Untold Story Read Free Page B

they treasured as candid and intimate, not knowing her at all. For this there had been no training, but it turned out that she had the gift. Amber and Tevis and Suzie were no longer strangers and they knew as much as she could let them, but in the early days what Lydia had supplied was a sense of taking them into her confidence, and they had supplied much of the material: assuming her husband had been violent, that he was a man of some influence, that she did not want to be found.
    Amber held the fitting room door. “Please,” she said. “Try it on. I want to see.”
    “Why don’t you put it on?” said Lydia. “This green is definitely your color. You should take one for yourself.”
    “Oh, I tried them all already. I’m such a short ass, they don’t look right on me.”
    “Nonsense,” said Lydia. “Stop putting yourself down like that.”
    “Quit stalling, and get your butt in here.” Amber shooed her in.
    The dress was a pale green column with silver embroidery and soft ruffle flowers sweeping up diagonally that made Lydia think of Valentino, though of course the work was not as fine.
    “Come out here,” called Amber.
    There was no mirror in the fitting room, because Amber said Kensington women were too quick and ready to make wrongheaded assessments without giving the outfits a chance: a few pins in the hemline, a switch of blouse, a scarf at the throat, could make all the difference.
    Lydia strutted out like a catwalk model, hand to hip, face set, head turning left and right. Amber applauded and whistled and then took Lydia by the shoulders and turned her to face the mirror.
    “Beautiful,” Amber murmured, “just beautiful.”
    Lydia took a breath. Ten years since she’d worn a floor-length gown. There was a hot little hole in her stomach that she would not on any account pay attention to, focusing instead on equalizing the length of her inhale and exhale.
    “Fits like a glove,” said Amber. “How about that?”
    “Not quite,” said Lydia. “I’d take it in just a fraction on the hip.”
    “Know what?” said Amber. “You’ve got to have it. It’s a present. I knew these gowns were going to look great on you, you have the figure, but I didn’t know how great. And I didn’t even know if I’d coax you into one. Thought I might have to get those jeans surgically removed.”
    “And when, exactly, would I wear it?” said Lydia, examining herself in profile. “Not very practical for cleaning out kennels. Can you imagine if I wore it to one of Suzie’s cookouts?” As soon as she had spoken she regretted it. She had just pointed out why Amber had been wrong to invest so heavily.
    Her friend gazed at her without speaking, her face frozen for a moment in its previous rapture, as if it had not yet received the bad news from her brain. “Oh,” she said finally, “get Carson to take you somewhere nice.”
    “I will,” said Lydia, rallying. “I’ll do that. Can I try the others on too?”
    “Of course,” said Amber, sounding deflated. “Then pick out the best one. It’s on me.”
    They passed the afternoon with Lydia trying on one after another and when a customer came in the gowns were much discussed, two women even donning the dark blue taffeta and promising to come back the next day. Amber’s spirits were thus restored. By five o’clock they had cleared up and sat down with lattes.
    “How’s Serena?” said Lydia. “And how’s Tyler getting on with the violin?”
    “Oh, I keep nagging him about practicing but it’s a waste of breath. Serena’s up for a part in the school play—Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz .”
    “Fingers crossed,” said Lydia.
    “If she doesn’t get it . . .”
    “I bet she does.”
    “Tap lessons, singing lessons, ballet class—but they all do, you know, it’s just so competitive out there.”
    “Wait until you hear. Don’t start worrying about it now.” Lydia gestured at the rack where they’d hung the new stock. “Will you keep one for