On the car ride back, Sheldon thought about the promise he had made to Paige and spoke up.
"Dad, did you know that Paige's parents are getting a divorce?"
George, having listened to the Barrys bicker all morning, knew all too well.
However, talking about other people's family business behind their backs wasn't right. So, George cautioned him, "Shelly, you shouldn't go spreading that kind of stuff around."
"I know," Sheldon replied offhandedly, then continued, "Mike and I want to help Paige..."
Sheldon then gave his dad a brief rundown of Paige's situation and the solution Mike had come up with.
"That poor little girl..." George mused, thinking back to how Paige's mother had scolded her earlier.
Reasonably speaking, having a child prodigy in the family should be something to be proud of. You didn't have to spoil them, but the way Paige's mother berated her daughter over the slightest mistake was just too much.
George, for one, had never scolded his own son like that.
"Mike, are you serious about this?" After listening to Sheldon, George looked at Mike in the rearview mirror.
As the adult in the room, George was thinking further ahead than his son. He knew that helping Paige wouldn't be simple; there would definitely be a heap of trouble to follow.
"Yes. I want to help her however I can," Mike nodded. "To be honest, she's suffocating. She's even thought about running away from home."
Having witnessed the Barrys' dynamic all morning, George had a pretty good idea of what was going on in that house. He could only imagine the pressure Paige was under in such a volatile environment.
"Alright. I'll talk it over with Mary. I'm sure we can do something for the kid," George said, taking on the responsibility.
In many ways, George was a genuinely good man.
---
Before long, the three of them arrived back in Medford.
As soon as Mike got out of the car, he saw the scene of chaos and commerce in front of Meemaw's house.
It was late afternoon, and the yard sale had attracted a crowd of neighbors. However, thanks to the unreliable sales team of Georgie and Missy, the whole thing was a mess.
"Mike! You're finally back. Get over here and help!" Meemaw, who was swamped, shouted happily when she saw him.
"On it," Mike replied. Since he had a favor to ask her later, he immediately joined the sales force.
Over by a taxidermied raccoon, Missy was in a standoff with the neighbor kid, Billy Sparks.
Billy only had a nickel, but he wanted to buy the raccoon, which was marked at five dollars.
Missy, owing to her terrible math skills, was struggling to negotiate a middle ground.
"Need some help?" Mike asked, walking up to a frustrated Missy.
"I can't figure out the math," Missy admitted honestly. She quickly caught Mike up on the situation.
"Billy, the lowest price for the raccoon is a dollar. Go ask your dad if he'll buy it for you," Mike told him, assessing the situation.
Meemaw pricing a generic taxidermy animal at five dollars was definitely a stretch. Those things only had value if you hunted and stuffed them yourself; to anyone else, it was just clutter.
Probably only someone as simple as Billy would want to buy it as a toy.
"Okay. I'll go ask my dad," Billy said, reluctantly putting down the raccoon.
Once Billy left, Mike turned to Missy. "Go take a break. I'll handle things here."
To Missy, who had been tortured by "work" all morning, Mike's words sounded like a choir of angels. "Yes! Thank you!" she cheered.
She gave Mike a quick hug and happily ran back into the house.
With Mike joining the fray, the yard sale began to run much more smoothly.
By evening, more than half of the secondhand goods had been sold. The only things left were items like pipes and clothes—personal items that were harder to move.
It's worth noting that Billy actually came back and bought that ratty raccoon for a dollar.
After a long day of work, Meemaw was in a great mood, clutching a thick wad of small bills.
"Mike, help me move the rest of this stuff to the basement. I'm treating you to a big dinner tonight," Meemaw said generously, now that she was flush with cash.
Just then, Dr. Sturgis, having finished his weekend work, rode up on his bicycle.
"Connie! I hope I haven't missed the sale," John called out from a distance.
"Perfect timing," Meemaw beamed. "Take a look around. I'll give you the friends-and-family discount."
At this point, John was the only "customer" left in the yard.
He browsed through the remaining items and suddenly pulled out a vintage brown coat.
The weather was starting to turn cool, so the coat was actually quite practical.
When John put it on, it was clearly a size too big, but he seemed to like the loose fit. He moved his arms around a bit, checking the feel, and was surprised to find a pack of candy cigarettes in the pocket.
Even though John didn't smoke, he was delighted by this little "surprise."
That sealed the deal—he decided to buy it.
"Connie, how much for the coat?" John asked, walking over to model it for her.
Meemaw, who had been happily counting her change, looked up. When she saw the coat on John, her expression shifted. The smile faded, replaced by a complicated look of sorrow.
That coat had belonged to her late husband, Pop-Pop. Seeing it on John made her feel... wrong.
"What's the matter, Connie?" John, oblivious to the shift in mood, smiled. "I really like this coat. You don't even have to give me a discount."
"You can't wear that," Connie said, her voice trembling slightly as memories flooded back.
"Why not?" John asked, confused.
"You just can't," Connie didn't know how to explain it to him, so she just hardened her tone. "It's not for sale."
With that, she looked like the wind had been knocked out of her sails. She turned and walked back into the house alone, looking suddenly fragile.
"But it has a price tag on it. Why is it not for sale?" John stood there, completely baffled.
"It's probably because that belonged to Meemaw's late husband," Mike said gently as he packed up the remaining items.
Between Connie's reaction and the style of the coat, it wasn't hard to guess its history.
"I don't mind," John said. His brain wiring was, as always, a little different from everyone else's. "So, why is Connie upset?"
The point, obviously, wasn't whether John minded—it was that Connie minded.
Seeing the look Mike was giving him, John took off the coat. "Never mind. I'll go see how Connie is doing."
Well, at least his instincts were in the right place.
"John, listen," Mike warned him as he started to walk away. "Don't mention the coat, and don't ask about her husband..."