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  As they waited for the next model to take the stage, Violet asked, “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” April said, glancing at Lane. She didn’t want to talk about her mom in front of this woman she hardly knew. She waved a hand. “I guess I’m just moody. Must be pregnancy hormones or something.”

  Lane grinned. “I thought you were pregnant that day I came in with the costumes, but I know you’re never supposed to ask. When are you due?”

  “Labor Day,” April said, trying to muster a smile. It was hard to be excited about bringing a new life into the world when her mother had, in all likelihood, found her own life too much to bear.

  “I’ve got three boys at home, so if you need someone to talk to about kid stuff, you can call me,” Lane said.

  It was nice of Lane to offer support. April couldn’t count on her high school friends for that. They’d pulled away from her since she’d gotten pregnant. While April worked, met with her mom’s estate lawyer, and read baby name books, her friends were sneaking beers from their parents’ refrigerators and obsessing over their latest crushes. It wasn’t that April didn’t get it—she’d probably have been doing those same things if her circumstances were different—but she knew she couldn’t expect her classmates to understand how much her life had changed in a short period of time.

  “I mean it, too. Call me anytime.” Lane studied April with an earnest expression. “Here, give me your phone. I’ll put my number into it.”

  April fished around in her purse and handed the phone to Lane.

  “I remember how hard it was when the kids were babies,” Lane said as she punched at the buttons. “We’d just moved here, so I didn’t know many people, and my husband was working all the time. I didn’t feel like I had any support system. I would hate for anyone else to have to go through that, so don’t be shy about calling if you need to.” She handed the phone back to April.

  Violet leaned forward in her seat. “A lot of these girls are too thin,” she said. “Lane, how many models on your ‘yes’ list are a size ten or larger?”

  Lane ran her finger down her clipboard. “Two—no, three. Not counting the queens, who are all over the board in terms of sizing.”

  “We need more models who have some actual curves,” Violet said. “I don’t want my customers coming to the show and seeing nothing but size-two college girls prancing around onstage. Not to mention that some of the best outfits April and I put together are in larger sizes.”

  “You got it,” Lane said. She stood up on her wobbly fold-down chair and let out a two-fingered whistle. “Excuse me, models, may I have your attention?”

  The chatter in the room faded within seconds.

  “If you are smaller than a size ten, you may leave now. Thank you for coming, but for the rest of the evening we are looking only for size ten and larger. I repeat, if you are smaller than a size ten, you may leave. Thank you. We hope you’ll still come out to watch the show.”

  An annoyed buzz circulated in the room as the skinnier models gathered their belongings and headed for the doors.

  Impressed by Lane’s ability to command attention, April thought maybe she’d judged her too harshly, had been too quick to label her as another frazzled mom. In the theater, with all eyes on her, Lane looked at home.

  A few days later at the boutique, April was greeted in the morning not by Violet in her usual spot with her mug full of coffee, but by a note taped to the register that said she had a meeting, so April would need to do the opening routine.

  April tore off the note, grateful to have a sign that Violet was beginning to trust her more.

  She checked the mail, unlocked the doors, and counted the stacks of petty cash in the register, trying to clear her mind. Lately, whenever her thoughts weren’t occupied with something immediate, April couldn’t help but fixate on a mental image of her mom driving on an icy road, creeping along carefully until, with a deliberate jerk, she swiveled the steering wheel with her peach-manicured hands. Her mother, even when she would go days without showering, never neglected her fingernails. It was as if exercising control over that small surface area of her body made up for the lack of control she had over her mind.

  To push this picture out of her head, April went about tidying up the racks of clothing, starting with rows of skirts in all lengths, from micromini to floor-length. She checked them all to make sure they were organized by size and that there were no twos where the twelves should have been. Not that she was wearing either of those sizes anymore.

  Outside the shop window, a middle-aged woman stopped and examined the posted hours of business on the door. April didn’t recognize her but hoped she’d come in. Even if the lady turned out to be rude, or the type of customer who left clothes on the dressing room floor, April figured anything would be better than sitting here with the screaming silence of her own thoughts.

  The woman did come in, and immediately said, “I’m glad to see someone in this town keeps reasonable business hours. I’ve been walking around trying to find something open, but most of the stores don’t open until eleven.”

  “Not us,” April said. “We’re open ten to seven every day of the week.”

  “Thank God. One of the shops had a sign on the window that said they were open until six every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, but only ’til four the rest of the week, except on Mondays, when they’re closed. How are customers supposed to remember that?”

  The woman’s voice sounded slightly nasal and carried a long-voweled accent. East Coast, maybe? thought April. “I know what you mean,” she replied. “My favorite bakery is constantly changing its hours. Sometimes I wonder if it’s on purpose, like they’re trying to hint to me that I don’t need another chocolate chip scone.”

  “Well, where I’m from, the stores are open when it’s convenient for the customers, not the other way around.”

  “You’re not from Madison?”

  The woman shook her head of short, tight curls. “Boston. I’m Monica, by the way.”

  “I’m April. Is there anything I can help you with? Are you looking for something specific?”

  “I came in to look for something to wear to my nephew’s graduation party this afternoon. The airline lost my luggage.”

  “Is your nephew graduating from high school or college?” April asked.

  “College.”

  “Most graduation parties around here are pretty laid-back.” April assessed the woman’s black capri pants and blue sleeveless polo. “You could probably wear what you have on now.” Realizing that her suggestion wasn’t a very good sales tactic, she added, “And we could set you up with some nice accessories. Some jewelry, maybe a dressier pair of shoes.”

  Monica pursed her lips. “I think I need a dress. My sister and her husband are the Waspy type. The party’s at their country club.”

  “Sure, what size are you?”

  “Eight.”

  April walked over to a wall rack where the day dresses hung. “We just got in some adorable Lilly Pulitzer stuff that might be appropriate.” She held up a white dress with little yellow and green pineapples on it. The cheery color and print seemed to mock her mood, which continued to drag, despite the distraction of this new customer.

  Monica’s expression went sour. “No offense, honey, but the only Pulitzers I’m into are the kind you win.”

  April put the dress back on the rack. “Okay, so no pineapples. What about this?” April held up a navy blue cotton shift dress. “We’ve got a really cool vintage necklace and earrings set that would go with it. They’re gold with big green beads.”

  “Sounds nice,” Monica said. “I’ll try it on.”

  “The dressing rooms are right there.” April pointed to the two stalls.

  Monica disappeared into one of them, still chattering. “This dress is much more my style.”

  “To be honest, I don’t like the pineapple dress either,” April said. “I was just trying to picture the crowd. My ex-boyfriend’s mother wears
stuff like that.”

  “So does my sister, Judy,” Monica said from behind the dressing room door. “In fact, who knows? Maybe that dress came from her closet. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing, if I showed up in one of her cast-offs?”

  April sucked in her breath so hard she almost choked on her own saliva. “I’m sorry, did you say Judy?”

  “Yep, that’s my sister. Miss Perfect. I’m glad my nephew is coming out to Boston for med school. I’m looking forward to spending some time with him outside his mother’s grips. Don’t get me wrong, I love my sister, but she can be a little much sometimes.”

  Monica emerged from the dressing room to examine the dress in the three-way mirror.

  April stared at her, wondering why she hadn’t noticed Monica’s slender figure, the light brown hair, and high cheekbones, just like Charlie’s mother’s.

  “I think this will do it.” Monica put her hands on her hips as she inspected her reflection. She caught April’s eye in the mirror.

  “I’m sorry, is your sister’s name Judy Cabot?” April asked.

  “Why, yes. Do you know her?”

  April felt dizzy. “Judy’s son is my ex-fiancée.”

  Monica turned around and took in April’s round stomach and raised her eyebrows. “I take it you weren’t invited to the graduation party,” she said.

  April shook her head.

  Monica frowned. “Oh, Charlie.”

  After Monica left, April’s nerves were as tight and humming as a violin string. To calm herself, she turned to numbers. Amidst the jumbled uncertainty of her personal life, April longed to lend order to something. She opened her laptop to view the bookkeeping program she’d installed for the store. The sight of tables and cells calmed her breathing, but just barely. By the time Violet came in around lunchtime, April was desperate to talk to someone.

  “Thank you for taking care of things around here this morning,” Violet said.

  “How was your meeting?” April asked.

  “Fine, but I have another one in just a few minutes, with my landlord. Do you mind keeping an eye on things out here for a little while longer?” Violet set down her red bucket purse.

  April nodded, afraid to open her mouth for fear that she’d spew out a storm of emotions.

  Bells jingled, and April looked toward the shop entrance, where a man with buzz-cut hair and a belly bigger than hers pushed the door open. The space-age shapes on his tie reminded April of the patterns on movie theater carpeting.

  “Hi, Ted,” Violet said. She gestured toward April. “Meet my new employee, April. April, this is Ted Mortensen. His company owns our building.”

  The man’s cologne constricted April’s throat and made her nauseous, but she managed to force a smile and say, “Nice to meet you.”

  Ted didn’t return the smile. “Violet, if you don’t mind, I’d like to sit down and go over a few things with you.”

  “Certainly. Let’s go in the back room, where we won’t be disturbed by customers coming in and out,” Violet said, leading the way.

  April watched them go, wishing Violet had asked her to join them. After hearing that she hadn’t been invited to Charlie’s graduation party, she wanted nothing more than to be included in something.

  Seconds stretched into minutes, and minutes into half an hour. In a daze, April assisted a girl a little older than she was with finding an outfit for a date. She helped a woman who looked like she could have been her mom’s age find a pair of designer jeans. By the time the customers had checked out and left, almost an hour had gone by. April wondered what could possibly be taking Violet and Ted so long.

  She decided to find out.

  In the back room, Violet stood shuffling through papers on her worktable, looking flustered, while Ted sat in a folding chair with his arms crossed. April hovered in the door frame, trying to figure out what they were talking about.

  “I know I’ve got my rent records in here somewhere,” she heard Violet say. “But even without looking at them, I know I’ve never missed a payment.”

  “Really, it’s all right,” Ted said. “I believe you, but that doesn’t change anything.”

  “I swear it was right here,” Violet said, picking up a stack of papers.

  April felt a rush of adrenaline and blurted out, “Maybe if you’d had all this stuff stored electronically from the beginning, you’d be able to find what you’re looking for.”

  Both Violet and Ted turned their heads to look at her, and April knew she’d crossed a line. But she felt so unmoored, so small and discarded, that she was willing to grasp on to anything that might make her feel more significant.

  April went up to the register and came back with her laptop. Ignoring the pleading looks from Violet, she sat down at the table with her and Ted.

  “What is it you’re looking for exactly?” April asked, setting down her computer. “Maybe I’ve got it entered in here already.”

  Ted put a hand over the laptop before April could open it. “You don’t need to find the rent records. It doesn’t matter.” He looked at Violet. “I appreciate your efforts to be thorough and discuss this all with me, but I already told you: regardless of how diligent you’ve been as a tenant, it’s not going to change our minds about moving forward with the eviction. The fact remains that this building is more profitable to us if we sell it.”

  “What eviction?” April asked.

  The defeated expression on Violet’s face told her all she needed to know.

  Ted cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you two to your work.” He got up. “Think about my offer.”

  April followed Violet as she got up and walked with Ted to the door. She watched out the window and waited until Ted had climbed into his shiny black sedan before lashing out at Violet.

  “Why didn’t you say anything about an eviction?” April demanded.

  “I think I’m the one who should be asking questions here.” Violet put her hands on her hips. “For starters, why were you eavesdropping on my confidential conversation?”

  April didn’t have a good explanation, except that she hated secrets. Her mom had been secretive, and with her death, those secrets had turned into questions that would never have answers.

  “I don’t know why,” April said.

  “And if you were going to eavesdrop, why couldn’t you at least have left it at that? You had no right to inject yourself into my meeting and undermine my authority in front of someone I really can’t afford to look bad in front of right now.”

  “Why are we getting evicted?” April said. “Are you not paying rent?”

  “I’m paying rent. I may not be good with computers, or a math genius like you, but I’m not stupid,” Violet said, her voice flaring with anger. “No, they want to kick me out so they can sell the building.”

  April narrowed her eyes. “I can’t believe you’ve just been coming in every day, acting like nothing is wrong. I guess it must not be a big deal to you.”

  Violet buttoned up the top button of her shirtdress, as if doing so would hold in her emotions. “It is a big deal to me. In fact, that’s what I was dealing with this morning. I was meeting with Karen to talk about it.”

  “You could have included me. I have a right to know what’s going on with the shop.” April couldn’t believe the things she was saying, but she couldn’t stop. It was as if, for the last year, starting with her mom’s death and gaining speed through her pregnancy and breakup, she’d been running from a tidal wave. She sprinted as fast as she could, but it was always inches behind her, curling over her head and threatening to wash her away. Her encounter with Monica had made her stumble just when she thought she’d earned herself a decent head start, some breathing room. The swell, always at her back, was finally catching up with her.

  “April, I appreciate how you’re willing to go above and beyond what I’d expect an intern to do, but it’s still my store. I have a right to meet with my lawyer and my landlord on my own. And to decide what to share with you and what to
keep to myself.” Violet softened her voice. “Listen, I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, with dealing with your mom’s house and your ex. Maybe you should take some time off.”

  “Are you firing me?” April asked.

  “That’s not what I’m saying. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be interacting with customers when you’re this emotional.”

  When you’re this emotional, thought April. In her experience, “emotional” was code for “crazy.” Like her mom.

  “I’ll make it easy for you and just not come back,” she said.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?” Violet asked.

  “Yes,” April said. Perhaps it was true.

  She knew she’d taken things too far. Now was the time to apologize and undo some of the damage. But she was boiling with so much rage and confusion—even as the freezing tidal wave sucked her under—that her ears pounded with pressure, building and building, until no rational thought could be heard above the din.

  April pushed open the door and walked out of the shop.

  Chapter 15

  INVENTORY ITEM: shoes

  APPROXIMATE DATE: late 1980s

  CONDITION: fair

  ITEM DESCRIPTION: Pink canvas Converse high-tops. Fabric frayed around shoelace grommets.

  SOURCE: Amithi Singh

  Amithi

  AMITHI LEANED BACK INTO the stiff leather cushions of her daughter’s modern couch. Like everything else in Jayana and Jack’s condo, the couch seemed to have been chosen more for aesthetics than for comfort.