Sleeping with Anemone Read Online Free Page B

miserably as she set the candy bowl aside. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be an artist.”
    I was so tempted to agree, but no way could I crush what was left of her spirit. “Are you kidding? Come on, Mom. You love creating art.”
    “That’s true, but look what happened with my first batch of candy hearts. Really, whatever possessed me to use red pepper flakes? Do you know your dad thought my mistake was so funny that he put the candy hearts in a glass jar and set it on the coffee table as a display piece? And now”—she waved her arm in the air—“this fiasco. I just wanted to make the red brighter for your display. I guess I used too much beet juice.”
    “Okay, so you’re not great with candy,” I said. “Why not go back to your roots?”
    She glanced at me as though I’d grown a horn. “Farming?”
    “Your artistic roots, Mom. Your pottery wheel. You always enjoyed throwing clay. Am I right, Tara?”
    “Totally. I love to watch you work on your wheel, Grandma.”
    Mom thought about it for a minute, then sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Clay is a safe medium. I felt I’d exhausted the possibilities, but perhaps all I need is some inspiration to get me back in the groove.”
    Suddenly, Tara’s eyes widened in alarm. “Uh-oh. Incoming at two o’clock.”
    I looked over to see two new guards approaching the table. “You!” one of them said to my mom. “Twenty minutes to pack up and get out.”
    “It’s my booth,” I said, rising, “and I didn’t do anything illegal. Why do I have to leave?”
    The guard laid a piece of paper on the table and tapped a thick fingertip on the lower edge. “That’s your signature at the bottom, right?”
    I glanced down and saw the rental agreement I’d signed when I paid my fee. “So?”
    “So you disrupted the show and caused physical harm to the personnel. In other words, you broke the rules.”
    My mom’s face turned white with shock. “Physical harm? But it was only beet juice.”
    “You didn’t cause any harm, Mom,” I assured her, “except maybe to a couple of egos.”
    The guard snatched up the paper. “We’ll be back in thirty minutes to make sure you’re gone.”
    “Fine,” I shouted as they marched away. “Then I want my fee refunded.”
    “Fat chance,” one of them called back.
    As I stood there glaring at their double-wide backs, trying to decide if it was worth standing my ground, I noticed people watching us with grins and whispers, pointing to their teeth, no doubt spreading word of the jelly bean debacle. Would anyone take my petition seriously now? With a sigh, I pulled a cardboard box from beneath the table and began to stack my brochures inside.
    “This is all my fault,” Mom said in despair.
    “No, it’s not,” I replied. “The petition was my idea. And I guess I did push the envelope a little by bringing it here.”
    “At least let us help you pack up,” Mom said. “Tara, put your phone away, please, until we’re finished.”
    “In a minute,” Tara muttered.
    “Would you write my name on your petition, Abigail?” Mom asked. “And let me know if you’re going to hold another rally? I want to be there.”
    I paused to gaze at her in astonishment. “Really?”
    “I did grow up on a farm, you know. Milking cows was one of my daily chores, and I certainly recall how the poor beasts would bellow in pain if I was late getting to them. I can’t imagine the kind of suffering they’d have every single moment of their lives with their udders swollen so full they look like gigantic watermelons. What Uniworld is doing is unconscionable, and I’m proud of you for taking a stand.”
    “Thank you.” It wasn’t often she encouraged me to be a dissenter. Make that ever.
    Tara showed me her cell phone. “Look! Mom says it’s okay.”
    “What’s okay?” my mother asked.
    “I’m taking Tara to a concert for her birthday,” I said.
    “Correction,” Tara said. “You and Sal are taking me— if you hurry up and