Page 19 of Possessed By Shadows

Chapter 5

The best-laid plans and all that. Life had a way of derailing when things were going well. I easily slipped back into the groove of normal life even after my week-long vacation in the psych ward, and I bounced around after Micah like he was my sun. My orbit centered on him, and didn’t falter until something upset our rhythm. It probably meant I was codependent, but since it kept me sane and out of the hospital, I’d take it.

The next day, everything went to shit. After two in the afternoon, and it was clear that Lukas wasn’t going to show up to look after the shop as he was scheduled, we were in a bit of a panic.

I’d spent the last half an hour hauling sewing machines and supplies downstairs to the teaching room, which was really an empty shop we now used as a classroom. But I couldn’t just drop stuff off and leave it. We were in a big smash-and-grab area, meaning if it wasn’t nailed down, someone would come, grab something, and run. Upstairs in the shop there were natural deterrents, like the double entryway, where people had to open the doors, slowing them down, and the narrow sort of short stairs to get to the main sidewalk. Usually those were enough for me to catch up if they were swiping something.

But the classroom was one door and in, no stairs, and giant glass windows. Way too easy to smash something, grab an expensive machine, and take off. In fact, the classes were taught by one of us, usually Micah, while I guarded the door. Even if it was locked, I was always surprised at how many people tried to just walk in like they were meant to be there.

Most of the students had already arrived and dropped off their equipment, which meant I was guarding their stuff too. Leaving me to pace in front of the door, arms crossed, phone in hand, wondering if I’d have to haul everything back upstairs and somehow cram the eleven class signups into our breakroom. Not possible.

Lukas didn’t answer when I called him, or texted him. Sky was at a doctor’s appointment or something, maybe therapy? I hadn’t pushed. All I knew was that she wasn’t available until this evening when she took over the close shift at five.

Technically, the shop was only open from eleven to eleven, and we could work the whole thing, but that was a long time on your feet, trying to be polite to rude and self-entitled customers. Micah tried to give us all a bit of variation, shorter shifts with a mix of class time or the tours. This time of year, without the tours, everything ran a bit slower. Once we hit February and Mardi Gras and after that spring break, it was a mad daily grind of shop time and tours. I really hoped we’d get some class time too when things picked up, but if my brother kept shirking his duty to help in a shop he partially owned, it was unlikely.

Micah leaned out the upstairs door, “Brad is on the way. I’m sending the students down.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. The classes were making up where the loss of the tours had been. We had several a week from socials and quilting, to things like today’s wallet making class. Some folks brought their own machine, others didn’t have that much, so while they paid the class fee on an income-based scale, we provided the rest. Micah hated turning people away because of lack of money. He even taught a free clothing repair class once a month, which showed folks how to use a simple needle and thread to fix a shirt, or socks or even put a patch on jeans. He handed out at least two dozen mini repair kits at each one.

I hoped that his kindness would keep folks from taking his stuff, but while it built the nearby community affection for his shop, most of the thieves that came our way were not local, or so desperate that it didn’t matter.

The homeless we met, and often brought clothes or food, were kind and only took when they had no other option. New Orleans had a big homeless problem, a poverty problem, and we couldn’t solve that ourselves, but we tried not to make it worse. Losing machines would mean less classes for those who didn’t have access. And I was determined to keep those options open, even if that just meant standing on the sidewalk looking intimidating.

The students began to trickle down from the shop above, and I let them into the classroom, waving at the space so they could choose to set up wherever they wanted. Some of them had been shopping the fabric shelves above, since they had new cuts of vinyl and cotton that I recognized from Micah’s exclusive lines. Oddly enough, the prints were Disney designs, and other well-known cartoons, but individual artist created, so not licensed to Disney. I didn’t know all the legalities of it, and tried not to poke at it since they sold well, even at the insane cost of sixty-dollars a yard for some prints. I myself had been eyeing a particular green baby alien from Star Wars for a dozen different projects, but couldn’t quite justify the cost, even with an employee discount.

Brad appeared, walking down the street from the direction of Jackson Square, looking like jailbait, young and cute, but at least he was smiling. He’d had a rough holiday, disowned by his parents and broken up with his boyfriend Tim, who was also Micah’s ex. Brad was not crafty at all. He could run the register but not a sewing machine. He liked pretty craft things, and was friendly enough to upsell, but couldn’t tell a woven from a lycra, so mostly stuck to regular tourist sales. Which was fine because he spent a lot of time in the shop. He stepped up to the main walkway with another person. This one also young, but I wasn’t able to tell if they were male or female? With short, blondish hair, that sort of gray blond, blue eyes, and narrow body with no obvious curves, I didn’t want to assume. Sky, as much as she wanted the Marilyn Monroe body, would never have those curves. Not even if she ate a couple hundred beignets every day. Nature didn’t always provide.

“Hey, Alex,” Brad greeted. “This is Jojo. Micah said it was okay if I train them to help upstairs.”

It was news to me, but more help was always good. “Sounds great. Micah is up there waiting for you. We’ve been pretty busy today. Nice to meet you, Jojo.” And we were almost a half an hour behind on starting the class. That fact would make Micah grumpy. He wasn’t super organized when it came to anything other than the schedule. Late was a four-letter word for Micah. Tours didn’t run late, classes didn’t run late, if he told you to take a break you took one. Schedules were followed when Micah was around. I sort of liked the structure.

Brad gave me a salute and headed up the stairs. The last of the students made their way in, greeting me and smiling wide. Crafters were a happy bunch. I found that even if they started off in a mood, usually time working on something made them more engaged and happier. Hopefully it would work on Micah too.

I entered the classroom, leaving the door unlocked but keeping close to it just in case. My presence deterred trouble, though a curious tourist came along often enough. Everyone was setting up machines. The borrowed machines were on the table near the back of the room. As were the stacks of fabrics to choose from. I had already added cutting mats to each table and a mix of rulers, scissors, and rotary cutters. Mentally I checked off the list of the supplies, seeming to recall that we needed some kind of hardware. Had I brought that? Maybe it was in the bucket of fabric?

Micah came in, and I locked the door behind him. His hands were full of fabrics and the machine he kept in the shop upstairs and preferred to use to teach. He glanced my way, and I could see he was irritated. Not with me of course, but I understood.

I offered to take the machine from him, which he let me, and I set about putting it together so he could talk.

“Sorry for the delay everyone,” Micah said. “I promise we’ll have time to finish this today, and if you don’t for some reason, we’ll find an open social for you to attend for free.”

Everyone greeted him warmly, all excited for the class. This was the first of this non-quilting type. I’d seen some of the samples he’d made, but not tried it myself. Micah called it a clutch-type wallet; as it was sort of big, with two inside zipper pockets, a section for cards, and large enough to fit most current cell phones. I’d heard it uttered that it was a ladies wallet, and wondered how much more women had in a wallet that constituted having a larger one? Makeup would not fit in the samples Micah had made, and my wallet had never fit my phone. Though this clutch-type wallet would never fit in my pocket. It would, however, fit in the messenger bag Micah had made me for Christmas.

“There’s enough space if you want to make one,” Micah assured me. “Extra machine too, since most everyone brought their own.” He set his stack of fabrics down, a mix of vinyl and possibly leather, as well as his normal box of fabric scraps.

“Did you hear from Lukas?” I asked, finishing the setup of his machine.

“No. You?”

“No. I even sent Sky a text to see if she’d heard from him. Brad said he’s training Jojo?”

“Jojo is from the shelter,” Micah said. He meant the LGBT youth center where we both volunteered a couple times a month. He opened his box of scraps and pulled out a cut of the baby alien print I’d been longing for. “Find a vinyl you want for the bottom, and a cotton for the inside,” Micah instructed like I was a student.

I claimed the fabric like the greedy nerd I was, and took one of the sewing machines to the table closest to the door so I could still do my job while I crafted. Though now I was worried.

Lukas was the reliable one. He’d always had the good job, and been first on call if he was needed. Him going MIA was not normal. I stared at my little alien fabric. Lukas would like the stormtroopers better. The one with Vader looking like a chibi hiding among a sea of troopers.

“Can I trade this for the troopers?” I asked Micah, sliding my treasured slice of fabric back. Someday I’d justify owning a slice of that adorable print with that tiny alien.