Two days after the yard sale, I returned with Michael to the Cabbages and Kings gift shop on Walnut Street. Anne had a Christmas display set up in the window, fake white snow painted onto the glass, framing a Santa and Mrs. Claus designed out of stuffed, velvet pillows.

“Nice display, Anne,” I said, walking in and seeing her kneeling before a wooden trunk filled with ornaments. She was arranging them inside according to color and shape. Some were painted glass, while others were made of embroidered felt.

“Hi there!” She rose and pinched Michael’s cheek gently. “Christmas in July.”

“Not sure if you remember me, Anne, but I was here …”

“Sure, I do. Hanan, right?” She pronounced my name perfectly, which threw me off for a second.

“Right. You pronounced that very well.”

“I have a friend from Lebanon. I told him I’d met a young Palestinian woman, and I tried to pronounce your name. He basically helped me not to butcher it.”

“Well, it’s nice to hear it pronounced correctly.”

“How’ve you been?” She walked back behind the counter and started arranging some flyers and small knickknacks along its surface.

“OK. I wanted to tell you that I’ve been attending some craft shows lately, selling my baskets.”

“How many have you sold so far?”

“Well, I’ve only done three shows, but I’ve sold twenty baskets.” That was a lie, and I felt horrible for telling it. I’d only done two shows and sold eleven baskets, but I had made over three hundred dollars, and I had an idea for how to make more.

I tried to sound casual and nonchalant. “I was wondering if perhaps you’d be interested in selling some of my baskets here in the store. I thought people would like them—like I said, I’ve done well at these craft shows—and we could split the profits.”

She paused and thought to herself. “How much do you sell them for?”

“Between twenty-five and thirty-five dollars. Sometimes fifty for the big ones.”

“I don’t pay unless they sell. And I would take 20 percent of the profits, whatever does sell.”

“And you would just let me know when to come up and replenish the stock.”

“What about orders? Could customers take orders?”

“Sure—I’d fill the orders in a week or less.”

“I like the idea,” she said pensively. “But I’d have to see some of these baskets first.”

“Well …” I pulled out a plastic bag from underneath Michael’s stroller.

“You’ve come prepared.”

“Of course.” I grinned, and she smiled back, winking at me.

I’d brought two baskets, one small and one large. The small one, the size of a dinner plate but deeper, was red and dark brown, with a braided pattern. The large one was as round as a pasta bowl, deep, and brown and beige in its pattern, with some gold thread weaved through to create a glinting reflection.

“These are stunning,” Anne said simply. “You have a deal.”