New Uses For Old Boyfriends (17 page)

“I didn't.” Lila turned to Ingrid. “Did you know that?”

Ingrid shook her head. “No, but I carry a reusable cloth grocery bag as my purse.”

“You do?” Daphne looked horrified. “We're going to pay you
in purses, then. Every girl needs at least one good-quality bag by the time she starts college.” To Lila, she said, “You're going to have to learn how to spot counterfeit bags, because there's a ton of them out there.”

Ingrid twisted her arms behind her back and tried to unzip the sequined dress. “This town is nothing but scandals and secrets. If people only knew.”

“Someone's going to have to tell the queen of the mean girls that she's been carrying fake bags to the country club all this time.” Daphne looked a bit giddy at the prospect.

“Not it,” Ingrid said quickly.

“Well, it's not my jurisdiction,” Daphne declared. “I handle the fashion and beauty; you handle the business. That's how this partnership works.”

“What? When did we vote on that? I demand a recount!” Lila took her mother's hand. “Be reasonable. I cannot tell Mimi Sinclair—”

“Summer calls her the Terrorist in Tweed,” Ingrid threw in.

“I cannot tell the Terrorist in Tweed that she's been swanning around town with a bunch of knockoffs. You should see her eyes, Mom! And her hair. She's scary.”

“Which is why you're going to be the one to tell her,” Daphne said. “You know I don't do well with confrontation.”

“But I . . .”

“You mowed the lawn,” Daphne pointed out. “You found the space for the store. You got someone to do alterations. You can do this.” She gave Lila a sunny smile and then bragged to Ingrid, “My daughter can do
anything
.”

“
You
fixed the faucet,” Lila lobbed back.

Ingrid shook her head. “It's a suicide mission. Nice knowing you, Lila.”

“Thanks.” Lila helped the teenager with the dress zipper. “Will you take a check?”

“No.” Ingrid pulled her hair up and out of the way. “I'll try on whatever you want, but I don't want you to pay me. Not with money, anyway.”

“Then what is it that you want?” Lila asked.

“I want you to find Summer a wedding dress.”

U
nfinished Business officially opened its doors on a cool, gray Thursday morning. Lila didn't sleep at all the night before; she lay awake in the darkness, tossing and turning and wondering what she had gotten herself into. She hadn't been able to make a success of her career or her marriage—did she really expect this venture to be any different?

Who do you think you are?

In a vain attempt to silence the voices of self-doubt, she'd turned on her laptop and started skimming some of the online vintage fashion forums. After five solid hours of poring over posts about designers and stitching and the importance of original tags and labels, she started to understand how much she truly didn't know. It would take years to attain her mother's level of expertise. She didn't have years, so she tried to pick up the main concepts and catchphrases. Sometimes in life, as in late-night shopping channel broadcasts, concepts and catchphrases could carry you through.

She headed downstairs at dawn, brewed a strong pot of coffee, and went to rouse her mother.

“Wake up, Mom.” She curled up in the shadows at the foot of
Daphne's bed and waited for her mother to share her jitters and anticipation.

Daphne responded by piling two pillows over her face.

“Good morning? Up and at 'em?”

Daphne peeked out from beneath the pillows. “It's the middle of the night.”

“
Au contraire
—it's the beginning of a new day. Go time, Mom. Look alive!”

“I can't.” Her complexion looked ashen. “I thought I could do this, but I can't.”

“Of course you can. You fixed the faucet, remember? You can do anything!” Lila held out the coffee mug. “Have some caffeine. You'll feel better.”

“It's just too much. Your father's death, the money worries, selling off my clothes from my old life . . . I know you're trying to help me, and I appreciate it, but I can't do this. Not today. I'm sorry, sweet pea.”

Lila rested her hand on her mother's shoulder and listened.

“I can't stand the thought of doing this over and over for the rest of my life.” Daphne's voice was muffled. “Getting up while it's still dark, trying to figure out all the computer stuff, struggling to scrape together property tax payments and car insurance payments and grocery and gas and water bills . . .”

“I know it feels overwhelming right now, but we can't look at it like that.” Lila realized she was making another sales pitch—to get her mother to invest in the future. “Twenty-four hours at a time. One hour at a time. Hell, I'll be taking today five minutes at a time. Don't think about working and paying bills for years to come. Just ask yourself, can I make it through the next five minutes?”

Daphne paused. “Maybe I don't want to. I wish . . . sometimes I wish I had died, instead of your father.”

Lila squeezed her shoulder.

“I know that's terrible to say, but it's true. I'm too tired to keep going like this. There are too many memories, and it's just too painful.”

Lila wasn't sure how to respond. She didn't think that her mother would do anything to actually harm herself, but then again, she had started to realize that there was a lot she didn't know about her mother.

As if reading her thoughts, Daphne sighed and patted her hand. “You go ahead. Don't worry about me—I'll stop feeling sorry for myself in a bit, and then I'll meet you at the store.”

Before Lila could argue, her mother pulled the covers up over her head and dismissed her with a regal wave of her hand. “That's an order.”

So Lila did her hair and makeup to perfection, put on a simple navy sheath dress with a long coral beaded necklace, and drove down to the store by herself. One advantage to getting up at this hour was that there was plenty of room to park the obnoxiously oversize SUV.

She entered through the shop's back door and took a moment to savor the faint, lingering smell of fresh paint, the hum of the ventilation system, the soft, subtle blue of the walls that offset the colorful clothes arranged on the racks. This space, this moment, represented the culmination of a lot of hard work and optimism in the face of adversity. This was supposed to be her mother's dream come true.

But her mother couldn't bear to face it.

So Lila turned on the lights, unlocked the front door, hung the little wooden
OPEN
sign in the window, and waited for her first customer.

And waited.

And waited.

She told herself that she had very modest expectations—after
all, tourist season wouldn't start for a month and most of her friends couldn't stop by on a Thursday morning. Jenna had to take inventory at the Whinery and Summer was working on grant proposals for the historical society. Ingrid was at school, Malcolm was doing whatever nebulous consulting work he did, and Ben was still MIA.

The first day is just a trial run,
she told herself.
The beginning is the hardest part.

She consoled herself with similar platitudes all morning, straightening dresses on hangers and wiping down display cases and rearranging the bouquet of fresh flowers by the dressing rooms. But when the clock struck noon, her resolve crumbled. The time had come to admit how misguided this whole idea had been, how much hubris she had exhibited in entertaining the delusion that she could make a living trying to sell ancient articles of clothing from her mother's attic to random strangers in a sleepy little town in Delaware.

The bell on the front door jingled as the first customer strolled in.

“Hey.” A tall, tan brunette with frosted lipstick and an unmistakable air of ennui strolled in.

“Hi.” Lila tried to hide her dismay as the teenager smacked her gum while flipping through a rack of delicate lacy evening gowns. “Welcome to Unfinished Business. What may I help you find?”

“Um . . .” The teenager wandered around, popping gum. “Nothing, really. I'm just kinda looking.”

The bell rang again, and Lila was delighted to see that her mother had finally arrived.

Daphne took one look at the aimless adolescent and swooped in. “Young lady, you are stunning.”

The gum snapping stopped and a faint smile appeared on those frosted pink lips. “Yeah?”

“You remind me of myself when I was your age,” Daphne declared. She crossed the showroom and confided, “I was a model, you know.”

And just like that, the teenager was Daphne's biddable groupie. “I go to school over in Wilmington. My sorority's having an eighties party next month and I need something hot and retro.”

Lila opened her mouth to suggest a yellow cocktail dress, but Daphne silenced her with a mere look.

“I know just the thing.” Daphne plucked a shiny, cherry red minidress from the rack by the fitting room. “This will be perfect on you.”

Lila recognized the vinyl dress with the gold metal rings on the shoulder straps and the low scoop neckline. “Wait, we can't sell that.”

Her mother ignored her and focused on the customer. A little spark lit up her dark eyes. “You know, I was wearing this dress when I met the love of my life.”

The girl's eyes started to shine, too. “You were?”

“I was. And we were happy together for thirty years.”

“So you think it's good luck?”

“I know it is. I have a good feeling about this party, especially if you tie everything together with the right footwear. May I suggest knee-high white boots?” Daphne ushered the girl to the dressing room and closed the curtain, wiping away a tear as she did so. “I can't wait to see it on you.”

“Mom!” Lila whispered. “How can you sell that dress?”

Daphne looked at Lila, and her eyes were still shining—with tears, but most of all, love. “How can I not? It's special to me, but I can't ever wear it again.”

“Ohmigod!” The college student was practically hyperventilating in the dressing room. “I look
so
good! Everyone else is going to be so jealous!”

Daphne laughed softly. “See? Why would I leave it boxed up in a storage unit when it could be back in circulation? That dress was made for first dates and whirlwind romances. I love it, but I have to let it go.” She dried her eyes carefully to avoid smudging her mascara. “Even if I spend the rest of my life in Black Dog Bay, I'll know that my favorite Paco Rabanne is still traveling the world, having adventures.”

The sorority girl bought the Paco Rabanne—plus a gold and black Lanvin evening dress from the seventies and a short, strapless green Gucci dress featuring a skirt covered in feathers.

“My friends are going to D-I-E
die
when they see this stuff.” The coed didn't even flinch when Lila announced her total—more than three thousand dollars.

“As they should,” Daphne said. “Your legs look fantastic in that Gucci.”

“Please spread the word about us if you're happy with your purchases.” Lila tucked a few business cards in with the tissue paper as she folded and bagged the purchases.

The teenager whipped out her phone. “I'm tweeting about you guys right now.” She sashayed out with a newfound spring in her step, swinging her pink paper bag in one hand.

“Look at her go.” Daphne smiled wistfully. “Working Main Street like it's a Milan catwalk.”

Lila wished she'd had the foresight to buy champagne for this moment. All they had to drink was a few cans of diet soda in the back room refrigerator, but they made do, clinking the cans together with a dull, sloshy thud.

The door chime sounded again, and Daphne put down her can. “Here we go! On to sale number two!”

They hurried back out to the sales floor to find Ben Collier standing in the doorway. He looked a little more rugged than the last time Lila had seen him, owing to a two-day stubble and clothes that had clearly been slept in. The harsh noon sunlight accentuated the fatigue evident in his face.

“You're back!” She dashed around the counter and gave him a hug.

“I'm back.” He squeezed her tightly. “Thank God you're here. I need your help.”

She was afraid to ask the question, given his dishevelment, but she had to know. “How'd it go with Allison?”

“Yes, tell us everything.” Daphne crowded into the hug.

“Well.” He tried to disentangle himself, but Daphne held fast. “I think we're getting back together.”

“Ugh.” Daphne released her grip on his arms. “That's too bad.”

“Mother!” Lila looked pointedly toward the back room. “Would you give us a moment, please?”

Daphne glowered, motioned from Ben to Lila and back again, then mouthed, “Meant to be.”

“Play the landlord card,” Lila advised Ben. “Tell her you're raising our rent if she doesn't make herself scarce.”

But Ben, ever the gentleman, took off his hat and gave Daphne a placating smile. “How are you, Mrs. Alders? I hope your water heater's not giving you any more trouble.”

Daphne beamed. “Not a bit, thanks to you.” All sunshine and light, she turned and headed for the back room. “I'll leave you kids to chat.”

Lila rolled her eyes. “You two are perfect for each other. Bringing up the water heater? Shameless.”

Ben chuckled. “It worked, didn't it?” He straightened up and got serious. “I took your advice. I was bold. I took action. I drove
straight to Boston and showed up at Allison's door in the middle of the night.”

Lila sucked in her breath. “I said be bold, not be the cause of a panic attack and a 911 call.”

“No, she was okay with it.” His eyes darkened with intensity at the memory. “We talked and talked . . . and then we did some other things . . . and then we talked some more.”

Lila made loops with her hand, prompting him to continue. “And?”

“And she says she wants to finish grad school before she makes any huge life decisions.”

“Ben!” Lila smacked his shoulder. “You didn't tell me she was in grad school!”

“Yeah, she's finishing up her master's degree. She graduates at the end of May. You were right.”

“I was?”

“Yeah.” Ben turned his cap over and over in his hands. “About my deadlines being arbitrary and selfish. I was focused on my goals and what I wanted, and I didn't stop to think that her goals were just as important.”

Lila was impressed with herself. “I said all that?”

“You would have if I'd told you about her going to grad school. Anyway, we both agreed that we need to work together. What we have is worth it.”

Lila felt a pang of love, but it wasn't the kind of love she used to have for him. “Aww. You look so happy.”

“Happy” might have been an overstatement—he actually looked completely and totally focused. Almost frighteningly focused.

“She's coming to visit this weekend.” His voice turned grim. “And I want everything to be perfect. My house, my family, the whole town.”