time.”
“Well, these are
special
,” Winnalee said, giving me a sly wink.
And then I got it.
I widened my eyes at Winnalee, then herded Aunt Verdella out of the room.
• • •
That morning, Winnalee tagged along to the bridal shop with me. I didn’t say anything about the marijuana plants, even if maybe I should have.
I carried the apricot bridesmaid’s dress, sheathed in a clear garment bag, holding it high so it wouldn’t drag, while Winnalee carried in the box with Jo’s ruined dress. Linda was sitting at the desk, taking an appointment over the phone. I could hear Hazel talking with a customer in the big back room where the sewing machines and fabric were kept, and the gowns hung and the girls got measured. Winnalee plunked the dress box on the counter, then wandered off to inspect the front room. When Linda finished her call, I introduced her to Winnalee, who by this time was at the metal cabinet where the patterns were kept in neat rows, sliding the drawer back and forth as if the smooth glide itself made her happy.
“Oh,” Linda said, “I heard Jewel talk about you and Freeda so often, I feel as if I know you already.”
“Yeah, well in spite of what you heard, I hope you’ll like me anyway.”
Linda laughed lightheartedly, though I wasn’t sure Winnalee was kidding.
When I had no reason left to stall, I sheepishly told her what happened to Jo’s dress. Poor Linda already looked like she hadn’t slept in a week, which she probably hadn’t. This was a busy time for the boutique, with dozens of dresses waiting for final fittings, and more orders coming in. And that meant having to deal with nervous brides who insisted that the waist that suddenly needed to be taken in or let out had nothing to do with nerves that either kept them from eating, or caused them to eat too much. Plus, Linda’s husband, Al, had gotten laid off indefinitely and she was worried about how they’d make ends meet once the store quieted in the fall. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I kept repeating.
Linda’s face contorted with panic, but she instantly tried to hide it behind a tight smile. I opened the lid so we could examine the damage together. “Oh no,” she said. “I was hoping the dirt would be contained to the overlay. Still, Hazel is a wiz at removing stains. She got blood off of satin once.”
The bell on the door chimed and Linda looked up. Her face went wedding dress white, and she hurriedly folded the bodice lengthwise. “Jo,” she said. I grabbed the length of the smudged skirt that was hanging over the front of the desk, and folded it. But it was too late. “Is that my dress?” The excited giggles gave way to
oooo
s. I turned to see Jo Lanski and three of her friends rushing toward the desk. “It
is
my dress. I can tell by the sleeves!”
“Oh, no peeking yet,” Linda said. But it was too late. Jo grabbed the shoulder of the gown and unfolded it.
“My God, what happened?”
Linda and Jo were talking at once then, the bridesmaids gasping. Jo was horribly upset, and Linda was pretending she wasn’t. “We’ll get the stains out, honey, and no one will be the wiser. Don’t you worry. It was an accident.”
“Get them out? How? Stick it in the washing machine?”
“No, no, we’ll spot-clean it.”
Jo was livid, and she turned to me as if I could rescue her, maybe because I was her peer. “I don’t want an already-washed wedding dress. If I wanted that, I would have worn my mom’s dress like she wanted!”
What choice did Linda have but to promise Jo that we’d sew the gown from scratch again? (At least after she asked to use the phone to call her mother.)
“Oh honey, don’t cry,” Linda said after Jo and the girls left, and Winnalee called Jo a “rag.” “Marge is back from Vegas, so—”
“I’ll do it,” I said, blinking. Embarrassed about my wateryeyes. “Marge shouldn’t have to do it. I’m the one who ruined it. Well, Boohoo did, but you know what
“Well, these are
special
,” Winnalee said, giving me a sly wink.
And then I got it.
I widened my eyes at Winnalee, then herded Aunt Verdella out of the room.
• • •
That morning, Winnalee tagged along to the bridal shop with me. I didn’t say anything about the marijuana plants, even if maybe I should have.
I carried the apricot bridesmaid’s dress, sheathed in a clear garment bag, holding it high so it wouldn’t drag, while Winnalee carried in the box with Jo’s ruined dress. Linda was sitting at the desk, taking an appointment over the phone. I could hear Hazel talking with a customer in the big back room where the sewing machines and fabric were kept, and the gowns hung and the girls got measured. Winnalee plunked the dress box on the counter, then wandered off to inspect the front room. When Linda finished her call, I introduced her to Winnalee, who by this time was at the metal cabinet where the patterns were kept in neat rows, sliding the drawer back and forth as if the smooth glide itself made her happy.
“Oh,” Linda said, “I heard Jewel talk about you and Freeda so often, I feel as if I know you already.”
“Yeah, well in spite of what you heard, I hope you’ll like me anyway.”
Linda laughed lightheartedly, though I wasn’t sure Winnalee was kidding.
When I had no reason left to stall, I sheepishly told her what happened to Jo’s dress. Poor Linda already looked like she hadn’t slept in a week, which she probably hadn’t. This was a busy time for the boutique, with dozens of dresses waiting for final fittings, and more orders coming in. And that meant having to deal with nervous brides who insisted that the waist that suddenly needed to be taken in or let out had nothing to do with nerves that either kept them from eating, or caused them to eat too much. Plus, Linda’s husband, Al, had gotten laid off indefinitely and she was worried about how they’d make ends meet once the store quieted in the fall. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I kept repeating.
Linda’s face contorted with panic, but she instantly tried to hide it behind a tight smile. I opened the lid so we could examine the damage together. “Oh no,” she said. “I was hoping the dirt would be contained to the overlay. Still, Hazel is a wiz at removing stains. She got blood off of satin once.”
The bell on the door chimed and Linda looked up. Her face went wedding dress white, and she hurriedly folded the bodice lengthwise. “Jo,” she said. I grabbed the length of the smudged skirt that was hanging over the front of the desk, and folded it. But it was too late. “Is that my dress?” The excited giggles gave way to
oooo
s. I turned to see Jo Lanski and three of her friends rushing toward the desk. “It
is
my dress. I can tell by the sleeves!”
“Oh, no peeking yet,” Linda said. But it was too late. Jo grabbed the shoulder of the gown and unfolded it.
“My God, what happened?”
Linda and Jo were talking at once then, the bridesmaids gasping. Jo was horribly upset, and Linda was pretending she wasn’t. “We’ll get the stains out, honey, and no one will be the wiser. Don’t you worry. It was an accident.”
“Get them out? How? Stick it in the washing machine?”
“No, no, we’ll spot-clean it.”
Jo was livid, and she turned to me as if I could rescue her, maybe because I was her peer. “I don’t want an already-washed wedding dress. If I wanted that, I would have worn my mom’s dress like she wanted!”
What choice did Linda have but to promise Jo that we’d sew the gown from scratch again? (At least after she asked to use the phone to call her mother.)
“Oh honey, don’t cry,” Linda said after Jo and the girls left, and Winnalee called Jo a “rag.” “Marge is back from Vegas, so—”
“I’ll do it,” I said, blinking. Embarrassed about my wateryeyes. “Marge shouldn’t have to do it. I’m the one who ruined it. Well, Boohoo did, but you know what
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