The wind in Oak Creek was cold that afternoon, sending dry brown sycamore leaves scraping across the asphalt of Main Street. I had three hours before the boys got home from their shifts, and my grocery list was already checked off.
I stopped in front of Evelyn’s Dress Shop because the window display had changed since Tuesday.
Behind the glass, on a pale mannequin with no face, hung a dress the color of deep moss after rain. It was silk, with a high neck and long sleeves that gathered at the wrists, catching the pale October light.
I looked at my own reflection in the plate glass, my faded denim jacket and the worn pearl earrings my mother had given me when I turned thirty.
The brass bell above the door chimed as a woman in a wool coat walked out, leaving the door open just long enough for the scent of lavender and expensive starch to reach the sidewalk.
I found myself stepping inside before I could think of a reason to turn back.
The shop was quiet, the heavy green carpet swallowing the sound of my flat shoes.
“It just came in yesterday,” the saleswoman said, coming around a rack of wool skirts. She had a tape measure draped over her shoulder like a silver snake.
I touched the hem of the green silk, my fingers feeling rough against the smooth fabric.
“It is beautiful,” I said, “but I have nowhere to wear something like this.”
“Your family is planning a dinner, isn’t he?” she asked, adjusting a hanger near me. “I think it is time you did something just for yourself.”
The words felt heavy in the quiet room. I looked at the tag hanging from the sleeve: one hundred and forty dollars.
“The dressing room is right through there,” she said, gently taking the hanger off the rod and pressing the silk into my hands.
Inside the small curtained booth, the mirror was framed in warm yellow bulbs. I took off my denim jacket, unbuttoned my plain cotton shirt, and let the green dress slide over my head.
The silk was cool against my skin, fitting close around my waist before falling in soft folds to my knees. For a second, I did not recognize the woman in the glass; she looked taller, her shoulders straighter than they had been in years.
I smoothed my hands down my thighs, feeling the weight of the fabric.
“Does it fit?” the saleswoman called out from behind the velvet curtain.
“Yes,” I said, my voice barely louder than a whisper.
I took the dress off quickly, as if I were stealing it, and dressed in my own clothes again. My old shirt felt thin and stiff.
At the counter, I counted out seven twenty-dollar bills from the envelope in my purse, the money I had saved from selling my hand-knitted blankets at the autumn fair.
The saleswoman folded the dress into white tissue paper and laid it inside a glossy gray box with a silver ribbon.
The receipt she handed me read exactly one hundred and forty dollars, the ink still slightly damp.
The drive back to the house was quiet, the gray box sitting on the passenger seat like a passenger who knew all my secrets.
When I parked in the driveway, I looked at the front porch, half expecting to see Damon’s car already there, even though it was only three in the afternoon.
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