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“I think that’s why I liked it.”
“Well, those days are dead and gone, thank goodness. I, for one, don’t miss them a bit.” Bev looked over the last of the five dresses—abeautiful beige silk dress with pearl buttons and long, loose-flowing sleeves that Joan could barely remember purchasing. “What was the matter with this one?”
Joan stared at the dress. “I don’t know.” In truth, she hadn’t bothered trying that one on, so discouraged had she been with the others.
“It’s perfect for you. I insist you try it on and let me have a look.”
“I thought you were meeting Heather.”
Bev checked her watch. “I still have twenty minutes. Besides, she’ll be late. She always is. Now go on. I insist.”
“She’s right,” the salesman said. “I think the dress will look divine.”
Joan decided there was no point in arguing. The faster she tried on the damn dress, the faster she’d be out of here. She had no desire to risk another run-in with her niece. “Okay. Fine. Give it to me.”
“There’s a little sitting area just outside the fitting rooms where your friend can wait,” the salesman said, leading the way.
Joan emerged from the fitting room minutes later, wearing the dress. She did a little twirl in front of her sister-in-law. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s perfect. What doyouthink?”
“I think you’re right.”
Bev clapped her hands. “Wonderful. Then it’s settled. She’ll keep this one,” she told the salesman, who’d returned to check on them.
“Excellent,” he said. “So we’ll only be returning four. I’ll see you back at the counter whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Joan told Bev minutes later, as they waited for the salesman to rewrap the dress.
“What for?”
“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have my beautiful new dress.”
Bev’s hands fluttered girlishly around her face. “No thanks necessary. I’m just glad I was able to help.” She stared at Joan, as if waiting for her to speak.
“Well,” Joan obliged. “Till Saturday night.”
“Till Saturday,” Bev said. “You know that I just want everybody to get along and be happy.”
Would that it were so easy, Joan thought, catching a streak of panic flash through Bev’s eyes. “What?” she asked, turning around, although she already knew what—who—she would see.
“Hi, Mom,” Heather said. “Auntie Joan. Always a pleasure.”
“Heather,” Joan acknowledged, all but wresting the bag from the salesman’s hands. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I should get going.”
“See what I mean?” Joan heard Heather say to her mother as she was walking to the escalator. “Could she be any more rude?”
Joan didn’t hear Bev’s answer. She was too busy trying to breathe.
