Vintage Veronica (29 page)

But the moment passes and I don’t do it. Maybe I’ll be walking down a street someday and I’ll see a woman wearing that blue sailor dress and I’ll smile to myself, remembering that once it was almost mine. And then I let it go. Why? Because dresses are dresses, and no matter how special, how perfect, how sublime, there will always be more dresses.

I think about how some Picker will find Violet’s snuggle sack tomorrow and not have any idea what it’s been through. I imagine the Picker considering it—trying it on like a sock, or an earwarmer maybe—and then noticing how breathtakingly, unspeakably soft it is. I picture the Picker pausing, closing his eyes and stroking the fabric across his cheek. In my mind, he looks exactly like Len did that first day when he touched the pajamas.

I smile at the thought.

So instead of rushing to the button that empties the chute, I stand by the cash register and the giant scale and I take one last look around.

Somehow, I know that when I come back, everything will
be different. And, also, everything will be the same. After all, this is The Store Caught in a Time Warp! I see Bill’s seltzer bottle under the counter, waiting for him to come open up Dollar-a-Pound to another crowd, another day. There’s also a pad of paper, so I scrawl a note and tape it to Bill’s seltzer bottle.

“Rule Number Five?” asks Len.

“I’ll tell you later,” I say.

“Okay, but look. Even though we’re not together anymore,” says Len, “no more secrets, no more lies. From now on.”

“I promise.” My heart beats fast.

We’re not together anymore
.

And yet,
From now on
.

“Okay,” he says, a warning note still in his voice. Which makes me feel the need to get something off my chest.

“Look, there’s something I never told you,” I whisper.

“Oh, yeah?” he whispers back. “What?”

“I used to have a name for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to—forget it, it’s stupid.”

“Now you’ve got to tell me,” he insists.

“I used to call you The Nail.”

He frowns. “With Zoe and Ginger?”

“No! Just me.”

“Oh.”

“I told you, it’s stupid.”

“Sounds dangerous. I like it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re weird.”

“I’m weird? Who’s carrying a lizard in a shoebox?”

I can’t help but smile.

“Hey, why are we whispering?” I whisper to him.

“I have no idea,” Len whispers back.

It’s late, so the store air-conditioning has to be off, but I feel a sudden rush of cool air whip through me, startling me and standing the hairs on my arms at attention. Instinctively, I squeeze Violet’s boot box just a little bit tighter.

Len holds the front door open for me.

“What does it mean?” he asks me suddenly.

“What does what mean?”

“‘The Nail’? Why was I ‘The Nail?’”

I look at Len and I tell him the truth.

“It’s something I thought you were. But you’re not.”

“Huh?”

I smile and shrug. “You’re just not.”

And neither am I
, I think to myself.

When we get outside, we stand there awkwardly for a moment. He takes my bag off his shoulder. It occurs to me that this is goodbye. He is just going to hand my bag to me, collect Violet, and limp off in the direction of his house, while I stand there watching him getting smaller and smaller.

But he doesn’t. He shifts my bag to his other shoulder and just stands there with me.

Almost like maybe he’s waiting for something.

And so I say, “Follow me.”

And we set off together, my lead, his pace, into the still-too-warm air and the dwindling light of what is left of the day.

I suppose I should start by thanking
you
. Seriously, there are a lot of books out there. Thanks!

I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to a lot of people who helped
Vintage Veronica
become a book, and I’ll apologize in advance if I forget to mention any of them here.

I will always be indebted to H. Billy Greene, who taught me to wear what you like and do what you love. I also want to thank Adam Kendall for writing and singing “I Am the Nail,” which has to be the stickiest song ever written. Thanks to Jane Rosenzweig, the students in her Harvard Extension School Advanced Fiction class, and the
Harvard Summer Review
for encouragement and, in the case of the
Review
, publication of an early short-story version of
Vintage Veronica
, entitled “Following The Nail.”

Thanks to my cousin Lucy Oakley for wanting to hear more. To Liz Donovan, Brooke Fletcher, Chris Cassel, Bonnie Marsh, and all the people and cats of the Garment District, thank you for taking me in from day one and making me feel at home. To Jennifer Oko (and Roomful of Writers), thank you
for riding the roller coaster with me and always saving me a seat.

Thanks to Charisma Ridgley and Ann Pope: devoted babysitters, readers, grown-ups (how is this possible?), and friends. To Elizabeth Shreve, Susan R. Shreve, and Tim Seldes, thank you for your incredible generosity and for essentially adopting me. To my phenomenal agent, Carrie Hannigan, thank you for tapping me—repeatedly—with your magic wand. To Liz Van Doren and Gretchen Hirsch, thanks for editorial insights along the way. To Nancy Hinkel and everyone at Knopf Books for Young Readers, especially my amazing editor, Erin Clarke, thank you for believing in Veronica and in me. Thanks to Melissa Nelson for making this book gorgeous, inside and out.

To my parents, Dan and Elly Perl, thank you for your unconditional love and unwavering support. Thanks to my aunt, Emily Perl Kingsley, who inspires me as a writer, as a collector, and in so many other ways. To the literary lions of Washington, D.C., especially Katy Kelly, Mary Kay Zuravleff, and, again, Susan R. Shreve, thanks for your friendship as well as for feeding me lunch (Children’s Book Guild) and dinner (D.C. Women Writers). Thanks to the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts for supporting my work. And major thanks to my family and friends for cheering me on every step of the way. I really couldn’t have done it without you guys.

And finally, thanks to the thrifts and fleas—the Garment District, Thrift City USA, Old Gold, the Dead Mall, the 26th Street Flea Market, Lambertville, and the Georgetown Flea Market, to name but a few—and the people who love them and keep them alive.