Enchanting Lily (8 page)

Lily looked over at the cat, who sat in an elongated, rectangular sun spot near a shelf of silk scarves. If the cat had been visible in the window, would the girl have braved coming over? Maybe Lily should’ve bought a cottage closer to the curb, without a garden to traverse between the sidewalk and the porch. It was almost as if some invisible barrier prevented people from coming up to the door—unless, possibly, they saw the cat.

But the cat wasn’t going to stay. The shop would have to speak for itself. Lily would have to help Ida on her own.
Something pretty and unique. A shape. Hope. The impossible.

“I have an idea for you.” Lily brought out a yellow and
black chiffon dress that tapered in at the waist. “I’m not sure about the size, but I have a feeling it will highlight your beauty.”

Ida’s face lit up. “Beauty?” She seemed to hold on to the word as if it were a life jacket keeping her afloat.

“Yes, um…” Lily looked over at the cat, who was busy grooming her face. Her fur shone silver in the pale autumn sunlight. “The cat pointed this one out.”

Ida’s eyes widened. She glanced at the cat, then whispered to Lily, “The kitty talks to you? I knew it.”

“Well, she doesn’t talk, exactly, but we communicate by…squinting. Yes, squinting. The cat squints at a dress—”

“And you have to pick it!”

Lily nodded, feeling foolish for lying. “This is a silk chiffon sunshine dress from the fifties. Grecian style with the pleated bodice. The back zipper was probably added later.”

Ida flipped the dress over. “How interesting about the zipper. So the cat thought this would make me beautiful?”

“Highlight the beauty already inside you.”
There, that sounded better.
“Each piece is one of a kind, so I don’t have other sizes.”

“I’m not worried.” Ida winked at the cat, as if the two shared a secret, then lumbered toward the fitting room.
When she finally came out, the dress had transformed her in an indefinable way.

“Heavenly,” Ida said, standing stiffly in front of the mirror. She had begun to take shape. She curved in at the waist. She had discernible cleavage. Her ankles showed. They were surprisingly thin.

She sucked in her belly, puffed out her chest. “You can fix the waist, can’t you?”

Such a thing could be done, but the dress needed more fabric. “That kind of silk is hard to find these days.”

“Can’t you order it in?”

“It would be difficult. Dress fabrics aren’t like shades of paint that you can mix. The colors won’t match up.”

Ida rested her hands on her hips, then let out a long breath. “Ah, well, maybe I could buy the dress as is. I’ll lose weight. I’ll go on another diet, but not that Atkins one this time.”

Lily knew diets rarely worked. What needed to change was one’s lifestyle. Grief could work wonders, for example, to help a woman grow thin. “It’s entirely up to you,” she said.

“Let me think about it.” As Ida went back to change, Lily wondered if she should have tried harder to make the dress fit. Could she have offered alterations, but what would she have done about matching the fabric?

Ida stayed in the dressing room so long, Lily began to worry. Finally the door squeaked open, and Ida shuffled out, still in the dress, her face red. “I’m afraid I can’t, um, get this thing off. The zipper is stuck.”

“Turn around. Let me try.” Lily pulled at the zipper, but the dress seemed fused to Ida’s body. “No dice, I’m afraid.”

Ida’s chin trembled. “Try again.”

Lily tried again and again, without success. A cool breeze wafted over her, although the door was shut. The hair rose on her arms. “We’ll figure this out,” she said, stepping back. “Maybe try pulling the dress up over your head?”

“I tried that. It’s stuck on my hips.”

Lily had been certain the dress would fit. She tried the zipper several more times. Ida tried pulling off the dress to no avail.

“There’s one thing we can do, but it’s a bit radical,” Lily said finally. The cat sat upright, nose to the air. Her ears twitched as she looked around, then she shot an upward glance at nothing.

“What do you have in mind?” Ida said, her eyes pleading.

“Stay here.” Lily headed back to the office, her heart pounding, and rummaged in her desk drawers. She grabbed
a pair of fabric scissors and returned to the shop. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t see an alternative. I’m not sure how to go about doing this, but I’m going to try to cut this dress right off you.”

Kitty

“That went well,” Lily says as we watch Ida hurry off down the path. “She’ll never come in here again. Everyone in town will hear about how I had to cut the dress off her, and my shop will be closed in no time.” Her eyes brighten with tears.

What can I tell her? That an unhappy spirit may have been responsible for this small disaster? As Ida hummed in the dressing room, an inky presence, the one that has been here a long time, seeped under the door and cast its spell
on her. When she came out, the dress was too tight. The dark spirit lingered, then slipped away into the ether.

Now the other ghosts grow restless in the gray evening as Lily rearranges her shop. “I really tried to help Ida in a way that she could never be helped in The Newest Thing. You know, kitty? Now all I’ve got are scraps of cloth on the alterations table. No more chiffon dress. But I’m not giving up.”

Fine with me.

She carries piles of clothes from one place to another, hangs up dresses, adjusts the statues in the window. I’m content to sit on a pile of men’s neckties, absorbing the layers of life and death shifting through the room.

Finally, Lily goes off to bed, and when the house is quiet and dark, my world comes alive. My legs begin to itch. I tear around, my claws scrabbling on the hardwood floor. I bat at dust motes and leap at moths flitting outside beneath the porch lights.

“Kitty! What are you doing?” Lily is up now, coming after me. She’s nearly tripping over the cuffs of her pajamas. Interesting hairdo, as well. “I can’t believe you woke me up at this hour.”

I tumble down the stairs and veer into her office, jump onto the desk, and knock some paper onto the floor.

“Are you crazy? What’s wrong with you?” She follows me into the kitchen. She flips on the light, and I squint in the sudden brightness. A ball of dust requires my attention—

“Kitty, no! Don’t eat that.” Lily is bending down to pull the dust from my mouth. She throws the clump in the garbage. Then she sits in the breakfast nook, head in her hands.

My insides feel funny; oh no.

“Are you throwing up? Oh, kitty!”

Can’t help it, I’m heaving, but I feel better now.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” She’s flipping open her cell phone, pressing buttons. “Oh, Dr. Cole. I’m so sorry I woke you. I thought I would get the emergency…This is Lily Byrne. It’s the cat. She threw up. What should I do?”

I’m hiding under the table.

Lily is listening, then she says, “Tomorrow? But I’m afraid she’s ill, and I can’t have anything else die on me.”

I can almost feel his surprise. I’m a bit surprised, too. He says something, and then Lily says, “You’re coming here? I’m on Harborside Road. I’m sorry, I know—thank you.”

She hangs up and bends to pet me. “Don’t throw up again, please.” In her eyes, I see the reflection of my face
staring back at me, my elegant whiskers, tufted ears. I also see the depth of her worry. I feel her soul softening, her face close to mine. I can’t help lifting my chin and then just barely, I touch my nose to hers.

Lily

When had Lily last entertained a guest? Before Josh’s death, and never so late at night. She barely had time to put on a robe and slippers, brush her hair, and wipe up the vomit before she heard a knock on the back door. How had Dr. Cole arrived so quickly?

The cat ran to the door, but when Lily opened it, the poor thing took one look at the vet and dashed away.

“She wasn’t scared of you at the clinic,” Lily said, shaking her head. “Maybe she senses something different.”

Dr. Cole stood on the porch, unsmiling, a black veterinary bag in hand. He looked almost human in an open windbreaker, blue sweater, jeans, and hiking boots—the way he’d looked in the bookstore. Except for the scowl.

Lily stepped back and ushered him inside. “Did you have trouble getting here?”

“Took a wrong turn in Seattle, ended up in Portland, but eventually I found my way.”

Was this his brand of humor? “You must’ve driven at the speed of sound.”

“Or light.” He took in her robe and slippers, a slightly irritated look on his face. Should she have donned an evening dress?

“Come on in. I appreciate you driving here in the middle of the night.” She pulled the robe closed. She hoped the necklace didn’t show. She didn’t want to have to explain about the ring and the vial.

He wiped his hiking boots on the mat, then stepped past her, closing the door behind him. He looked toward the kitchen. “Where did she go?”

“She must be hiding. Do you think she might’ve eaten something bad?”

“I have to see her first. You could’ve put her in the carrier.”

“I didn’t realize she would run from you.” Was there no other veterinarian in this town? Someone more like James Herriot?

His frown deepened, bushy eyebrows brooding and almost Neanderthal. “Did you leave anything lying around? Rubber bands? Jewelry? Buttons?”

“I don’t leave things lying around.”

Dr. Grinch followed her into the kitchen. “You have to treat a cat like a toddler. She may put things in her mouth. Floss, thread.”

She didn’t need a lecture. “I’ve never had a toddler, and she didn’t get into anything.”

“Did you feed her anything different?”

“I gave her only cat food.”

“I see.” He did not look convinced.

“Can I take your jacket?” Why did she bother with politeness?

“I’ll keep it on. Where did she go?”

“Probably upstairs. This way.” She turned and led him through the kitchen, imagining Bish and her mother waiting at home, disturbed by his late-night foray into downtown Fairport. Or were they glad to be rid of him?

He followed her up the stairs, his boots clopping on the steps. He should’ve taken them off, but she did not want to be rude and point this out.

In her room, he glanced at the bed, the vintage dressing table, the set of shelves lined with books arranged by height. She hadn’t yet unpacked a few boxes. She realized now that her bedroom screamed “widow,” from the dusty, unused bottle of Dior perfume on the dressing table, to the cotton bra thrown over the back of a vintage chair. If she was going to show the bra to a visitor, she thought, at least she could’ve chosen a Victoria’s Secret black lace number, but she no longer even owned such a thing.

Dr. Cole glanced at the bra, and his face flushed. Lily ran over, grabbed the bra, and stuffed it into a drawer. Her cheeks heated again. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“I’m the one intruding.” He glanced at the book of poems on the bedside table. “I have that one in paperback.”

“You have a book of poems?” She could barely contain her surprise.

“Picked it up a while ago.”

“You’re into poetry. I mean, that’s great.” She tried to imagine him reading poetry, but no image came to her.

“When I get time to read.”

“I’ve only read a couple of the poems. Jasmine gave me the book.”

He nodded, brows raised. “Ah, I saw you in the bookstore.”

“And I saw you.”

“And now here we are.”

“Here we are.” She became aware of the permeable membrane between her interior life and the world outside. If Dr. Cole happened to open the top drawer of the bureau, he would find Josh’s briefs, undershirts, and socks still folded inside. He would think her foolish and sentimental, or maybe just plain weird. She’d kept a few of Josh’s jackets, too, and a few pairs of shoes, all hidden in the closet.

Dr. Cole’s gaze rested on a twitching tail sticking out from under the bed. He put his bag on the dresser, got down on his knees, and peered at the cat. Then he pulled her out and tried to examine her, but she wriggled away and slid back under the bed.

He stood and brushed off his jeans. “She seems all right, but I suggest we give her time to calm down. Then I’ll take another look.”

“I’m relieved that she
seems
okay, at least.” Lily had a strange urge to push him into the hall. She’d become protective of her space. She’d kept Josh close to her, and now Dr. Cole’s imposing presence was getting in the way. He was alive, breathing, solid, and no matter how unlikable he was, he was a man. She felt fascinated by him, by his complex broodiness, and yet she felt guilty for even wondering anything about him, as if she were betraying Josh.

Dr. Cole stepped into the hall, and she turned off the
bedroom light. For a moment, the two of them fell into the strange intimacy of darkness.

“Would you like a drink while we wait for the kitty to come out?” What was she saying? Did she even have a drink to offer him?

“I could use a cup of coffee.”

At three a.m.? “Coffee, of course.” Had she unpacked the coffeemaker?

He stepped back into the bedroom, brushing past her, and grabbed his veterinary bag. Then he followed her down into the kitchen again and stood at the counter while she rummaged around in the cabinets. His presence made the room seem smaller and somehow bare. She should have fruits and vegetables on the countertop, onions hanging in a basket, but cooking hadn’t interested her much lately.

“What did you mean?” he asked.

“About what?” Why couldn’t she find any coffee?

“About not wanting to have anything else die on you?”

“Oh.” She froze, her hand on a packet of teabags. “My husband. He passed away several months ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“I understand why you called about the cat.”

“Maybe I was silly.”

“No, not at all.” He didn’t ask any more questions.

An awkward silence.

“So, how is Bish?” she asked, still rummaging.

“She says you’re taking her to some estate sale.”

“Oh, I’m not going.”