Of course, it wasn’t any protection from Mrs. Nickelbee’s stage whisper. “I think it’s lovely what Della did, giving poor little Gloria Parker a job.”

The stool next to the work table protested when she dropped down on it in a huff. Impatience niggled at her. How was anyone ever going to see her as anything else but “poor little Gloria Parker”?

She heard the chimes of the front door and breathed a sigh of relief knowing that Mrs. Nickelbee had fluttered away to wreak havoc on someone else’s life.

Claire poked her head into the room. “You okay?”

She was tall and lean with work-roughened hands and a soft smile. Her salt-and-pepper hair was worn in a dramatic pixie cut that suited her to a T. She was also incredibly kind without being condescending.

“Thanks for stepping in,” Gloria said, studying her fingernails and wondering if she should take up chewing them to help cope with the feelings that bubbled up within her and threatened to overwhelm.

Claire pulled up a stool next to her and stretched her long, denim-clad legs. “I didn’t want you knocking Mrs. Nickelbee’s wig off her head.”

Gloria’s eyebrows lifted. Claire’s assumption that she’d turn to violence instead of bursting into tears cheered her considerably. “You weren’t worried that I’d curl into the fetal position behind the register?”

“It took backbone to leave. It took backbone and more than a bit of recklessness to want to confront him.” Claire picked up a thick-stemmed peony. “You’re not some dainty blossom waiting to be crushed, honey. And eventually people will see that. Be patient with them…and yourself.”

“I hate being a victim.” The confession took Gloria by surprise. Apparently opening up to a therapist meant she’d be releasing the kraken to non-licensed listeners, too.

“Then don’t be,” Claire said lightly, jabbing her with the stem. “Be beautiful. Be fun. Be busy. Be excited. Be you. Everyone else will eventually catch up. You just have to give them something else to see.”

“You’re a pretty smart advice-giver, Claire.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Would you please tell my children that? They insist on learning everything the hard way.”

* * *

Gloria decided to take Claire’s advice and get busy. She tackled the back room, determined to restore order to the supplies and tools. With every shelf righted, every cubby organized, she felt calmer. The stainless-steel work tables were next, doused with spray and polished until they gleamed. The half-dozen pairs of shears were collected and hung neatly on the pegboard that appeared to have been abandoned some months before.