Mrs. Howard’s shop smelled like steam and fabric.
When I explained the rosette, she didn’t rush me.
“My mom made it,” I said. “Before she died.”
Mrs. Howard’s face softened. “Then we will be very careful, dear.”
“Before she died.”
She bent over the neckline.
“This is beautiful handwork,” she murmured.
Dresses
Then she went still.
Gary noticed. “Ma’am?”
Mrs. Howard looked from the dress to me. “Has anyone else brought this in?”
“No.”
Clothing
“Photos of it, maybe?”
The room tilted.
“Has anyone else brought this in?”
“What do you mean, photos?”
“About a month ago, a woman came in with photos of a dress almost exactly like this. Same color, same bodice, same flowers.”
My fingers tightened on the counter. “What did she want?”
“A copy,” Mrs. Howard said. “Exact. Rushed before prom.”
Pregnancy & Maternity
Gary’s voice stayed calm. “Did you make it?”
“What did she want?”
“No. I asked who made the original. She said it didn’t matter.”
“What did she look like?” he asked.
“Tall. Blonde. Mid-forties. Expensive purse. Impatient.”
I didn’t say Shirley’s name.
I didn’t have to.
Parenting
Mrs. Howard touched the lining near the waist. “Your mother signed her work, you know.”
“She said it didn’t matter.”
“What?”
She lifted the fabric.
There, in tiny blue thread, was a K.
Kathy.
I pressed my fingers to it and cried.
Special Occasions
