Enchanting Lily (7 page)

Lily’s face has gone pale, a strange look in her eyes—the look that people get when they’re either wishing for something or regretting some decision. “I don’t have time to fill out a form—”

“Just do the best you can.”

Lily sighs and looks at the girl’s name tag. “I’ll try. Thank you, Vanya.” She turns away, puts me on a chair,
and sits next to me. She stares at the paper on the clipboard, screwing up her eyebrows. “I don’t know your age, sex, or medical history. How am I supposed to answer all these questions?”

She jots a few cryptic notes, then gets up and returns the form, and Vanya slips the page into a file folder and leads us down the hall and into a small room. “Dr. Cole will be with you soon. Make yourself at home.”

She waddles out and shuts the door.

“Make myself at home?” Lily says, rubbing her arms. “I can barely breathe in here.”

Likewise. She goes on babbling while I press my eye to the biggest hole and take in my surroundings. To fight a successful battle, one must know the enemy. Jars of cotton balls and spray bottles are lined up on a narrow countertop next to the sink. The tub of treats is designed to fool unsuspecting victims. A dog might fall for that one, but not me. Worse, a morbid drawing of a cat hangs on the wall, the skin cut away, showing a side view with labeled arrows pointing to various internal organs. I’m shivering all over, not liking the smells in here.

Footsteps approach in the hall and the doctor bursts in frowning, like a storm cloud, his dark hair mussed. His white lab coat flaps over faded blue jeans. He washed up but he can’t mask the traces of blood and sickness, all
mixed in with soap and sweat and the scrambled eggs he ate for breakfast. He looks nothing like his offspring, Bish. She has a delicate nose and fragile skin sprinkled with freckles. She has not inherited his blocky features or square jaw.

And she has not inherited his terrible discontent, his slow heartbeat full of bitterness. His loss is not like Lily’s, not full of wistfulness and happy memories. No, his heart is brooding, angry, and trapped, and he doesn’t see any way out of the darkness.

Lily

The doctor took so long, Lily thought she might grow old and die while she waited, shriveling to dust before he even arrived. She pictured her shop sitting empty and dark, the sign swinging in the wind, customers pressing their noses to the window, then walking away.

How many opportunities had she missed in the last hour? Maybe only a few, but the point was, she wasn’t in her boutique. She was here in a stinky, noisy animal clinic in a room as small as a closet, trying to ignore the dank
smell of wet dog and the distant mewling of distressed cats.

Now the vet breezed inside, his head bent over the cat’s open file folder. No apology, no acknowledgment of Lily’s presence. When he finally glanced up at her, she thought he looked vaguely familiar. She’d seen him in Jasmine’s Bookstore, only he’d looked relaxed. Now he was all business in a white lab coat, and if he recognized her from their brief encounter, he showed no sign. He looked distracted, disheveled, and full of his own self-importance.

“Ben Cole,” he said in a gruff voice, almost like a bark. Perhaps he spent too much time around dogs. He reached out to shake her hand. She bristled, giving his fingers only a perfunctory squeeze. His hand felt warm, solid, and damp. Stubble formed a shadow on his jaw, and his eyes were pale gray, nearly colorless. His nose had a slight bump, as if someone had punched him a long time ago. Not surprising, she thought, considering his utter lack of regard for his clients’ time.

“Lily Byrne.” She pulled back her hand and wiped off the dampness on her jeans. His gaze lingered on her face, and then he bent and peered into the box. The cat let out a tiny meow. He straightened, frowning. “You need a carrier, not a cardboard box.”

Now he was giving her advice? “The box worked fine.
The cat doesn’t belong to me. Bish said you might take her.”

“She told you that? If I had to take in every animal—”

“But I can’t keep this cat.”

He said nothing, but at least he didn’t press her for a reason. What would she tell him? That she feared the cat would ruin her shop? She couldn’t take care of another fragile living creature. She felt fragile enough already.

The room seemed to shrink around her, her pulse pounding in her ears. The hospital sounds faded into a faraway hum as the doctor reached into the box and expertly picked up the cat. Lily felt inept as she watched him arrange the kitty on his lap and examine her. She purred and squinted up at him, and he squinted back. Was this some form of secret feline communication?

This is his job. He’s supposed to be good at it,
Lily thought, but she wondered what she herself was truly good at. She’d managed to keep Josh’s design business running from the back office, but adding up columns of numbers had not prepared her for this solitary life, her own shop, or the possibility of failure. Now there was this cat, a small creature but to Lily, a huge intrusion. Was this what it meant to grieve? Was it normal for every small thing to feel immense?

What would she say to this vet if he were to walk into
her shop, looking for something to wear? Would she point him to a Ralph Lauren turtleneck or a flannel plaid shirt? Or would she be tongue-tied?

As she watched him work, so calm and sure, she wanted his boldness, his confidence, maybe even a little of his inflated ego.

“She’s an odd-eyed cat,” he said. “It’s a feline form of complete heterochromia.”

“Hetero-what?”

“Lack of pigment in one eye. In this case, in her green eye. Some white cats are deaf as well, but she has a sharp sense of hearing. She’s been out there a while, but she’s calm and pretty tame.”

“Calm? She wasn’t like this in my shop. She was running all over the place, chasing a moth. She damaged my wedding dress.” She hadn’t meant to say that last part about the dress. She didn’t want to reveal anything about herself, but now she felt as if her entire history was written on her face.

He looked at her. “Cats bring us down to earth, force us to reevaluate our priorities.”

She had no idea how to respond. He knew nothing about her except that she owned a clothing store and a damaged wedding dress. Who was he to judge her? “My
priorities are just fine, thank you. Can we hurry this up? I need to get back.”

He opened the cat’s mouth and checked her teeth. “She’s older than she looks. Maybe nine, maybe ten. She’s a senior cat.”

“A senior, great.” The poor thing could die at any moment, and didn’t old cats have all kinds of health issues?

“She grooms herself well but long-haired cats need extra help. They need regular brushing.”

“Tell that to her owner.” Lily knew she sounded rude, but the doctor’s attitude chafed her. She hadn’t anticipated a full medical workup for the cat. She hadn’t planned to be here at all. She had no time to brush an animal. She could barely remember to brush her own hair.

He put the cat on the floor and allowed her to explore. “She may not have an owner. She may be a stray.”

“Either way, she’s not mine. Can we do only the basics? How much will all this cost? I mean, this is the last thing I expected—”

“We’ll do our best to accommodate your financial constraints.”

Her face flushed.
Financial constraints?
Who did he think he was? She imagined picking up the glass jar of pet treats and whacking him over the head. “I have no financial con
straints,” she said, a lie. “But her owners will have to reimburse me. They’re probably looking all over for her. If you can’t keep her, I guess I have to take her to the shelter.”

His expression didn’t change, but a muscle twitched in his jaw. He jotted something in the chart. “It’s your decision. However, you could keep her for now and post flyers. If she’s lost, and someone tries to claim her, they should be able to identify her.”

“I wish I could do more for her, but I’ve got a lot on my plate. I’ll pay to get her brushed and cleaned up, and then I’ll take her to the shelter.”

“Fine. Suit yourself. I’ll be a few minutes.” He scooped up the cat and went out into the hall without looking back. The door slammed behind him. So this was a good plan. The basics and no more, and then she would be done with the cat.

Kitty

On the drive back to the shop, we stopped in at Meow City, where I cringed in the carrier until Lily hurried me back out to the car. She couldn’t bear to abandon me among the imprisoned. It took the entire journey, with a stop at the pet supply store, for the alarming smells and sounds to fade from my mind.

Back in the cottage, the spirits have concentrated into a dense mass. A young woman, who died in a violent accident, clings to a floral dress that belonged to her daughter. How can she know that her child long ago passed into the next realm?

Lily shivers a little. She turns up the thermostat, then tries to confine me to the kitchen, but my voice and my claws scratching at the door prove too much for her.

“This situation is temporary,” she says as she opens the kitchen door again. I run out into the hall. The spirit of her former mate slides along next to her shadow, occasionally blending into the darkness and then slipping away. Another spirit hides out of sight, the one that has lingered here for eons. Lily stops and looks around, her brows furrowed, then rubs her arms and shivers again.

“Cold pockets,” she says to me. “Maybe the place is haunted. Wouldn’t that be my luck? And what am I going to do with you?”

I sit on a threadbare rug and watch her while she calls one shelter, then another, and then another one farther away—trying to find a way to get rid of me.

“Everyone’s full. Unbelievable. Oh, stop staring at me that way, as if I’m betraying you. How am I going to get anything done when I have to watch you?”

I turn away and trot up to sit in the empty front window. Fascinating, the commotion in the shop across the street. After a while, Lily drags a statue, clad in a soft orange dress, toward the window and props it on the wide ledge next to me. She places a pair of glittery shoes and a handbag next to the statue, then arranges another
plastic woman on the ledge, this one wearing a shiny blue gown.

“Who can resist vintage silk?” she says, grinning. “I can do this, can’t I, kitty?”

I lick my paw.

She peers outside and frowns. “What are they doing over there? How did they come up with that? A mannequin lying on her side in a winter coat? The Newest Thing, my foot.” She looks at her own display. “Maybe I need a winter scene, too. How do I find a mannequin that can lie on its side that way? But this is what people are dreaming of, right? A summer night on the town?”

Someone is shuffling up the sidewalk, stopping to peer in at me. Oh no, it’s Ida. She’s coming this way. I run to hide beneath a rack of black dresses.

“Could this be a customer?” Lily says, her eyes lighting up. “There, you see? My display is already working.”

Horror of horrors, Ida shuffles in, without George this time, but I catch a disgusting whiff of Fifi.

“So this is where the white kitty lives!” Ida exclaims. “I saw him in the window.”

“Actually, she’s a girl,” Lily says. “She just showed up. Is she yours?”

“I wish she was. She’s beautiful. I can’t believe I never stopped in here.”

“I just opened,” Lily says, hurrying after Ida, who is browsing now, touching this and that.

“You’re a little off the beaten path.” Ida looks across the street at the comings and goings in the other shop. Then she smiles at Lily. “But now that I’m here, I’ll look around.”

“Please do.”

Please don’t.

“I’m in a buying state of mind. What can you show me?”

I’m going to have to stay hidden, as Ida might be here for a while.

Lily

Lily looked around at her messy shop, bewildered. This doughy woman hadn’t been drawn by the window display. She’d come to see the cat. Some deep need emanated from her, a desire that had long lain dormant. If she were to walk into The Newest Thing, what would happen? Chris would look up and nod at her, then return to her smartphone. Or maybe she wouldn’t look up at all. Ida would browse in complete anonymity. But here in Past Perfect, Lily could step in to help. She could make a difference. But how?

“I’ve got some lovely dresses,” she said. Her voice came out rusty. She cleared her throat. “If you’re looking for a dress, that is. Are you?” Oh, she sounded ridiculous. If only she could erase her words and start again.

The doughy woman tapped her chin with a chubby forefinger, in which a gold ring was deeply embedded. “Maybe a dress. I was supposed to come here for something. The kitty called to me, not in words, but you know…” She glanced down at her jeans, the shapeless kind with an elastic waist; and at her sensible, rubber-soled shoes. She wore an oversized, baggy polyester shirt beneath her sagging jacket. It was as if she were looking at someone else, some body that she could not recognize as hers.

What would Josh have done? What could Lily do? She could make a personal connection, so she reached out and shook the woman’s cool, soft hand. “I’m Lily. Maybe if you tell me more about what you’re looking for, I can help you.”

“I’m Ida,” the woman said, withdrawing her hand, “and I’m looking for, oh, I don’t know. Something pretty and unique.”

The cat tiptoed over and rubbed against Lily’s legs, and in that instant, she heard the words that Ida didn’t say.
I’m looking for happiness. I’m looking to stop time. I’m looking not to get any
older or fatter than I already am. I’m looking for my husband to look at me the way he used to. I’m looking for the impossible.

Across the street, The Newest Thing’s window scene had grown more elaborate, with snow and ski poles and a sprinkling of flakes on the mannequin’s coat. A new neon sign winked on above the door. Ida glanced across the street, her eyes bright. “Maybe I should just…” she began.

“Just?” Lily followed Ida’s gaze. A young woman came out of The Newest Thing carrying a large shopping bag. She glanced across the street at the mannequins in Lily’s window, looked right and left, then crossed the street at an angle toward the Island Creamery.