The Secret Lives of Dresses by Erin McKean Page A

was fun to tease him about how bad his cooking used to be. What my grandmother did when she found a big old rattlesnake in the garage. That kind of thing.”
    Dora couldn’t help herself. “What did your grandmother do when she found a rattlesnake in the garage?”
    “Well, she was right by the door, and there was a little jar of kerosene there that my grandpa used for his camping lantern, and she just threw it at the snake. The jar broke and doused the whole floor. And she was a pack-a-day smoker, so she grabbed a match and tossed it down, too. Whoosh! No more snake. Then she ran back inside and called the fire department.”
    “Did she burn down the garage?”
    “Nah, there wasn’t that much kerosene. I think she just figured that if she set something on fire she’d get a bunch of men there double-quick to take care of the snake cleanup.”
    “Quick thinking!”
    “So what are the Winston family stories? They’ll have to be pretty good to top my snake-fighting arsonist grandma.”
    “Even if they were I wouldn’t know them. Mimi didn’t want to talk about my folks. ‘Let the past stay past’ is what she always said.”
    Con leaned against the wall. “Nothing? Not even a ‘Your dad used to do that’? Or ‘You have your mother’s eyes’—actually, wait, you have Mimi’s eyes.”
    “She never told me anything. Gabby told me once that she had been fighting with my dad when my folks died, and that it tore her right up.”
    “Mimi, fighting with someone? That doesn’t sound like her.”
    “I guess my dad didn’t want to take over running the department store, and they were arguing about it. And then I was born, and that made it worse—Mimi thought my dad needed a real job, now that he had a baby. And so they weren’t speaking.”
    “Poor Mimi. What a thing to carry around.”
    “I never could get any more details out of Gabby—she says Mimi never talks to her about my dad.” Dora leaned over the bed and brushed Mimi’s hair back, away from her forehead. “She’d hate it if she knew I was telling you all this.”
    “I don’t know about that. We talked a lot, me and Mimi.”
    “Really?” Dora tried not to sound surprised.
    “Well, I hide in her shop sometimes, to get away from Mrs. Featherston, and we just get to talking. And I’ve been working on this new project—I want to convert one of those Victorians down by the university into a storefront, and she was giving me advice on what a store owner would like. She was very easy to talk to. And she didn’t know my folks, which made it easier, somehow. Especially when my dad was sick.”
    “Everybody always knows your business in Forsyth.” Dora grimaced. “Whether you want them to or not.”
    “But Mimi didn’t make any suggestions, you know? She didn’t tell me how to feel, or what to do, or about somebody’s friend’s cousin’s father who had the same thing and was now playing golf twice a week.” Con looked grim. “I hope no one is saying that kind of stuff to you.”
    “Not yet.” Dora held Mimi’s hand a bit tighter.
    A nurse stuck her head in the door. “Miz Winston?”
    For a minute Dora thought the nurse was talking to Mimi, but then she beckoned to Dora to come into the hall.
    “It’s okay,” Con said. “I’ll stay here until you get back.”
    It was Dr. Czerny again, waiting in the hall. She looked tired, or maybe it was just the unforgiving overhead light.
    “Dora.” Dora knew from the doctor’s flat affect that things weren’t good. “Mrs. Winston—your grandmother—is becoming less responsive.”
    “That’s not good.” Dora couldn’t make it sound like a question.
    “It’s certainly not optimal, but it’s not in itself a bad sign.” Dr. Czerny did not look as if she was convincing herself, much less Dora. “The problem is that some of the drugs that will help relieve the bleeding in your grandmother’s brain could put some stress on her heart. So we have to keep them carefully