he wasn't looking.I'd turned the place into a glass workshop that would've given safety inspectors a heart attack. Beads piled on every flat surface, tools scattered wherever I'd last dropped them. My latest obsession was taking photos of everything I made—setting pieces against the east window where the light hit best, snapping them from every angle. If someone tried to steal my work again, I'd have dates, images, proof it was mine first. Paranoid? Maybe. But paranoid people sometimes have real enemies.I'd been saving the best shots as Instagram drafts, ready to post when I finally
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"It wasn't revenge," I countered instinctively. "She was protecting me.""Was she?" Eleanor asked, voice neutral. "Or was she protecting her legacy through you? The line between protection and possession can be remarkably thin."That struck uncomfortably close to what I'd been wrestling with since finding the journal. Had Mami Lulu loved me for myself, or as a vessel for her stolen techniques? Had she been genuinely maternal, or calculating in a different way than the Kingstons?"Why are you here?" I asked, changing the subject. "What do you want?""I watched you work at the fair." Eleanor set her cup down. "It was like seeing a ghost. Not just the technical execution, which was flawless, but the intention behind it. Lupe's techniques perfectly preserved, down to the way you angle the mandrel during the final turn."I didn't respond. There was nothing to confirm or deny."When I heard someone had bought Lupe's old cabin, I wondered if it might be you. Few people would have reason to w
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The next morning, I woke up with this weird feeling. Not dread exactly. Not courage either. Something else. My throat was dry as hell, and I had to pee so bad my eyes were watering, but I just lay there, staring at the ceiling.Fuck running. Fuck hiding. That's all I kept thinking. I'd spent my whole damn life doing both—with Mami Lulu in these mountains, in my joke of a marriage to Daniel, from everything I'd learned about my past. Just... done. Completely fucking done.I made coffee, burnt the shit out of my tongue on the first sip—always too impatient—and carried it to the porch. The sun was just breaking over the trees, turning the morning mist this weird golden color that reminded me of the glass pieces Mami Lulu used to make when she'd had an extra glass of wine with dinner. "Happy accidents," she'd called them.The SUV from last night had turned out to be nothing more sinister than the local vet making a house call to a neighbor I didn't even know I had. False alarm. But the adr
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I watched as Robert questioned Maya's professional judgment, his voice carrying that familiar patronizing tone. And then—"You'd really destroy your own daughter's work?" Thorne interjected, addressing her parents directly. "To protect a lie?"Caroline Kingston's face hardened. "Mr. Thorne, with all due respect, you weren't invited to this dinner.""No, but I was invited by Maya. And since we're speaking of reputations, perhaps we should discuss how it would look if the industry discovered that the Kingstons deliberately left their daughter in the mountains for over a decade for business purposes."The blood rushed to my face. Who the fuck did he think he was? Playing white knight when he knew nothing about her, nothing about what she needed, nothing about what we'd built together.Then Maya's voice cut through clearly: "Alex is family. The family I've chosen."Something hot and tight constricted in my chest. I stared at the screen, at her hand covering his on the table. An intimate g
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I grabbed my phone before my eyes were fully open, fingers finding it automatically in the dark. The screen lit up, momentarily blinding me.No missed calls. No texts. Nothing.Something heavy settled in my chest as I refreshed the screen. Still empty. I checked the time—7:32 AM. Not that early. Not anymore.I slipped the phone under my pillow, then immediately pulled it out again to check the ringer was on. Full volume. Full brightness. No way to miss a call or text if—when—it came.He'd said he would call today. Today had twenty-four hours in it. This was only the first of them.I dragged myself to the bathroom, wincing at my reflection. Mascara smudged in raccoon circles. Hair matted on one side, wild on
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Troy's mouth fell open. "You did not." He stared at me for a beat. “You didn't, right?” He searched my face for answers, before disappointment clouded his face."You had to go that low?" Troy pressed his palms against his eyes. "Jesus.""I didn't—" I started to defend myself."Shut up." Troy cut me off, his words slightly slurred. "What happened after?"I paced the kitchen, my thoughts still tangled. "He left. Said he needed space.""Can't blame him." Troy slumped deeper into the couch. "So that's why you texted? Because he left?""Because—" I stopped, struggling to articulate what had driven me to reach for my phone. "I don't know why I texted. I was drunk
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I was on my third scotch when I texted Troy.SOS. All gone to shit.Immediately regretted it. Deleted the follow-up explanation I'd started typing. Tossed the phone onto the couch and poured another drink. The alcohol wasn't helping, just making everything soft around the edges while the sharp center remained—the look on Alex's face when I'd weaponized the one thing I knew mattered to him.Eventually I stumbled to bed, still in my dress, makeup smeared from wiping at eyes I refused to admit were wet.I must have fallen asleep, because the sound of my phone jolted me awake. The room was dark, my mouth cotton-dry. The screen said 2:46 AM."Hello?" I rasped."Are you d
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"So we make our own calls.""What are you doing?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.Alex glanced over, confusion creasing his brow. "What?""They're targeting me," I said, the words coming out harsher than intended. "My foundation. My reputation. Not yours.""Maya, I didn't mean—""Just because we've fucked doesn't mean you get to insert yourself into my professional life," I continued, the harshness surprising even me. Where was this coming from? Why did that simple pronoun feel so threatening?Alex fell silent, eyes back on the road. I immediately regretted the outburst but couldn't find the words to walk it back. Instead, I changed the subject ent
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MayaThe door to the Kingston mansion clicked shut behind us. I kept walking, heels stabbing the concrete with each step, not slowing until I reached Alex's car. My breath came in sharp pulls, chest tight, hands trembling. Not from fear. Rage.The car pulled away from the mansion. I stared straight ahead, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. Neither of us spoke as we left the house that had never been my home.Four blocks. Five. Six. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal. My muscles ached from the effort of not screaming."Did you—" I started, then stopped. Started again. "Did you see his face when—"I couldn't even finish the se
