Mariah Stewart - Coming Home

“Poke away,” Vanessa told her cheerfully. “Let me know if there’s something you’d like to try on, or if there’s something from one of the cases you’d like a better look at.”

The woman smiled tentatively.

Vanessa watched the customer without appearing to, appraising her unconsciously. The woman appeared to be in her early thirties, her hair colored light brown but not done well. Vanessa suspected that the woman had done her color herself but wasn’t very skilled at it. Her makeup was a little heavier than what she normally saw on the weekday tourists, who tended to be very conservative in their dress and appearance. This woman wore a long sleeved T-shirt with a mock turtleneck, long pants just a hair too tight, and faux-leather shoes that were far from new and probably rubbed her feet uncomfortably. She carried an out-of-season straw bag, and her unpolished fingernails were chewed to the quick. There was an air of hesitancy about her, as if she had just realized that she’d entered a shop where she couldn’t afford to buy anything. Vanessa was no stranger to that sort of uncertainty because she’d felt it so many times before in her old life.

And, she reminded herself, there’d been more than one time in my life when I’d worn shoes very much like hers. I’ll bet hers are just as uncomfortable as mine were.

Vanessa didn’t have to look at her own hands to know that these days, her nails were buffed and polished and kept pretty with a once-a-week appointment with a manicurist, but once upon a time, the sheer stress of her life had caused her to bite her nails down to nothing, and she’d never had time for polish.

The woman walked around the shop, her eyes darting from one item to another, but her fingers never reached out to touch any of the lovely items on display. In the way she hung her head and the wariness in her eyes, Vanessa recognized something else of the woman she herself had been, once upon a time. She’d have bet her entire week’s receipts that if she pulled up the sleeves of the woman’s shirt, she’d find the imprint of angry fingers bruised into her upper arms.

“It’s a gorgeous day, isn’t it?” Vanessa said, hoping to put the woman at ease. “I think spring is finally with us for real.”

“Yes. It’s real nice out.”

“Those shorts on the rack right next to you are on sale,” Vanessa pointed out.

The woman paused to look through them. She stopped at a pair of madras plaid, glanced at the price tag, then pretended that she hadn’t blanched when she read the number.

“Are you touristing today?” Vanessa asked.

“What?” The woman frowned. “Oh. Yeah. I’m just here for the day.”

“Where are you from?”

“Oh. Um… Baltimore.” The woman averted her eyes.

“What brought you to St. Dennis?” Vanessa persisted.

“I… I heard it was a pretty town, so I decided to take the day and check it out.”

“You heard right. It’s a beautiful town. One of the nicest on the Bay.” Vanessa rested an elbow on the counter and her chin in her hand. “What have you seen so far?”

“Oh, not so much yet. I saw the place down there where all the boats are parked.” She waved in the general direction of the Bay. “Down near the parking lot.”

“Oh, the marina. It’s always fun to walk along the dock there and look at the boats. Where else have you been?”

“I had coffee across the street.”

“Good choice. I have coffee there every morning.”

“You do?”

Vanessa nodded, wondering why that tidbit would seem interesting. “I’m afraid I’m terribly lazy. I fall into a routine and I just stick with it.”

The woman, who’d turned her attention to a pile of lightweight summer sweaters, nodded vaguely.

“Is there any particular place you want to see while you’re here?” Vanessa tried to keep her customer engaged.

“Oh…” She appeared to think it over, then returned her attention to the sweaters. “Not really. I was just passing by and saw your window displays and thought your shop looked really cool.”

“Thank you.” Vanessa looked around at the little world she’d made for herself. “I think it’s pretty cool.”

The woman walked around the shop for a few more minutes before lingering over a summer party dress of white eyelet.

“Would you like to try that on?” Vanessa asked.

“Oh. I…” the woman stammered. “I don’t think…”

“Do I have your size?” Vanessa came out from around the counter and walked toward the woman, who watched her with some curiosity. “You look as if you’re… what, a size ten?”

She flipped through the hangers with ease.

“You’re in luck. One size ten left. Here you go.” She handed the hanger to the woman and pointed off to the right. “The dressing room’s right through that door. If you love it, maybe I could take a little off the price, since it’s your first time in St. Dennis.”

“That would be really nice,” the woman replied, but made no move toward the dressing room.

“Did you want to look around a little more first?”

“Oh, no. No, I’ll just take this in…” The customer backed toward the dressing room.

“Take your time.”

Vanessa strolled over to a stack of khaki shorts and straightened out the pile, then refolded some cotton T-shirts.

“How are you doing?” she called to the dressing room.

“All right.”

“Does the dress fit?”

“Yes. It fits just right.” She hesitated before adding, “It sure is pretty.”

A few moments passed before the woman emerged from the dressing room with the dress on the hanger.

“What did you think?” Vanessa asked.

“Oh, I’m not sure,” the woman told her. “Maybe I’ll come back with my husband and see what he thinks.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Vanessa assured her. “Would you like me to put a hold on it for you? Just in case?”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“It’s not a problem. There’s absolutely no obligation. But if you decided you wanted it, I’d hate to see you disappointed if you came back and found it had been sold. What’s your name? I can hold it as long as the weekend. We start to get real busy on Fridays now that the weather is getting warmer. But I’d be happy to hold it until then for you.” Vanessa took the hanger and hung the dress on a stand near the counter. “What’s your first name?”

“It’s Candy. Candice.”

“Candice, it is.” Vanessa wrote on a piece of paper, which she then attached to the hanger with a straight pin. “Hold till Friday for Candice,” she read the note aloud.

“Thank you,” the woman said softly.

“My pleasure.” Vanessa reached for the little porcelain dish near the cash register that held a stack of business cards. “Take one, in case you need to call.”

The woman picked up a card and appeared to study it.

“If you don’t call or stop in by noon on Friday, it’ll go back onto the floor. And if you decide you’d like it, I’ll take off twenty percent.”

“That’s real nice of you.”

She appeared about to say something else when the door opened and Steffie came in, grinning and looking like she had a tale to tell.

“It’ll be in the back room if you come back. If I’m not here, just tell whoever is that Vanessa put a dress in the back for you.”

“So you’re Vanessa,” the woman said softly.

“Yes. But anyone can get it for you if I’m not here.” Vanessa smiled as she walked toward the back room, the dress over her arm. “My brother’s getting married this weekend, so I’ll be in and out for the next few days.”

“Oh. Will the wedding be in St. Dennis?”

“Will it ever.” Steffie answered for Vanessa, who’d disappeared into the back of the store. “Ness’s brother is the chief of police and he knows everyone in town.”