“Nice to see you again. Good luck in the tournament today.”

“Oh, I don’t go to the matches anymore.” She leaned forward confidingly. “I can’t stand to watch Jason compete. He’s so small compared to the other boys.”

“You do know they wrestle by weight class,” I said.

“That’s what Coach says. But Jason is my baby. Thank God your husband’s there.”

“Yes. I mean, thank you. That’ll be fourteen dollars.”

“So, I’ll see you at the athletic banquet?” she said as I handed her her change. “After States?”

“I’m not sure. That’s in . . .”

“February,” she said.

Months away. I couldn’t look beyond Christmas, couldn’t see past every day’s list of Things To Do.

“I’ll have to talk to John,” I said.

At the next break in the line, Connie dashed from her bakery stall with fresh baguettes and cookies for the kids.

“You have to let me pay you,” I said.

“No, no. You sent a ton of business my way last week.”

“Cookie,” DJ said, crawling out from under the play table.

“Not now, sweetie. You have Cheerios,” I said.

“No!”

“Do you want apple slices?”

“No!”

“He wants a cookie, Mommy,” Daisy said.

“And these are for you,” Connie said. She handed me a short stack of her bakery’s business cards. “If you don’t mind putting them out with the samples, maybe?”

“Not at all. I can put them in the bags, too. They’re pretty.” I fingered the thick card stock, admiring the whimsical font. Made on her home printer, I was sure, but . . . My mind went to the buyer for All Seasons. Wouldn’t I need business cards if I went to meet him? “I was thinking we should get some made up for Mom. As a Christmas present, maybe.”

Amy had a degree in art. She could design something. Maybe an updated logo. Labels. Branding was important.

“Abby would love that,” Connie said. “How’s she doing?”

“She needs spinal surgery,” I heard myself say.

Connie’s smile dissolved in sympathy. “I’m so sorry. When?”

“The twenty-third.”

“Right before Christmas?”

I nodded.

“Mama. Cookie,” DJ insisted.

“You haz to eat your Cheerios,” Daisy said.

“No!” DJ said, giving his sister a push.

I intervened. “DJ, do you want some juice?”

“No! Cookie!” DJ shouted, flinging himself at the cargo net. “Cookie, cookie!”

I grabbed him before he flipped over onto the asphalt.

“I should go,” Connie said, backing away. “You have customers.”

I did. All of them looking at me like I was the worst mother in the world. I gave DJ a cookie.

“Me, too, Mommy,” Daisy said. “I want a cookie, too.”

So I gave them both cookies because, you know what? They deserved cookies. “Who wants to watch Frozen on Mommy’s iPad?” I asked.

“Frozen!”

Daisy beamed. “Peez, Mommy.”

For the next hour and forty-nine minutes, they were little angels. With one eye on the back of the Explorer, I offered samples and sold cheese, made change and conversation.