p is for piper

There had been a time when she believed in fairy tales, Piper thought as she watched her daughter coloring a picture from her Snow White coloring book.

Hannah’s birthday was on Sunday. Piper guessed they’d spend most of that day at her aunt and uncle’s house. As far as Hannah knew, they were her grandparents. Piper didn’t dare shatter that illusion. Her daughter was still too young, too precious to know the truth.

Yet there was her baby girl, hunched over a picture of Snow White taking a poisonous apple from her wicked stepmother, busily filling in white space with reds and violets and black. It was one of the only pages left in the book. Hannah had chosen pages portraying happiness, beauty and perfection first.

Piper Valentin had once believed in fairy tales. But that time had long since passed. Still, she didn’t dare impose her own lack of faith in them upon her daughter. She’d let Hannah decide whether to believe or banish them on her own.

The bells on the door chimed as it swung open.

Hannah’s head popped up, a broad grin on her face, her dark eyes wide with excitement. “Angels, Mommy! An angel got wings!”

Piper smiled, thought of the film “It’s a Wonderful Life”, one she’d watched with her parents many, many times. One she planned on watching with her daughter soon enough. No, she didn’t believe in fairy tales. And though she didn’t care much for tradition, there were some she maintained. Was helpless to do so, really. She couldn’t quite figure out why.

But then, she didn’t have time to ponder this. Her daughter was staring at her a bit oddly. And the two elderly women who had just strolled in were noisily seating themselves at a table. She smiled again. “She sure did, Baby.”

Piper finished rolling the silverware into a rich, deep violet linen napkin and slipped on a colorful wooden ring to keep the roll intact, then set it aside, grabbed two menus and came from behind the counter to greet her customers.

She wasn’t a tall woman. Didn’t try and make up for it by wearing three inch heels or clothing designed to give the illusion of height. She wore flat, black leather boots that zipped up to mid-calf, a wide, floor-length skirt in a brightly colored floral print on a black background, and a snugly-fitting, vee-necked, long-sleeved black top. She pulled her waist-length, thick black hair away from her face with a bold, red, gauzy scarf. With each movement of her arms, bangles and charms jangled at her wrists. Her right ring finger bore a large, square-cut ruby surrounded by tiny citrine stones on a band of platinum. On her thumb, she wore a simple band, also of platinum. Rings she inherited from her parents some time ago. She rarely took them off.

Piper wasn’t really a sentimental woman. But she couldn’t bring herself to keep them enclosed in a case.

The fingers of her left hand were bare. Large silver hoops dangled from her earlobes. Huge dark eyes had been lined with coal, their lashes coated with black mascara. She had painted charcoal gray on her eyelids, smudged a bit of rose on her cheeks, and lined her lips with burgundy, then painted them a lighter shade.

She was a striking woman. She knew this.

But a striking appearance didn’t matter all that much to her.

Piper limited her cares to two things: her family and her business.

Her immediate family sat at a table not too far way. Her business had customers.

As she crossed the hardwood floor to the table at which the two women had finally settled—two tables, really, as they sat at one and their numerous shopping bags at another—she smiled, bid them both welcome.

“Hello, Dear,” they said in unison. Both appeared to be in their mid-sixties. Pale blond curls had been meticulously styled, cosmetics carefully applied to diminish flaws and wrinkles. Hands adorned with numerous rings fluttered to take hold of the menus Piper set before them. Wrinkled hands, freckled and aged by years of too much sun. Fingernails had been perfectly manicured and painted muted shades of mauve. The women wore simple diamond studs in their ears, clothed themselves in light colored, floral cotton blouses and ivory linen slacks.

Piper guessed they were sisters. Considering their expensive handbags, from which they’d both retrieved reading glasses, and the number of purchases they carried with them, they were rich.

Fine with her. She could use some rich clientele. If they liked what had for lunch, they’d tell their rich friends about her deli.

“Charming place,” one said as she surveyed the menu.

“Thank you. What will you two have to drink today?”

“Tea, please. Sweetened, with lemon.” Again, both replied in unison.

“Alright. I’ll have that right out for you.” Piper turned when Hannah called out that she had finished her picture.

One of the women paused in her appraisal of the menu to study Hannah, who was happily waving the picture about. “What an adorable little girl! Is she yours?”

Piper nodded.

“How old is she?” the other asked.

“Four.”

“She looks just like you, except for the curls. Must have gotten those from her father.”

“Must have.” She hadn’t a clue.

“It’s awfully nice of the owner to let you bring her to work with you. What a lucky girl!”

Piper smiled. “Yes, she is. Let me go get those drinks, and then I’ll take your orders.”

The bells chimed again, and a young teenage boy hurried past.

“Joey,” Piper called. “You’re late as it is. Running to the computer to clock in isn’t going to make it any better.”

He immediately slowed his pace, brushed shaggy blonde hair from his forehead. “Sorry, Ms. Valentin,” he said, smiling sheepishly as he clocked in, then tied an apron over his clothing.

“Two iced teas, sweetened, with lemon.” She nodded to the women sitting near the window.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Piper moved to take the picture from Hannah, who’d been waving it back and forth, waiting. “Thanks, Sweetie.” She walked behind the counter to tack it on the bulletin board near the register, with the others Hannah had given her that day. “It’s beautiful.” Just like those fairy tales.

(c) twenty-eleven. jennifer k. griffin, otherwise known as c.c. this publication is the exclusive property of c.c. and is protected under the united states copyright act of nineteen seventy-six and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. the contents of this post, and any other c.c.-crafted picky post for that matter, may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without c.c.'s consent. all rights reserved. in other words, steal this, and i will follow you to the depths of hell and the edge of forever and kick your puny, thieving ass. thanks. :]

read about the gang: august, cate, isa, reese and seth.

this was a matlock project. learn about that here.