A Timely Vision

“Yeah, they finally found me.” I watched one woman, badly sunburned, pick up one of my favorite pieces, a sugar bowl that looked like the Cape Hatteras lighthouse. She’d already picked it up once and put it down only to circle around and come back to it again.

“Lucky you! My place is completely empty. You’d think someone would want to have something done! It is the Fourth and everyone’s off of work. And I have that bikini wax special going on.”

The very idea made me wince. “Maybe it’ll get better later.”

“Maybe.” She didn’t sound too convinced. “But I think I might as well close up for the day and go to the beach like everyone else. A nice pitcher of margaritas sounds pretty good.”

“Yeah. That sounds good.” I was distracted, watching the woman with the sugar bowl start toward the cash register with the treasure. I wasn’t sure whether I was happy or not. It had been in Missing Pieces for a long time. I’d found it at a flea market one weekend when I was visiting Charleston. It had called to me just like the pink rhinestone heart pin.

“Are you worried about her shoplifting that thing?” Trudy asked, no doubt noticing my preoccupation with the shopper.

“No. Of course not.” I glanced away from the sugar bowl to Trudy’s unhappy face. “I was interested to see if she’d buy it.”

“You really love all this old junk. You’re one of the missing pieces. You hate to lose any of them, don’t you?”

“Don’t be silly.” The shopper caught my eye again as she picked up another treasure, a rosewood music box that had once belonged to Theodosia Burr, the daughter of the notorious Aaron Burr. This woman had an eye for the good stuff. “How would I make any money if I never sold anything?”

“Not being mayor of Duck, that’s for sure. What do they pay you? Your grandfather said it was like a thousand dollars a year.”

“Plus expenses,” I added. “Anyway, nobody is mayor of Duck because they want to get rich.”

“But in the meantime, you want to make sure all your precious junk goes to the right people, huh?”

“Something like that.” The shopper had snagged the music box too and was coming toward me down the center aisle with both items.

“I don’t know what you’re worried about, Dae. You know how this junk seems to find you. There’ll be plenty more where this came from.” Trudy sighed and glanced at her nails. “I’m gonna go close up. I’ll talk to you later when you can think about something besides your babies here in the shop. Bye.”

I was glad she left. It sounds crazy, but I like to make sure the really important merchandise goes to a good home. I have a knack for finding things, but that doesn’t mean I ignore them once I find them. My important treasures might not be treated right if that happened. I looked at it as part of the responsibility that went along with my gift. My mother taught me that when I was growing up.

My mother also used to say if there was a penny anywhere on the ground five miles around me, I’d find it. She was right. Not everything I found had great value. Sometimes a piece of junk was just a piece of junk.

“This is the most interesting piece.” The shopper carefully placed the lighthouse sugar bowl on the counter. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And this music box! You know, I swear I’ve seen it before. Where did you get it?”

I looked at her. Assessing her, I guess. Hoping she’d be the one to take good care of these important items. The treasures I sold mattered to me, and they all needed good homes. For most of them, there came a time when they had to leave me. That’s how we all survived.

I told her the story of how I came to have the sugar bowl and the music box. She listened in rapt attention until I’d finished. “I’m glad you like them. I think you’ll give them a good home.”

“Of course I will.” She smiled, her even white teeth too bright to be natural. “How much do I owe you?”

I quoted her an astounding price, probably an indecent price, but one I knew she’d pay. I could see it in her eyes. When she handed me her Visa card, she met my third qualification for ownership. I didn’t charge high prices for everything, but the really special stuff was too important to let go cheap.

“I hope you enjoy them as much as I have.” I carefully wrapped her pieces in white tissue paper. “I’ve had them for a while. I’m glad someone finally noticed them.”

Of course she gave me that you’re-a-crazy-person look, but that was okay. She’d passed my tests. I didn’t mind what she thought of me.

The other people in the shop bought trinkets, nothing of great value. Some of the things I collect for Missing Pieces are donations from people who want to get rid of stuff, like after the church rummage sale. I never develop feelings for those things, not like for the ones I find.