Read The Secret Lives of Dresses Online
Authors: Erin McKean
The Secret Lives of Dresses (11 page)
“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 balanced.”
“I understand.” Dora couldn’t look at Dr. Czerny too carefully; she didn’t want to see any lingering doubt that might be in her face, or any sign that things were more serious than what she was saying.
“Did your grandmother have any kind of health-care directives?”
“Like a living will?” Dora could see the carefully labeled file in Mimi’s desk, floating up in her mind’s eye unbidden. “She has one of those.”
“If you could bring anything like that with you tomorrow, that would be really helpful. We like to be as respectful as possible of patients’ wishes. We called her internist, but his answering service said he was out of town.”
“No problem. Will do.” Dora didn’t trust herself to speak in longer sentences. If they wanted Mimi’s living will, then things were seriously not optimal.
Con was holding Mimi’s hand when she went back into the room, and talking in a low voice. He seemed to be telling Mimi about Mrs. Featherston. “And she was wearing a leopard-print jeans jacket! It might have even been real fur. I mean, not real leopard, I hope not real leopard, but something definitely furry. I remembered it particularly to tell to you.”
Con looked up and saw her face. “I’ll go get the truck,” he said. He turned back towards Mimi. “I’ll see you soon, Mimi.”
Dora walked over and kissed Mimi on the cheek. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything.
When she got back out to the front, Con was waiting. Dora hauled open the door of the pickup and hoisted herself in.
“Bad news?”
Dora only nodded.
“I know this will sound weird, but—do you want to go to the movies? I mean, now?”
“Now?” Dora looked at her watch. It was eight-thirty. It felt like midnight.
“I thought you might want a little distraction. I saw a lot of movies—especially old movies—when he was sick. Just enough distraction to keep me from dwelling, not enough distraction to make me feel guilty for enjoying myself.”
“I should take advantage of your hard-won experience.” Dora’s voice had a little quaver in it. “Okay, let’s go to the movies.”
“Great. Next decision: take our chances with the nine p.m. show at the Brew & View, or multiplex at the mall?”
“Let’s take a chance on the Brew . . .”
Con just nodded. Dora looked out the window at nothing.
They were quiet all the way to the Brew & View, and Dora was grateful. Dora fumbled for her wallet at the ticket booth, but Con beat her to it. The movie was
The Princess Bride.
The Princess Bride.
“Okay by you?” Con asked, as they were finding their seats.
“Perfect by me. It’s my favorite movie.” Dora felt like she was going to cry again. “I’ve never seen it on a big screen, I don’t think.”
“See? The universe wants you to feel better. And eat popcorn.” He waved over a waitress. “Popcorn, and a beer. Two beers?” Dora shook her head. “One beer. And a . . .”
“Diet Coke,” Dora said in a small voice.
“And a Diet Coke for the lady. You want anything else? Wings? Jalapeño poppers? Goobers? Good & Plentys?”
Dora shook her head. “That’s all, then,” Con said to the waitress.
When the waitress had gone, Dora turned to Con. “Nobody eats Good & Plentys,” she said.
“Shhhhh,” Con hissed. “The movie’s starting. I have a strict no-talking-in-movies policy.”
Dora nodded. The screen wasn’t very big, but it was bigger than her television set. And the Brew & View had a real movie projector, and ran real film, not DVDs. Not that Dora would have probably known the difference, but she could hear the faint and comforting whirring noise of the projector in the background. Sitting in the dark, Dora tried to keep her attention on the movie, but her thoughts kept going back to the hospital room, and Mimi. She wished she had her own Miracle Max to give her a little miracle.
When it was time to storm the castle, Con leaned over. “This is my favorite part,” he said.
“Shhhhh,” said Dora, grabbing more popcorn. “No talking in movies.”
They stayed through the end credits and then trailed the tail end of the crowd out onto the sidewalk. Dora felt exhausted. Con opened the door of the truck for her, and gave her a hand up to the high seat.
“I think I kept you out too late,” Con said.
“No, no—thank you, it was really nice. Thank you for taking me to see Mimi, and the movie, and the popcorn, and everything.”
Con seemed to know the way back to Mimi’s house without being told. “It was my pleasure. Lots of people did stuff like this for me when my dad was sick, and I needed distractions. And I’m happy to do anything I can for Mimi.”
Gabby’s car was in the driveway. “That’s one mystery solved. I bet she went home for a quick nap and is still asleep.” Dora sighed. “And look, there’s her cell phone on the dashboard.”
“Well, I’m glad she’s okay, but I’m not sorry she flaked.” Con smiled again. He had a particularly disarming smile, Dora thought.
“Well, thank you, again,” Dora said, helplessly. Con smiled down at her. “Good night.”
“Good night. Get some rest, if you can.”
Gabby met Dora at the door, and smothered her in a hug.
“Oh, honey, I hope you got my message.”
“Message?”
“I called and let you know I couldn’t come get you tonight?” The pockets of Gabby’s coral velour bathrobe were stuffed with tissues, and her eyes were red. Something looked off.
“Oh, Gabby, you’re missing an earring.” Dora braced herself for a desperate search—Gabby was obsessive about her jewelry.
“Oh, honey, that’s not important now. Besides, I bet it’s just in the car, I probably took it off when I called you.”
Dora looked at the remaining one, a lentil-sized diamond surrounded by tiny sapphires. “I hope you find it—it’s so pretty. I’ve never seen those before.”
“Oh, they were a present from Jerry when we were married—I don’t wear them often, they’re too valuable. I don’t know why I didn’t sell them years ago.” Gabby looked vague for a minute.
Dora wanted to ask about the mysterious Jerry, but she felt too tired. It was an effort just to take a deep breath.
“Did you call my cell? Or the store?”
“The store, I think. A little after closing, but I just figured you were in the back.”
“I went outside to wait, and missed it.”
Gabby looked confused.
“Don’t worry—Con Murphy gave me a ride to the hospital, and then we went to the movies.”
“Oh, that’s fine, then.” Gabby looked relieved. “I like that Con Murphy. Just like him to think of the movies.” Gabby gave Dora a long hug. “You’re so grown up now, Dora.” Gabby sighed. “You look just about worn through. Why don’t you take yourself up to bed?”
Dora didn’t argue. She made her way upstairs, touching each baluster of the banister for good luck, the way she used to do when she was a little girl. She was halfway up the stairs when Gabby called out to her. But when she turned, Gabby just said, “Sleep well, honey.”
Upstairs in her room she saw yesterday’s blue dress still crumpled on the floor. Dora winced. Mimi hated to see clothes treated poorly.
“I can’t help but think of all the dresses I’d have in the store if people had only taken better care of their things,” she said. She especially hated it when some well-meaning person at a party told her that they used to have some gorgeous piece of clothing—a mouton coat, or an Italian knit suit—and that the moths had gotten it, or that someone had put it in the basement and it had gotten mildewed. “It’s like they’re saying, ‘Nyah-nyah, you can’t have it,’” Mimi would grumble. “It’s just plain rude, that’s what it is.”
Dora reached to pick the dress up. She’d hang it up overnight, and run a load of laundry in the morning.
As she picked up the dress, a thin slip of folded paper fell out of the pocket. It looked like airmail paper. Dora unfolded it carefully.
Some dresses are only ever worn by one person, and so that’s the kind of person they like. It makes sense. If you only ever get one choice, you’re happier if you make yourself believe that you would have chosen that one person anyway, even given all the people in the world to pick from.But I’ve been worn by lots of people: three sisters, two friends of sisters, and one friend of a friend of a sister, plus once by someone whose name I never knew, but my point is I know a bit more about what I like and what I don’t like.I like someone who laughs, but not all the time, and not too loud. I like it when someone laughs at the world, and not at someone in particular—when some particularly absurd thing happens, not just someone falling down.And a person should stop every once in a while, for no reason, just stop to be still for a moment. Moments of stillness are underrated, I think. They don’t have to be silent moments, just still ones. A chance to let yourself imagine you can feel the earth spinning. (I didn’t make that up; Edna, the oldest sister, did. She wore me first, so perhaps I am a little biased toward people like Edna. Although she did snore.)Singing when no one else is around is always good. I especially like belters. Good, loud singing is probably better medicine than half the stuff they sell in pill bottles, and it’s cheaper, too. I also think people should never turn down an opportunity to hold a baby. There’s something about the feel of a new baby in your arms that just fixes you.I don’t like meanness, especially of the mealy mouthed “Well, I wouldn’t say this, but I hear . . .” variety. And I don’t like people who eat powdered doughnuts. I don’t care how careful you are, they’re just plain messy. I can’t believe they taste good enough to justify getting that sugar all over everything, especially me.But when you come right down to it, I’m just like everyone else, in that I like someone who likes me. The someone whose name I never knew, the one who wore me once? Said I was the prettiest dress she ever wore. The minute she said that I wanted her to keep me forever. I wish she had.
Dora read the story over three times. It didn’t seem quite finished. Maybe Mimi only wrote whole stories for the dresses in the store? Dora held on to it for a moment more, then put it carefully on top of the dresser, weighted down with a crystal perfume atomizer.
Right before Dora drifted off to sleep, she remembered the Dior book. She’d left it in the truck. She’d just have to track down Con tomorrow.
Chapter Three
S
unday morning, Dora was at loose ends. She had woken impossibly early, and lain in bed for a good half-hour willing herself back to sleep. When that failed, she crept downstairs and made coffee, waiting impatiently for the Sunday paper to arrive. When it did, she couldn’t bring herself to do more than skim the headlines. Even the comics couldn’t hold her attention, and she made it all of one line into the advice column (“My husband has gained fifty pounds since we married”) before throwing it down.
unday morning, Dora was at loose ends. She had woken impossibly early, and lain in bed for a good half-hour willing herself back to sleep. When that failed, she crept downstairs and made coffee, waiting impatiently for the Sunday paper to arrive. When it did, she couldn’t bring herself to do more than skim the headlines. Even the comics couldn’t hold her attention, and she made it all of one line into the advice column (“My husband has gained fifty pounds since we married”) before throwing it down.
Dora stared into the refrigerator; there were eggs, and plenty of bacon, but making a real breakfast seemed like an impossible challenge, something worthy of
Iron Chef
. She mixed the dregs of the box of raisin bran with Mimi’s shredded wheat and ate a bowlful without tasting it.
Iron Chef
. She mixed the dregs of the box of raisin bran with Mimi’s shredded wheat and ate a bowlful without tasting it.
Dora considered going to church. Mimi would have liked her to go, but Dora couldn’t brave all that well-meaning sympathy alone. Gabby showed no signs of stirring, and anyway, Gabby’s church attendance was erratic, at best, aside from her own weddings.
So Dora wandered through the house, tidying things. She did a load of laundry, carefully hanging up the dresses and slips to dry. There was a load in the dryer, Mimi’s things. She folded them and took them upstairs, but stopped when she came to Mimi’s door. She took a deep breath and went in.
She put the laundry on the bed and looked around. The room looked ready for Mimi to come back. Dora had almost been expecting a thin layer of dust over everything; it felt like Mimi had been away forever. There was a stack of stamped envelopes on Mimi’s desk—bills, they looked like, and Dora went to go pick them up. Mimi would hate it if she got some kind of late fee. She could imagine Mimi complaining about it: “I explained to them that having a stroke usually means you’re unable to get to a mailbox, but they were just so
unreasonable.
I told them I’d close my account, though, and they took off the charge.”
unreasonable.
I told them I’d close my account, though, and they took off the charge.”
Mimi’s desk was so tidy. Her personal checkbook in its leather case; a notepad; a file folder labeled “October,” those bills, and a roll of stamps—nothing else. The folder reminded Dora of her promise to Dr. Czerny, and she opened the file drawer. There it was, as she remembered it. A folder marked “Living Will—Health Care Proxy.”
Dora took it out and put it on top of the desk. The next folder, its tab now revealed, read “Funeral.” Dora slammed the drawer shut.
Dora left the folder on top of the desk. She would take it to the hospital that afternoon. She closed Mimi’s door behind her, and went to take a shower. Dora only let herself cry for a little while, under the too-hot water in the shower. She didn’t want to use it all up before Gabby got up.
Getting dressed, she hesitated. She’d washed the clothes she’d worn when she arrived—but her old pants and T-shirt looked so strange to her now, like they were intended for a twelve-year-old boy. She went back to the closet, and found what Mimi called a “housedress,” hanging ignored and out of place at the end of a rack of brocaded and beaded cocktail gowns. The steel-blue color had faded a bit at the shoulders, something Dora wouldn’t even have noticed last week. Dora pulled it from the hanger and put it on; now it felt as if she’d always been wearing these dresses.
Other books
Blood of Cupids by Kenzie, Sophia
Dandyland Diaries by Dewey, D.M.
The Silver Coin by Andrea Kane
The Empress's Tomb by Kirsten Miller
Evil in Return by Elena Forbes
Unbreak my Heart by Johannesen, I. R.
Warning Signs (Love Inspired Suspense) by Lee, Katy
Getting Somewhere by Beth Neff
Protecting Her Child by Debby Giusti
Chow Down by Laurien Berenson