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“I haven’t worn that shirt in at least a month.”
“Sorry, but you were. I need to get going. If you want help for your memory, let me know. Paul knows a guy who—”
“No, but thank you for letting me know what the woman was wearing. I appreciate it.” I end the call before she can accuse me of lying again.
What are the chances the lady who looks similar to me would have the same tank top? Maybe she was pregnant the same summer that I was and also finds that shirt to be extremely comfortable. If so, she has good taste.
I should find her and try to make friends. Spending time with someone like her would be better than wasting another thought on Sylvia.
Now that she’s mentioned the purple tank, I can’t remember the last time I saw it. I need to check my closet. Not that I’m worried she’s right. She’s clearly wrong.
My summer wear is now in the back of the closet since the days are getting chillier. October is inching closer, and it’s definitely sweater weather now. I flip through my short sleeve shirts, starting with the blues and stopping at the purples.
The flowered tank top is gone.
I stare in disbelief before flipping through all the shirts again. It has to be here. I remember hanging it up when I moved my fall wardrobe to the front. I contemplated keeping it out a little longer to wear underneath light cardigans to get the most use out of it. Although according to Sylvia, I’ve gotten far more than that from it already.
After checking my summer section three more times, I go through all my clothes. Still don’t find it. Then I go through my drawers, even though I know it isn’t there. There’s no way I would’ve folded it as I only hang my favorite items.
And I’m right. It isn’t there.
Where did it go?
Maybe Nadia or Dakota borrowed it. It is cute. Given Dakota’s remark about my wardrobe, and her subsequent comment to Lyra, I doubt she took it.
I check both girls’ rooms, anyway. Not surprisingly, it isn’t in either one. Although one of them could’ve taken it to their other home. Both have been with their other parents since I last wore the shirt.
Could Nadia have been at the Cake Shack eating the cupcakes? The girl has eaten an entire pizza on her own before, so it’s possible. She never gains an ounce, even after eating a lot. She could probably down a half dozen cupcakes without even blinking.
The problem with that theory is my oldest is the spitting image of her dad. We have that in common—my entire life I’ve always heard people say I resemble my own father.
Sylvia would have to be blind to mistake Nadia for me. Maybe that’s it. The woman needs glasses, and instead of facing the facts she’s taking it out on me. That makes the most sense.
Not that it explains where my favorite tank top is.
I don’t even care anymore. My stomach is rumbling, and everyone is going to want food soon. Time to make dinner. I can solve the clothing mystery later. But I need out of the silk nightie I slipped into after my bath.
After changing into some yoga pants and a simple t-shirt, I toss my wrinkled nightie into the hamper.
Something purple catches my eye.
It’s the exact shade as my beloved tank top.
ChapterTen
This can’t be happening. My tank topcannotbe in my hamper. Breath hitching, I reach for it. Pull it out.
How did it get there?
I don’t know how I’m holding the shirt Sylvia swears I wore the other day. I remember exactly what I wore all week. I’m careful not to re-wear anything too often because I grew up poor and had to cycle through my clothes far too frequently. With most of my parents’ money going toward my brother’s care, there was little left over for me.
Aside from that, I distinctly remember putting my summer clothes in the back of the closet. I can even recall what I wore that day—faded skinny jeans and a lightweight blue long-sleeve top. My summer clothes have stayed there. I’ve had no need for shorts or tanks.
My memory is fine. Better than fine. To prove the point, I grab a pad of paper and write out everything I’ve worn in the last week. I check the list against the clothes in my hamper.
Everything matches, except the tank top.
I’m going to have to ask Nadia about the shirt, even though the chances of her having worn it are astronomically low. We don’t borrow each other’s clothes. Not like some mothers and daughters. We just don’t have the same style at all. But it’s the only thing that makesanysense, even though it’s unlikely.
