“Watching my waistline, dear. Thank you.” Her mother was wearing the same yellow chenille robe she’d had since Lauren was a little girl. The bend in the elbows had thinned, and the belt she wrapped around her waist was not much more than a few strands of material struggling to stay together.

Definitely time for a new robe. Lauren would order her one for Christmas. And she’d use the Internet. A flash of humor crossed her face.

“What are you smiling about?” her mother asked. “You didn’t seem too happy last night.”

Lauren sat in the chair across from her mother. “And you know why, too. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t back me up, at least tell Dad to listen to what I had to say. I felt a little blindsided, if you want to know the truth.” She took a sip of her tea.

“No, that was not my intention. I’m sorry. Your father was so hyped up over the weather, I just didn’t want to upset him more than necessary. He’s been so touchy lately.”

“Mother, you’re just putting off the inevitable by treating him like an invalid. First of all, he’s not mentally encumbered in any way, at least none that I know of. He can either accept what I’m going to do for John Giampalo or not. It’s his choice. And while we’re speaking of choices, I think it’s time I told you that the sales on Black Friday weekend weren’t that good. I placed a few ads in the papers last night, but I’m not sure if they’ll help at this point.” Lauren took another drink of tea. Now was the time to tell her mother the cold, hard facts. Before her father joined them. “Yesterday, I called my financial adviser. I asked him to deposit enough money in Razzle Dazzle’s account to keep us going for a couple of months. If Dad doesn’t make the leap into the twenty-first century, there isn’t going to be a lot of hope for the store’s future.”

“But I thought you said the sales were decent.”

“We sold all of Jenny Farrow’s pieces to one couple. Had it not been for that, we would’ve barely covered the commissions on a couple of your crafters’ sales.” She knew it was not what her mother wanted to hear, but she didn’t see much point in putting off telling her the truth any longer. She was bound to see the bank statements; most likely, they’d arrive in today’s mail.