Enchanting Lily (11 page)

“The cat looks happy,” she said. “I’m glad you still have her.” She reached out to pet her, but the cat trotted away, nose sniffing the air, as if she understood where Vanya had come from.

“Don’t take it personally,” Lily said. “You probably smell like the clinic.”

“Such is my lot. I can never wash that place away! Nice shop you’ve got here. It’s good to get out. I’ve been putting in some long hours at the clinic.”

“Let me know if I can help you.” Lily kept her distance. She’d never liked salespeople who hovered, but she did not want to seem indifferent.

Vanya tried on loose dresses and sweaters and began to create quite a pile in the fitting room. As she browsed, her cheeks gained some color, and her eyes shone.

Retail therapy,
Lily thought. Trying on clothes could have a palliative effect on the soul. “How are things at the clinic anyway?” she asked. “Is Dr. Cole working you too hard?”

“My husband thinks I should quit my job, just until, you know.” Vanya patted her belly. “But I love what I do. I have to work to get my mind off things. And I need the money. My husband doesn’t understand, but Dr. Cole really appreciates what I do.”

“He should.” Lily could not imagine Dr. Cole expressing his appreciation for anyone.

“He’s a good doctor.” Vanya pulled a folded slip of paper from her purse and slid it across the counter. “This is the bill for the house call. I almost forgot to give it to you.”

Lily blushed. How much had Dr. Cole told Vanya? Had he mentioned the hairball? “Thanks. I meant to ask about it.”

“He told me to send it to you, but I figured I was coming in here, so—”

“It was nice of you to stop by.”

“I wanted to check out your shop anyway. I like what you’ve done. It has a homey feeling.”

“Homey, I like that, too.”

Vanya fumbled in her purse and brought out a beaded wallet. “Look, I’m sorry if he was rude to you, when you brought the cat into the clinic. I hope he was nicer when he came over here in the night.”

“Sort of,” Lily said. “But I woke him.”

“He’s changed since his wife left, but who can blame him? He loved Altona so much.”

“I didn’t know about that—about his wife leaving.” A piece of surprising news. Lily busied her fingers, punching up the price for each garment in Vanya’s pile. And what kind of a name was Altona?

“They went everywhere together. They were inseparable.” Vanya shook her head sadly.

“He’s divorced, then.” Lily kept her voice steady, but her insides turned over. He’d been in her house, in her kitchen, in her bedroom, looking at her bra. He’d been single the whole time. Single and angry and damaged, missing his ex-wife.

Vanya produced a few crisp, twenty-dollar bills from her wallet. “He would have gifts sent to her at work. Flowers, gloves, jewelry.”

“That’s romantic,” Lily said. She could hardly imagine him acting that way, giving anyone a gift. “I’m so sorry things didn’t work out for the two of them.” Poor Bish had been abandoned by her mother, too.

“It was sudden. But come to think of it, Altona liked to travel. She always seemed kind of…restless. I’ve been working for Doc for five years, and she left only last year. He hasn’t been the same, like I said.” Vanya put the money on the counter.

Lily picked it up, counted the bills, opened the register. “Of course he hasn’t. When you’ve loved someone—”

“He even went a little crazy after she left, but he’s more settled now.”

“What do you mean, he ‘went a little crazy’?” Lily
imagined him racing all over town, shouting, wielding an ax. Had she allowed a crazy ax murderer, driven insane by his wife’s departure, into her cottage in the middle of the night?

“Oh, he just, you know. He went on a bunch of dates. Let’s put it that way. Didn’t get involved with anyone, though.” Vanya looked around the shop, as if the clothes might be listening, and lowered her voice. “Some people go their whole lives pining for someone they’ve lost, but others can go right ahead and get remarried. Dr. Cole is definitely the pining type. He tried not to be. When my great uncle died, my great aunt got remarried almost right away, at the ripe age of sixty-seven.”

“Sixty-seven is not old these days,” Lily said, handing back Vanya’s change.

“Her second husband was eighty. They went trekking in the Himalayas together. Now, I love my husband, but if he died, I would probably find someone else pretty quickly, too.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“I only mean, my husband and I, we don’t have the perfect marriage, but then, every marriage has its stresses, right? Were you ever married? Then you would know.” Vanya pushed a strand of straight, yellow hair behind her
ear. How could anyone’s hair be so very yellow, like the petals of a spring daisy?

“I was married. He died.” The word “died,” hovered in the air, then popped like a bubble.

“Oh. Wow. I’m sorry.” Vanya’s eyes widened and her expression shifted fluidly from stunned surprise to pity to carefully modulated sympathy. Lily had grown accustomed to this multifaceted response, and she understood that she had now stepped across an invisible threshold from being just another person to having the word “widow” plastered across her forehead.

“Thanks,” she said politely. “I’m doing fine.” A lie. Only the night before, she’d dreamed that Josh was humming downstairs in the kitchen, making scrambled eggs. When she’d woken, she’d realized the humming was the cat purring. The smell of eggs came from a restaurant down the block; she had left the window open. She’d discovered that while the first floor of the cottage had drafty spots, the heat rose into the bedrooms.

She began to fold the clothes and put them in a large paper shopping bag with handles. Perhaps when Vanya walked out carrying the bag, customers in The Newest Thing would look across the street, and they would want to be in on the action.

“What type are you?” Vanya said, taking the bag.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you the type to move on, or the type to keep pining?”

“Is there another option? All right. I think I might be the pining type. I did go on a couple of dates about six months after my husband died, but they didn’t work out.”

Vanya tilted her head quizzically. “Okay, spill. What happened?”

“Well, one was a blind date that a friend set up for me. He turned out to have obsessive-compulsive disorder, had to keep getting up from the table to wash his hands. I counted five times during dinner, a few more times after.”

Vanya laughed. “And what about the second date? Was it any better?”

“He was a nice man, but he wanted to get me into bed right away, saw me as desperate or something, but it was too soon.”

“Oh, I see. But maybe sex isn’t so bad. My husband and I still, you know.” Vanya patted her belly again and lowered her voice. “Doctor says it’s okay.”

Lily’s cheeks heated. Too much information. “Um, that’s—”

“Sex can be a healer. Why don’t you go for Dr. Cole?
When I first started working at the clinic, I had, like, this huge crush on him. I was so jealous of Altona.”

“I’m sure that happens fairly often, an employee developing a crush on her boss.” Lily tidied the receipts in the register drawer.

“Everyone had a crush on him, and I mean everyone. Something about him being inaccessible, I think. But you got to see him in the night, right here. You’re lucky.”

“It wasn’t a date!” Lucky to have a brooding, desolate man in her house? “The cat had a hairball.”

“Yeah, he told me. Funny.” Vanya looked over at the cat and winked. “She has hairballs, pretty typical. Well, I’d better get back to work. You both have a nice day. I’ll be back.”

“Tell all your friends—about my shop, not the hairball!” Lily called out as Vanya maneuvered her belly out the door. Just as she was leaving, a stooped gentleman came in, looking around with a tentative expression. Lily recognized him as a ferry worker who loaded and unloaded cars on the Seattle run, only he seemed bare without the bright orange vest, like a tree in winter. Thin and long-limbed, he wore shades of gray that matched the sky.

The cat trotted over to him, somehow knowing that he would be friendly, that he would kneel to pet her with
affection. Lily thought him handsome in a gaunt, understated way, but the moment the reaction came to her, she caught a glimpse of a man standing across the street. It was Josh, staring in at her, untouched by the rain, his eyes sad. In the instant, she remembered the first time he had held her hand, the first time they had walked the beach just north of San Francisco, where they’d seen a gray whale spouting offshore. She remembered their first kiss on that beach at sunset, a moment charged with electricity. It all rushed through her, taking her breath away.
I’m sorry, Josh. It will always be you. How can it be otherwise?

A passing car obscured her view, erasing Josh, as if he’d never been standing there.

“Do you have a suit for a funeral?” the gaunt man was asking her. “And I don’t want anything black.”

Lily

“Just a moment, sir. I’ll be right with you.”

Lily knew she seemed distracted and crazy, but she had to run across the street, to see where Josh had gone. As she hurried down the sidewalk in her running shoes, she felt the cold rain on her face. The bushes rustled in the wind, shop awnings flapping. She heard metal clanging on the town dock down the street, smelled the dank odors of the beach at low tide. She stopped in the spot where she had seen Josh. Here on the sidewalk, right in front of The Newest Thing, she could see into the front window of her
own shop. Soft lights illuminated the mannequins, which appeared to be backlit silhouettes. Then the cat hopped into the window, a pale aura surrounding her.

Lily looked right and left. No sign of Josh. The rain was seeping through her sweater to her T-shirt. She had imagined him. She had hallucinated. But he had seemed real. Maybe his spirit had really been here. Such things happened.

She ran back into the warmth of her shop. The dust on the countertop looked slightly disturbed, as if someone had run a finger across its surface. She shivered and turned her attention to the new customer.

“Sorry about that,” she said, wiping the water from her face. “I had to go out and see something.”

The man nodded, glancing out the window, then returned to browsing.

“I’m sorry you have to go to a funeral,” she went on. “There’s no rule about wearing black. I didn’t wear black to my husband’s memorial service, but only because he didn’t want me to. He mentioned wanting people to wear bright colors and dance at his funeral. But he didn’t realize he would die so soon.” Why had she just told all this to a complete stranger? Was it the rain and cold, messing with her mind? Would the man turn and run out of the shop, never to return?

His face softened and he came right up to her. “I’m sorry you lost him. So what color did you wear?”

“I wore a deep turquoise dress, not quite black but close enough.” She smiled.
Sometimes, revealing a little of your pain, your vulnerability, can bring people closer to you,
she thought. “What color would you like to wear?”

“Maybe the cat will help me decide.” He made for the south wall, glancing at the suit jacket on the male mannequin. “Maybe that one.”

“It’s just a display,” she said quickly. “And too small for you.” She had not heard from Dr. Cole since their nighttime encounter, which now seemed like a distant dream. Perhaps he’d mentioned needing a suit merely to be polite.

The cat stayed close to the gaunt man as he browsed, his long fingers touching the fabric with precise delicacy. Lily kept glancing at the road, but the image of Josh did not return.

The man was talking to the cat in a low voice. “Last time I wore a suit was at my graduation…” and “…don’t even know what size…” and “…should wear my birthday suit…” The cat purred at him.

He pulled out a white suit. “Whoa, now that’s an eyesore.”

“That’s a Palm Beach linen suit, circa nineteen thirties,
one of my oldest pieces. Probably not great for a funeral, even if you’re steering clear of black.”

He nodded, putting the suit back. “I bet you wouldn’t wear a Palm Beach suit, huh, kitty? What’s your name?”

“She’s just kitty,” Lily said. “And I’m Lily.”

“I saw the flyers you posted in town. Looks as though the little kitty has settled in here pretty well.”

“If her owner comes, she’ll go home.”

“She is home, I think. I’m Rupert, known as Rupe to those who love me.” He pulled out a dark purplish-blue Jarvis suit. “This is perfect. The color of royalty, Willy Wonka, eccentricity and audacity and all that.”

“Are you sure you want purple?”

“Why not? What kind of suit is this anyway?”

“Three-piece, fabric-covered buttons, polyester in a lightweight poplin weave.”

“Looks like my size.” While he tried on the suit, the cat waited outside the fitting room, as usual.

Rupert emerged looking surprisingly good in purple. “What do you think?” He tugged at the shoulders. “Michael said I should go to a men’s specialty shop instead. They know how these things are supposed to fit, but I’m not sure.”

“I can alter the suit for you.” Lily wondered who Michael was, then realized Rupert and Michael were probably
partners. She couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed, although she had no intention of getting involved with anyone.

Rupert gave her a skeptical look. “Michael says the men’s tailors know better.”

“I know a few things, too. You don’t want the jacket to pull at the armpits. The padding in the shoulders is the right width. The jacket has a waist, and it’s just the right length. It shouldn’t go all the way to the thigh.”

Rupert raised his brows at her in the mirror. “You’ve done this before. I’m impressed. Your prices are good, too.”

Finally, she could imagine the shop teeming with people who trusted her nimble sewing, her understanding of fabric and alterations. “You need to choose the shoes you’re going to wear at the funeral, or at least similar shoes.”

“Then find me a pair. I wear a size twelve.”

“And you can’t wear that T-shirt underneath.”

Measuring him in the suit, when he wore the right dress shirt and shoes, felt like a fluid dance with the tape measure and pins.