“Oh yes you can!” Janice chimed in, appearing from the opposite end of the road. She clucked her tongue at me and shook her head, a laminatedPie Contest Judgebadge winking inthe sun. “Good leaders know when torest, Georgette. You’ll be of no use to us tonight if you’re roadkill.”
My lips parted with a protest, but Janice held a single warning finger in the air at me.
“C’mon.” Margot bumped my hip with hers. “Time to make you look presentable.”
I groaned and mumbled unintelligible arguments at them, even as I followed Margot toward my house. Janice winked at me when I passed, then quickly began shuffling toward Frank. At the top of Main Street, I threw one last miserable, pathetic glance to Rhett.
He didn’t look back.
“Oh, you’re like a lovesick puppy,” Margot said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me along the sidewalk.
Back at home, she practically shoved me in the shower. I considered saying I’d rather eat, but if I put up any more defense, she might’ve held me under the faucet herself. The showerdidmake me feel slightly more alive. I even took the time to scrunch my favorite balm into my hair—a thick, creamy stuff that smelled of honeysuckle.
Margot sat crisscross on the floor of my bedroom when I came back.
“What are you doing?” I asked, tying my robe tighter.
“You—” She paused to rub her temples. “Have no clothes.”
I padded over to the pile of clothes from that morning. “These jeans are still fine.”
She groaned and wrinkled her nose, throwing her hands in the air as if I’d just said the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “You’re not wearing smelly, ripped up jeans, Georgie!”
“Why not?”
Margot squinted at me, looking three seconds from exploding before she drew a breath in and out. “People like you are the reason I’m in therapy,” she muttered.
“Aw, it’s sweet of you to think of me so much,” I teased with a smile.
Then she snapped her fingers and pointed, eyes blown wide. “Your grandmother! Didn’t she have an entire collection of dresses?”
Margot all but sprinted down the stairs, forcing me to trail after her like a sleepy dog. I found her crouched in the office, the little room off the kitchen that still smelled faintly of dried lavender and printer ink. Dusty sunlight pooled across the stacked banker’s boxes shoved against the far wall. My grandmother labeled them with her swoopy handwriting:Summer Inventory,Holiday Sale Flyers,Miscellaneous,and, in the corner, one that simply readPersonal.
“That’s it,” Margot declared, pointing like an explorer who’d just discovered buried treasure.
I knelt beside her, tugging the box free. “You know, this is probably full of tax records or unpaid bills.”
“Georgie,” Margot said with theatrical patience, “Your grandmother was far too much of a romantic to waste a box onreceipts. This has dresses written all over it.”
Tracing a palm over the cardboard, I waited for that familiar rush of grief to take hold. That overwhelming, drowning sensation that knocked me off my feet and laid me out once again. But it didn’t come.
Instead, something hopeful bloomed in my chest. I couldn’t believe I’d let all these pieces of her collect dust.
Dragging in a long, thick breath, I popped the lid. Inside waited a tangle of fabric that smelled faintly of cedar and rosewater, the kind of scent that made my throat catch.
Margot gasped and dug in both arms, up to her elbows. “Oh, these are incredible.” She pulled out a cocktail dress in shimmering silver, sequins winking even through the dust. “Tell me this woman didn’t know how tolive.”
I smiled despite the lump in my throat. “She wore that to the New Year’s party one year. Danced with every person in the room and said she felt like a disco ball.”
Margot pressed it against herself, cocking a hip. “Shame it’s too small for me. You, though—” She thrust it at me. “Try it.”
We worked through the box together, giggling as she held each dress up for inspection: a cherry-red sheath with dramatic cap sleeves, a polka-dotted sundress that smelled faintly of gardenia, a midnight-blue gown with a daring slit. Between each, I caught flashes of my grandmother—her laugh, her perfume, the way she’d rest her chin in her hand at the shop counter.
Finally, nestled at the bottom, I found it.
Silky but not shiny, the fabric practically ran through my fingers like water.
“She wore this,” I whispered, “The summer I turned twelve. There was a wedding down at Seaglass Beach, and she… she looked so beautiful in it.”
