“For one semester,” she says, her voice soft and steady. Reverend Michelle is skilled at working with unreasonable people. “Which is long enough to know that this,” she indicates the papers Mrs. Yeung is holding, “isn’t legally binding.” She says to Clemence and Mrs. Yeung, “She’s trying to scare you.”
Clemence says, “Ithink it worked?”
“I’ve been running this sale for fifteen years,” Mrs. Yeung tells Mary-Ann. “We’ve never had a problem. There is room for our sale and your market. There’s always been.”
“Not when you’re poaching my vendors,” says Mary-Ann. “If you push, I’ll push back.”
“The pushing was all her,” says Mrs. Yeung, throwing Clemence to the wolves.
“But it wasn’t poaching,” Clemence defends herself. “This is a one-off thing. It’s for charity. Iwanted to freshen things up. We admire what you do. You’re a local icon.” Now she was grovelling. “Inever thought you’d see it as a threat.”
“You’re undermining my business,” Mary-Ann replies. “You come along with your cheap table rates, and my vendors start wondering if they really want to work with me.”
“But we have two sales a year,” says Clemence. “Surely that’s not enough to sustain their businesses. Isn’t there room enough in this neighbourhood for the both of us?”
“And what if your vendors don’t want to work with you because you’re mean to them?” suggests Mrs. Yeung. “That’s got nothing to do with the jumble sale.”
“People are intimidated by confident women,” Mary-Ann enunciates. She raps her manicured nails on the tabletop. “Because we refuse to let other people walk over us. I’d kindly ask you to read over the lawsuit.” There is nothing kindly about her tone at all. “Imay not be a law school grad, but Iknow what’s legally binding.”
“How about this,” proposes Reverend Michelle. “We give out flyers for your market at the jumble sale. We’ll put an ad—for free—in the church bulletins. We could consider offering you use of our community spaces for a much-reduced fee. Do you think that might be a start in putting all this right?”
“Perhaps a start,” says Mary-Ann.
“If you could leave our Facebook and our posters alone.”
Mary-Ann has a poker face. “Ihad nothing to do with that.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” offers Reverend Michelle. “But maybe could you call off your minions? Do you think you’d have control over that? Ifeel like we could find a solution for peaceful coexistence. You know we know that our jumble sale is worlds away from your enterprise. We never considered that you’d think we were stepping on your toes. You’re operating on a whole other plane, Mary-Ann. Don’t think we don’t know it.”
Mary-Ann appears subdued. Clemence is blown away by how Reverend Michelle has handled her. Mrs. Yeung, looking over Clemence’s shoulder, says, “Hey, isn’t that guy your boyfriend? That Italian?”
The table shifts their attention to where Toby is standing by the door huffing on his inhaler.
“He’s—Imean, he’s not Italian,” says Clemence. “He isn’t even my boyfriend. Not really.”
But Mrs. Yeung and Reverend Michelle are waving, and now he’s approaching, as if drawn by an irresistible force. From the expression on his face, Clemence can tell that he’s in agony. Why is Toby here?
“Ithought maybe Iwanted a latte,” he explains.
“And?” asks Mary-Ann. She gestures around the table as if to ask the others,What’s with this guy?“Imean, listen, dude, don’t keep us all in suspense here.”
Toby blinks. “Idon’t know you,” he says, and Mary-Ann shrugs. He says, “Ithought maybe Iwanted a latte, but Ichanged my mind. Hi, Clemence.” His face is flushed. This is why he avoids most company, because there’s too much explaining involved. Clemence is confused about what’s going on, until he leans down toward her ear andwhispers, or at least he probablythinkshe’s whispering, because Toby has a hard time gauging these things, and everybody can hear: “I’ve come to check on you. Are you okay?”
“We’re having the meeting about the jumble sale,” Clemence tells him, trying to sound offhand, like they hadn’t just been talking about it an hour ago in a closet.
“Iknow,” he says, refusing to follow her lead to tone down the weirdness so as not to further inflame Mary-Ann Arbuckle. “That’s why I’m here. Crampton made me come.” Although even Crampton, Clemence knows, isn’t powerful enough to inspire Toby to do anything he doesn’t want to doreally.
“And because you wanted a latte,” says Clemence, one last attempt at making this seem normal. “Maybe.”
Toby says, “Nah.”
“Reverend Michelle, this is Tony,” Mrs. Yeung interjects. “Clemence, you really should be introducing your friend. And this is Mary-Ann. We were just finishing up. Tony, it’s nice to see you again.”
Toby ignores her. “Crampton was afraid you might be in trouble. So she sent me. To save you.”
“How?” asks Mary-Ann. “By having an asthma attack?”
“Toby,” Clemence corrects Mrs. Yeung. “His name is Toby.” To Reverend Michelle, “Are we done here?” If they weren’t, she had a feeling that she might be in trouble for real.
