He looked at his watch, turned the doorknob, and stepped out onto the porch without saying a word.
I stood there, listening to the hum of the old refrigerator, the cold paper towel still pressed against my thumb.
The wind in Oak Creek was cold that afternoon, blowing dry, brown sycamore leaves across the asphalt of Main Street. I had three hours before the guys would be back from their shifts, and my shopping list was already checked off.
I stopped in front of Evelyn’s Dress Shop because the window display had changed since Tuesday.
Behind the glass, on a pale, faceless mannequin, hung a dress the color of deep moss after rain. It was silk, with a high collar and long sleeves that gathered at the wrists, reflecting the pale October light.
I looked at my reflection in the glass, at my faded denim jacket and the worn pearl earrings my mother had given me when I turned thirty .
The brass bell above the door chimed as a woman in a wool coat emerged, leaving the door open long enough for the scent of lavender and expensive starch to drift down to the sidewalk.
I was inside before I could think of a reason to turn back.
The shop was silent, the heavy green carpet muffled the sound of my flat shoes.
“I just got it yesterday,” the saleswoman said, walking around a rack of wool skirts, a measuring tape slung over her shoulder like a silver snake.
I touched the hem of the green silk, my fingers feeling the roughness of the smooth fabric.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, “but I have nowhere to wear something like that.”
