Vintage Page 23

  April nodded. “I know it’s possible because my mom looked into turning it into commercial space when she was thinking about starting her organization company. There are plenty of other businesses in the neighborhood that operate out of houses. There’s that spa and salon in the blue Victorian on the other side of the street. And there’s that sushi restaurant in the white farmhouse on the corner. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this option before.”

  “Are you sure you’d be okay with selling it to me, though?” Violet softened her voice. “I know the place holds a lot of memories for you.”

  “You’d be doing me a favor, actually. I’m pretty eager to get it sold before the baby comes and school starts.” April pushed the pencil and paper aside. “Anyway, no pressure or anything. It’s just an idea.”

  Violet thought aloud. “The house is in a great location, probably even better than this one. It’s right next to the grocery co-op, so it would get a ton of foot traffic.” She pictured hanging her shop sign above the double French doors of the bungalow and putting Adirondack chairs on the front porch so that customers could hang out and linger awhile.

  They were silent for a moment, letting the idea take shape.

  “How do you think your mom would feel about it?” Violet asked.

  “I think it would honor her memory, actually. She always had an entrepreneurial spirit.” April gave her a shy smile. “And besides, this is the closest thing I can think of to keeping the house in the family.”

  Chapter 22

  INVENTORY ITEM: apron

  APPROXIMATE DATE: 1950s

  CONDITION: fair

  ITEM DESCRIPTION: Blue cotton apron with a daisy print, somewhat faded.

  SOURCE: VFW flea market

  Amithi

  AMITHI PUSHED THROUGH THE door of Hourglass Vintage, clutching a small shopping bag.

  Inside the store, Violet was packing vintage gowns into a plastic crate between layers of acid-free paper. When she saw Amithi, she set aside the container and wiped her hands on her ruffled apron. “Hello there, stranger,” she said. “I haven’t seen you since the revue. You look great.”

  Amithi glanced down at the paisley Indian blouse she’d paired with loose linen pants, wedge sandals, and a turquoise necklace. After years of worrying about what to wear and when, she felt like she’d finally settled on a style that was neither fully Indian nor fully American; rather, it was hers.

  “Thank you,” Amithi said, setting the shopping bag on the counter. “What are you doing with all the boxes?” She gestured around to the moving crates piled everywhere.

  “I’m buying April’s mother’s house,” Violet said. “She was having a tough time selling it because it needs some work, but that’s what makes it affordable for me. Well, that and the fact that she cut me a good deal. But anyway, some of the quirky stuff that bothered other buyers, like the short door frames or the fact that the kitchen and bathrooms haven’t been updated since the 1950s—well, that stuff just gives it more character, in my opinion.”

  “Congratulations, that is wonderful news,” Amithi said. “And how is April? Has she had her baby yet?”

  “Not yet. She’s actually at the doctor right now. She has to go in every week, now that she’s in her final month of pregnancy. But I will be sure to tell you when her son or daughter arrives.”

  “Speaking of daughters, you will never believe what Jayana asked me,” Amithi said. “After she came to the revue, she told me she wanted to learn how to sew.”

  “Wow. The work you did must have really made an impression on her.”

  “I said I could give her some lessons, but she came up with a better idea. She said we should go to India together to buy textiles and to visit my family.” Amithi grinned. She still could hardly believe Jayana had suggested it. “So we will be making the trip in October. While we are there, my mother, sister, and I will all teach Jayana about sewing. And after I go to India with her, I am thinking I will go somewhere else by myself, too. I have never traveled on my own before, and I think it is time.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Violet reached behind her back to untie her apron. She took it off and set it down on the counter. “Where are you thinking of going?”

  “I am not sure yet. Oh, I almost forgot.” Amithi pulled a stack of business cards from her purse and handed them to Violet.

  “‘Amithi Singh Custom Tailoring,’” Violet read. Her face lit up. “You’re starting your own business? Welcome to the club. Lord knows it’s got its ups and downs, but I can tell you that nothing beats being your own boss.”

  Pride filled Amithi’s chest. It was a different sensation than the pride she’d felt for Jayana as a mother, or for Naveen’s career successes as a wife. This was a pride in herself, and it felt both unfamiliar and wonderful.

  “I’ve never had a boss,” she said. “I’ve never worked before—well, for money, anyway.”

  She’d never had to. Even now, Amithi continued to use her and Naveen’s joint checking account and credit cards, just as she’d always done. So far, she hadn’t encountered any resistance, even though it had been weeks since she’d started staying at Jayana and Jack’s condo. Still, just knowing that she could earn some money of her own, if she needed to, was a comfort.

  “People are constantly asking me if I know of a good tailor,” Violet said. “Now I can give them your information.” She propped up the stack of Amithi’s business cards in front of her cash register.

  “And one more thing.” Amithi reached into the shopping bag she’d brought with her and held up a pink silk shift dress. “I made a sample dress out of some silk from one of my old saris.”

  Violet touched a seam along the side. “This is gorgeous. I would wear this.”

  Amithi beamed. “I started off with a simple design, but I am hoping to learn how to do some more complicated patterns, too.”

  “Were you bringing this in to sell?” Violet asked.

  Amithi shook her head. “Maybe someday I will have a whole line of clothing to sell, but for now I am just experimenting. I suppose I will need to think about finding a space to do all my work. My projects are starting to take over Jayana and Jack’s condo. I’m still staying there for now, and I don’t think they appreciate my piles of fabric everywhere.”

  “You know, once I get settled into the new house, maybe I could rent some space to you. There’s a lovely sunroom on the second floor that would be perfect for a sewing room. I’ll be living on the second floor, too, but I don’t need all that space.”

  “I will have to keep that in mind,” Amithi said.

  “What does your husband think about all this?”

  “It does not matter. Whatever happens with Naveen, the tailoring business was something I had to do. When I was working on the revue, I felt useful. I liked that feeling.”

  Amithi didn’t mention the other thing she had realized at the revue, which was that she wasn’t ready to forgive Naveen, and she wasn’t sure if she ever would be. She’d been glad to see Charlie and April reconnect, but seeing the two of them onstage, so young and full of hope, had only made Amithi angrier with Naveen. From where Amithi stood now, her own youth and the hopefulness she’d once felt just looked like naïveté. April and Charlie had plenty of time to rebuild the trust that had been lost between them. Amithi still had time, too, but less of it. She’d already spent enough years being a wife and mother. It was time to just be herself. First, though, she had to figure out who that was.

  Not since she was a little girl had she felt such a sense of possibility, and it both thrilled and terrified her.

  August 12, 1956

  Six-year-old Amithi stood before the massive Hawa Mahal, gaping. Never had she seen a building so large, so elaborate. It must have had a thousand windows peeking out from its pink façade. She could not believe that this palace existed in the same city where she lived. Why had no one shown it to her before?

  Her mother held both Amithi and Priya by the hand. Amithi felt her fi
ngers throbbing, so strong was her mother’s grip.

  “Ma, you’re hurting me,” she said.

  “All right, but promise me you’ll stay close.” Her mother released Amithi but kept holding on to Priya, who was still a toddler.

  Amithi nodded as they went into the palace. She stayed by her mother’s side as they wandered the spacious rooms, each one more opulent than the next. Amithi paused in one of the wide hallways, mesmerized by a rainbow-colored stained glass window. The sunlight coming through the faceted panes made them look like jewels.

  “Isn’t it beautiful, Ma?” she asked.

  She turned to look at her mother, but her mother was no longer there. The mass of tourists snaking through the hallway pressed up against Amithi. She looked in front of her and behind her but recognized no one.

  Panicked, she passed through an arched doorway into the next room. This room, too, was crowded. The other visitors towered over her, blocking her view. She followed a narrow corridor, calling for her mother. People passed her but did not stop.

  She climbed one staircase, then another, until she reached the top floor, five stories above the ground. She peered out one of the latticed windows, hoping that perhaps she’d be able to see her mother and sister in one of the palace’s courtyards below.

  Goose bumps prickled her skin as she looked beyond the window. All of Jaipur was laid out before her—turreted temples, vast gardens, and sparkling lakes, with the Aravalli Mountains rising above it all. With so much beauty in front of her, Amithi forgot she was lost.

  Chapter 23

  INVENTORY ITEM: suit

  APPROXIMATE DATE: 1999

  CONDITION: excellent

  ITEM DESCRIPTION: Skirt and jacket by St. John Sportswear. Royal blue, wool jersey knit with white piping. Like new.

  SOURCE: Junior League charity auction

  April

  CHARLIE CLOSED THE DOOR of the moving truck.

  “Want to take one last look around to make sure you didn’t forget anything?” he asked.

  “I’m sure if I forgot anything, Violet will let me know,” April said.

  “Yeah, but don’t you want to sort of . . . say good-bye?” Charlie squeezed her hand. “It’s gonna look a lot different next time you’re here.”

  April nodded and entered her mother’s house. She walked through the foyer and into the living room and kitchen, marveling at how big the house looked without anything in it. She climbed the stairs and passed through the bedrooms. Her room, which until a few days ago had been stuffed with eighteen years’ worth of clothing, picture frames, and a few favorite dolls saved from childhood, felt like someone else’s space. The walls were now painted white and the only object in sight was the heating register. She walked back downstairs, expecting to feel at least a little bit sad that, even though it was being bought by a dear friend, the place would no longer be hers, no longer her mother’s. But without the quirky mix of art and furniture, the place didn’t feel like her mom’s house at all, which made it much easier to shut the door, lock it, and slip the keys in her pocket to bring to the closing later that day.

  Charlie stuck out his hand and helped April hoist herself into the truck on the passenger’s side. “You sure you don’t want to drive this thing?” he asked.

  “Driving my mom’s car was bad enough after not driving for a year. I think I’ll leave the truck driving up to you.”

  Charlie got in and put the keys in the ignition. Before starting the truck, he asked, “You doing okay?”

  April stared out the window at the house. “When we were packing things up, Violet found a note my mom had written herself about checking on some things in her life insurance policy. It looks like you might have been right. That my mom—” She forced herself to say the words. “Killed herself.”

  Charlie didn’t say anything. He scooted over on the bench seat and held April while she wept with the sort of unrestrained, body-quaking grief she could only share with him. He continued to hold her, there in the rental truck, in the driveway of her mother’s house, until her breathing slowed.

  When April pulled back, she said, “I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I didn’t know when to bring it up. I’ve been enjoying just being with you again and didn’t want to spoil that with more bad news. It seems like, since we met, that’s all we’ve been dealing with. One hard thing after another.”

  “Really? That’s not how I see it at all,” Charlie said. “I see it as incredibly lucky that we met. And all the hard stuff—well, every couple has to deal with it sooner or later, right? I figure our relationship has just been sort of front-loaded with a bunch of challenges, so that we’ve got more of the good times to look forward to.”

  April nodded. “And we’ll be stronger for it.”

  “Exactly,” Charlie said. Then he added, quietly, “I do wish I’d had more time to get to know your mom better, though.”

  “I wish I’d known her better, too.” April wiped her tears with the back of her hand and looked at the house again with clear eyes. Then she thumped the vinyl seat and smiled at Charlie. “Let’s go.”

  They drove half a mile to their new apartment. April had deliberated a lot about whether or not they should live together. Charlie was the one who’d brought it up. His lease with his senior-year roommate was about to end, and he needed to find a new place to live, now that he was going to be attending medical school in Madison. Part of April hesitated, realizing that if things didn’t work out with Charlie, living together would make it all the harder to break up a second time. But the truth was that, even if their future was uncertain, she wanted to be with Charlie now, and Lord knew she’d need help when the baby came in just over a month—if the kid didn’t decide to come early. So they’d signed a lease on a two-bedroom flat on the first floor of an old house that was close to campus and right on the bus line. Charlie still hadn’t told his parents, though.

  Charlie walked in and out of the apartment with boxes while April sat on the wood floor and unpacked. She unwrapped plates and mugs from wads of newspaper and placed them into the built-in china cabinet. She suspected she had nicer dishes than most eighteen-year-olds. There were large earthenware bowls made by artist friends of her mom, pewter platters from her parents’ wedding two decades ago, and etched wineglasses passed down from her maternal grandparents, who had both died when April was little. The china cabinet, with its leaded glass doors, had been one of the selling points of this apartment for April. Even though she and Charlie were only two people and would probably never use a lot of the tableware she’d inherited, it made her feel better about having all of this beautiful stuff if she could at least look at it. This was her way of preempting pity—by putting pieces of her past on display, where they’d be admired, instead of tucked away in a box.

  April stopped Charlie, who had an armload of clothes still on hangers.

  “We need to tell your parents about us living together,” she said.

  “I know.” He disappeared into the bedroom, then came out with his hands free.

  “No, I mean we need to tell them now.”

  “Right now? We only have the moving truck until three, and then I’ve got to get you to the closing.”

  “Okay, maybe not this minute, but soon. This week, at least. The baby and I shouldn’t be something you have to hide.”

  Charlie crouched down beside her. “You’re not. They already know we’re back together.”

  “Yes, but they haven’t seen me since spring, so it’s probably not real for them. I bet they’re hoping we’ll break up any day. In order for this to be real, for them and even for us, it needs to be out in the open. Completely.”

  Charlie put a hand on the small of her back. “I know you’re right. We’ll tell them.”

  “When?”

  “I’ll call them tonight and set something up.”

  The next evening, Charlie and April walked hand in hand up the stone walkway to the Cabots’ sprawling, Tudor-style house. White rosebushes bloomed on
either side of the varnished front door. Charlie rang the bell, and a high-pitched barking sound greeted them from inside.

  Judy Cabot cracked the door and said, “Careful for the dogs.”

  Charlie and April squeezed through the barely open door, which was tough for April with her protruding stomach. As soon as they were over the threshold, two white, hypoallergenic balls of fluff jumped at their ankles. Their tiny claws scratched against April’s bare skin—she was wearing a skirt and flip-flops. The shoes, she knew, were probably not up to Judy’s standards, but she was eight months pregnant and the thought of stuffing her bulging feet into a pump or even a wedge sandal was not something she could tolerate.

  “Oh, my, look at you,” Judy said when her eyes landed on April’s belly. That was all she said. No knowing glances from one mother to another, no mention of “that glow” so many women told April she had.

  “Doesn’t she look great?” Charlie said, putting his arm around April’s wide waist.

  Seeing Judy, April thought immediately of the day she’d gotten the wedding cancellation card in the mail, and the memory still stung. But Charlie’s proud smile made her realize how far they’d come as a couple since then, and she had the strength to say, “Hello, Judy.”

  Charlie gave his mother a terse kiss on the cheek. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s on the patio. Come on out.”

  They followed Judy through the kitchen, where she paused and asked, “Would you care for a gin and tonic? I just made some for your father and me.”

  “Sure,” Charlie said.

  April watched in astonishment as Judy mixed her son a drink and didn’t bother to offer her anything nonalcoholic, which seemed like an obvious courtesy, given that April was both underage and pregnant with her grandchild. Charlie, thank God, was a little more observant. He walked over to the fridge and opened it.

  “Do you want some lemonade, April, or maybe some San Pellegrino?” he asked.

  “Lemonade would be great, thanks,” she said. While Charlie poured her some, April glanced at Judy, who was squeezing lime into a rocks glass with singular concentration.