hand.
Emma tried not to wince as Joy made her way, slowly and painfully, to the counter. She was wearing the same lace-up shoes she’d had on the night of the dinner dance, with the sole of one shoe built up higher than the other. Her coat was a plain and serviceable black, and the beige, wool scarf tucked into the neck did little to liven it up. Joy’s short, brown hair was parted in the middle and held off her face on either side with two tortoise-colored barrettes. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, but her lips were pale and colorless.
She put the bag on the counter and eased out the tissue-wrapped contents.
“My father,” she stumbled slightly over the word, “bought this for my aunt Georgina.” She opened the tissue paper and slid out a nylon, pale blue gown with Alencon lace trim.
“Ah, the Miss Elaine.” Arabella bustled over and slid behind the counter. “I sold this to Mr. Granger the night of our Valentine’s event. It’s vintage nineteen-sixties,” Arabella said, fingering the soft fabric. “He thought his sister would enjoy it.” She looked up at Joy over the top of her half glasses. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“Oh no.” Joy shook her head vigorously. “It’s perfectly fine. It’s just that it doesn’t fit. Father didn’t realize, but Aunt Georgina has”—she paused as if searching for a way to put it delicately—“put on a bit of weight.”
Arabella made a
tsk
ing sound under her breath. “Men never do get sizes right, do they?” Arabella held the gown up and examined it. It flowed straight from the shoulders in a generous circle.
“I wouldn’t know,” Joy said with an edge of bitterness to her voice.
Arabella tilted her head to the side in a way that normally invited confidences, but Joy clamped her thin lips closed and didn’t elaborate.
“Well,” Arabella finally said, “if this gown doesn’t fit, I’m not sure we have anything that will.”
“That’s all right,” Joy said, folding up the Sweet Nothings bag. “Aunt Georgina is a little . . . dotty.” She made small circles around the side of her head with her finger. “I’m surprised Father even bothered to buy her something. He rarely went to visit.”
Joy’s mouth turned down, and for a moment, Emma was afraid she was going to cry. “He doesn’t like . . . broken things.” She tucked the empty shopping bag under her arm.
“We can give you a credit or perhaps there’s something you’d like,” Arabella said, not being one to let a customer leave the shop empty-handed.
Joy gave a laugh that was halfway to a sob. “Me?” She pointed a finger at her own chest. “What would I do with”—she waved her hand around Sweet Nothings—“these things?” She handed Arabella the receipt for the gown.
Arabella punched some numbers into the credit card machine, which, after a brief pause, spit out a piece of paper. “If you wouldn’t mind signing here.” Arabella handed Joy a pen.
Joy signed her name and handed the pen back to Arabella. She glanced at the receipt. “Your things sure are expensive.” She turned to head toward the door. “I’m saving every penny for something much more important.”
• • •
“I wonder what on earth she’s hoarding her money for,” Arabella said as soon as the door had closed behind Joy.
“Not too bitter, is she?” Sylvia noted.
“Indeed,” Arabella agreed. “I feel sorry for her. She seems so unhappy.”
“I gather she was hurt in the accident that killed her mother. I suppose that might make anyone bitter.” Emma went back to tagging a stack of pastel-colored panties. “What was that she said about her father? He doesn’t like
broken things
?”
“That was peculiar, wasn’t it?” Sylvia pulled open one of the drawers and began straightening the bras that were arranged in rows like muffins in a tin. “I wonder what she meant by that?”
“I think I know.” Arabella put down the gown she’d been examining for
Emma tried not to wince as Joy made her way, slowly and painfully, to the counter. She was wearing the same lace-up shoes she’d had on the night of the dinner dance, with the sole of one shoe built up higher than the other. Her coat was a plain and serviceable black, and the beige, wool scarf tucked into the neck did little to liven it up. Joy’s short, brown hair was parted in the middle and held off her face on either side with two tortoise-colored barrettes. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, but her lips were pale and colorless.
She put the bag on the counter and eased out the tissue-wrapped contents.
“My father,” she stumbled slightly over the word, “bought this for my aunt Georgina.” She opened the tissue paper and slid out a nylon, pale blue gown with Alencon lace trim.
“Ah, the Miss Elaine.” Arabella bustled over and slid behind the counter. “I sold this to Mr. Granger the night of our Valentine’s event. It’s vintage nineteen-sixties,” Arabella said, fingering the soft fabric. “He thought his sister would enjoy it.” She looked up at Joy over the top of her half glasses. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“Oh no.” Joy shook her head vigorously. “It’s perfectly fine. It’s just that it doesn’t fit. Father didn’t realize, but Aunt Georgina has”—she paused as if searching for a way to put it delicately—“put on a bit of weight.”
Arabella made a
tsk
ing sound under her breath. “Men never do get sizes right, do they?” Arabella held the gown up and examined it. It flowed straight from the shoulders in a generous circle.
“I wouldn’t know,” Joy said with an edge of bitterness to her voice.
Arabella tilted her head to the side in a way that normally invited confidences, but Joy clamped her thin lips closed and didn’t elaborate.
“Well,” Arabella finally said, “if this gown doesn’t fit, I’m not sure we have anything that will.”
“That’s all right,” Joy said, folding up the Sweet Nothings bag. “Aunt Georgina is a little . . . dotty.” She made small circles around the side of her head with her finger. “I’m surprised Father even bothered to buy her something. He rarely went to visit.”
Joy’s mouth turned down, and for a moment, Emma was afraid she was going to cry. “He doesn’t like . . . broken things.” She tucked the empty shopping bag under her arm.
“We can give you a credit or perhaps there’s something you’d like,” Arabella said, not being one to let a customer leave the shop empty-handed.
Joy gave a laugh that was halfway to a sob. “Me?” She pointed a finger at her own chest. “What would I do with”—she waved her hand around Sweet Nothings—“these things?” She handed Arabella the receipt for the gown.
Arabella punched some numbers into the credit card machine, which, after a brief pause, spit out a piece of paper. “If you wouldn’t mind signing here.” Arabella handed Joy a pen.
Joy signed her name and handed the pen back to Arabella. She glanced at the receipt. “Your things sure are expensive.” She turned to head toward the door. “I’m saving every penny for something much more important.”
• • •
“I wonder what on earth she’s hoarding her money for,” Arabella said as soon as the door had closed behind Joy.
“Not too bitter, is she?” Sylvia noted.
“Indeed,” Arabella agreed. “I feel sorry for her. She seems so unhappy.”
“I gather she was hurt in the accident that killed her mother. I suppose that might make anyone bitter.” Emma went back to tagging a stack of pastel-colored panties. “What was that she said about her father? He doesn’t like
broken things
?”
“That was peculiar, wasn’t it?” Sylvia pulled open one of the drawers and began straightening the bras that were arranged in rows like muffins in a tin. “I wonder what she meant by that?”
“I think I know.” Arabella put down the gown she’d been examining for
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