She busies herself with rearranging stacks of jeans and sweaters in the armoire while keeping one eye on Helena. Circling the room, Helena fingers the fabric of a Hermès scarf, flips through a row of hanging clothes, and slips her right foot into a pair of Lucchese ostrich skin boots.
She looks up at Eva, her expression a mixture of awe and disbelief. “These are fabulous.”
Eva grins. “Right? I wish they were my size.”
Helena tugs on the left boot and admires the pair in the antique cheval mirror. “They fit perfectly. And they’re in mint condition. I’ll take them. In fact, I’m going to wear them home.” She stuffs her driving shoes in her oversized black leather bag and walks to the front of the store to the new jewelry display case, which now doubles as a checkout counter. She hands her credit card to Eva. “I’m impressed with your business, Eva. Mom would be proud. Did she ever come in the shop?”
“A few times. Years ago. Before she got sick.” Eva processes the sale and slides the credit card reader across the counter to Helena.
“Do you have any interest in buying some of the pieces in her wardrobe?”
Even though she’d buy every last piece if she had the money, Eva manages to appear only mildly interested as they discuss the details of Claudia’s wardrobe. She recalls how Helena’s mother traveled to Paris on shopping sprees at least once a year. She had impeccable style and the bank account that afforded her the best. The quality of her wardrobe has the potential to attract a whole new level of clientele to Claudia’s Closet.
Helena enters her PIN number in the credit card reader. “Make me an offer, and I’ll sell you the whole caboodle. Except for the pea coat. I’ve grown attached to it.”
“Would you consider consignment? Claudia’s wardrobe is extensive.” Eva spreads her arms wide. “As you can see, my space is limited. I can’t incorporate the entire caboodle at once. I would have to do it piecemeal.”
“Maybe.” Helena stares up at the ceiling as she considers her proposal. “My issue then becomes where to store the rest. I’m hoping to put Mom’s house on the market in the coming weeks.”
Eva’s master bedroom springs to her mind. She’ll have to clean out the closet, of course. But is she ready to get rid of Stuart’s clothes? She thinks about it for a split second. For an opportunity like this, hell yes, she can get rid of Stuart’s wardrobe.
Eva hands Helena her receipt for the boots. “I have an idea that might work. But it’s been a long time since I last visited your mother’s closet. It would help to see the scope of her collection.” While she knows Claudia took meticulous care of her wardrobe, Eva wants to make certain the pieces are in good condition before moving forward.
This appears to satisfy Helena, and as they walk together to the door, they discuss days and times to meet at Claudia’s house to inspect the wardrobe. The women part with a hug, and Eva watches Helena make a dash to her white Range Rover. She turns away from the door and stands in front of the full-length mirror. She feels dowdy compared to Helena. Her pixie haircut has long since lost its shape and her black cashmere sweater has dime-size moth holes. Even though she has a closet full of timeless apparel, she can’t remember the last time she wore anything but jeans. Long before Reese disappeared.
Eva has never been able to pinpoint the source of the profound sadness that has plagued her for the past twenty years. It started as postpartum depression after Reese was born and morphed into deep sorrow when her parents died in quick succession shortly thereafter. Then the housing market declined with the recession, and her husband, a residential contractor, began working long hours. Which left Eva alone much of the time with first a toddler and then an adolescent child. Eva hid her emotions from Stuart. He had enough on his plate with trying to make ends meet. With no one to turn to and no money for professional therapy, she began to take her anger and frustration out on her daughter. By that time, Reese had entered middle school. As if middle school wasn’t already difficult enough for kids, Eva constantly criticized her daughter—imploring her to get better grades, be more athletic, make friends with the popular girls. Reese tried for a while, but when she couldn’t please Eva—even a perfect child would not have pleased Eva in those days—she gave up. And that’s when the battles began to rage.
Heavy snow flakes are falling when Eva leaves the shop at six o’clock that evening. The weather forecast is calling for snow, six to eight inches on Saturday night and into the day on Sunday. When she arrives home, with Claudia’s wardrobe at the forefront of her mind, she climbs the stairs to the master bedroom. She opens the door but she doesn’t cross the threshold. Stale air greets her and dust assaults her nose, bringing on a fit of sneezing. When the sneezing ends, she swipes her hand under her nose and ventures into the room.
In the days following the accident, Stuart’s presence in their bedroom had been more than she could handle, and she’d moved down the hall to the guest room. But now, she experiences only pleasant memories of the years they’d spent here together. Eva tying Stuart’s tuxedo tie before a New Year’s Eve party. Nursing her newborn with Stuart curled up next to her. Reading the paper in bed on lazy Sunday mornings with Reese snuggled between them.
Standing at the foot of the bed, she considers the task at hand. Although the room isn’t large, there appears to be ample room for her purposes. After she gives the room a thorough cleaning, she’ll install two or three clothing racks to house the residual of Claudia’s wardrobe. Opening the closet door, she grabs armfuls of Stuart’s clothes—suits and slacks and dress shirts—and dumps them on the bed. Tomorrow, she will begin sorting them and loading them into the trunk of her car for Goodwill.
As best she can tell from her vantage point, the top shelf in the closet appears to be empty, but when she feels to make certain, her hand comes into contact with a hard rectangular object. Pulling the box off the shelf, she recognizes it as the safe for the handgun Stuart had purchased during the days following 9/11. Eva had always been scared of guns, but Stuart, convinced another terrorist attack was imminent, had insisted they needed to protect themselves.
She fingers the combination. “Something easy to remember,” Stuart had suggested.
Setting the numbers to her birth date and month, she opens the box and removes the pistol. Stuart had enrolled them in a gun safety course. Not only had they enjoyed the classes, they became pretty good shots.
While she doesn’t have much use for the gun now, she decides to keep it just in case. She returns the gun to its safe and slides it back onto the shelf.
Maggie
The argument over the canceled interview marks the beginning of the downhill spiral in Maggie and Eric’s relationship. After days of arguing, he finally admits to sending the email, canceling Maggie’s interview with her potential employer.
“Why would you do that?” Maggie asks, balled fists at her side, face blood red with anger. She’s standing in front of the fireplace, the school of fish above her head. She feels like the yellow fish, as though she’s swimming backward against a strong current. Moving to Virginia was a mistake. She has no car. No job. No friends. Only a controlling bastard for a husband.