Chapter 39 Jordan
Jordan
Now
The next morning, I meet Dawn. There’s a fantastic market every Saturday on the bank of the Charles River with local farmers and bakers selling their produce, and all sorts of arts and crafts.
It’s a glorious, crisp fall day with cloudless blue skies and a hint of chill in the air.
We stop for coffee as we stroll toward the market, then drink it as we walk, our hands clasped around the cups for warmth.
She was smarter than me and is wearing a thick wool sweater in addition to her jacket.
“Can I ask you something?” she says at one point. “What do you think about Kalina?”
“I’m not sure that I like her very much,” I reply, thinking back to the look she gave me at the dinner party, and the unspoken message she was sending.
“I don’t like her, either. The way she was acting around Sam . . . honestly, if a woman like her was showing that sort of interest in Jamie, I’d be a bit worried.”
“I trust Sam,” I tell her, but there’s a sick feeling in my stomach, because if Dawn noticed it, too, then it wasn’t my imagination.
“But can you trust her? From what she was saying last night, they’ve been spending an awful lot of time together.”
“He’s helping her navigate some red tape with a building her family owns. It’s just work stuff.” Even as I blow it off, I realize how naive I sound.
“On his own, in her apartment, without you there?”
“Okay. It’s not good. I’m worried after last night.” Admitting my fears makes them feel all the more real.
“You should be. Even if you trust Sam, he’s still a man. And Kalina is—”
“Stunning.” I almost choke on the word.
“Which is why you need to lay some ground rules. Tell Sam how you feel, before things get out of hand.” Dawn stops and grabs my arm. “Trust will only get you so far. Believe me, I know. Been there, done that.”
“You mean Jamie—”
“No. Jamie would never. What we have goes beyond trust. I’m just saying, it would be in your best interest to stop this thing between them before it goes somewhere you won’t like . . . assuming it hasn’t already.”
“I told you: Sam wouldn’t do that.” I pull my arm away.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, okay? I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.” She looks at me, wide eyed. “Friends?”
“Friends.” I force a smile and swallow my indignation. Because after all, she’s just voicing what I was already thinking, even if I don’t want to acknowledge it.
We wander through the market, going in and out of the tents, and I try to be upbeat, even though all I’m thinking about now is Kalina and Sam and the time he’s been spending with her in that apartment across the hall.
I want to be angry at Dawn for insinuating that Sam would ever cheat, but I can’t, because if I truly believed my own words, then Kalina wouldn’t bother me.
When we come across a booth brimming with what looks like vintage clothing, she goes to walk past. But I stop, because there’s a gorgeous black sleeveless V-neck dress with a gold beaded neckline on a rack near the entrance.
A dress that’s just my style. It would look great on me at the next Glendale cocktail party.
Much better than my current little black dress, which bulges in all the wrong places.
Ordinarily, I’d put on a brave face and walk right past, since Sam and I are hardly flush with cash, but this dress is calling to me.
And it might actually be affordable, because a sign affixed to the tent reads: Cindy’s Closet.
Carefully Curated Vintage and Upcycled Attire.
“What are you doing?” Dawn turns and walks back to me.
“I want to go in here,” I tell her, surprised that she’s passing it by, because we’ve been in pretty much every other tent. I point to the dress. “Look at that.”
“Seriously?” Dawn doesn’t look convinced. “It’s used clothing.”
“Vintage and upcycled,” I retort. “That’s not the same thing.”
“If you say so.”
“Come on.” I take her hand and practically drag her over to the tent. “You might find something you like.”
“I doubt it.” Dawn pulls a face, but she doesn’t resist when I lift the dress off the rack.
It’s gorgeous and in great condition, given that it’s clearly old.
There are no rips or frays anywhere. The dress is made from a jacquard-woven black silk and pulls in at the waist with an asymmetrical peplum.
I reach out and touch the fabric. The silk is smooth under my fingers.
I check the price tag and grimace. A hundred dollars.
Pricier than I would ever have imagined and a bit rich, considering our finances.
But then I tell myself that I need to look good in front of Catherine and the rest of the board at the next cocktail party.
I’m supposed to be a designer, after all.
Okay, it’s interior design, not clothes, but that doesn’t matter.
What message am I sending when I wear a threadbare outfit that doesn’t fit?
And I can expense it to the business. This relieves my guilt.
I hold the dress up against myself and turn to Dawn. “What do you think?”
“It’s nice,” Dawn admits.
“It’s perfect.” I glance around and spot a makeshift dressing room—really just a curtain strung across the back of the tent. “I love it.”
“Great, try it on and let’s get out of here. There’s a jewelry tent across the way that I want to go into.”
“Don’t worry, they won’t run out of earrings,” I say to her, then step toward the dressing room.
Out of nowhere, an older woman with long, silver hair appears. “You have good taste. That’s one of our more unusual finds. It’s vintage. From the 1940s.”
“That’s incredible.” I would never have believed that such an old dress could still look so chic.
I can’t help thinking of all the parties its previous owners must have attended in it.
The balls and dinners it has seen over the years.
If this dress could speak, it would have so many stories. “It’s in such good condition.”
“It wasn’t that way when we got it,” the woman says. “I have a store on Newbury Street. My assistant repairs stuff like this and upcycles whatever is too far gone to give it a second life. She’s a miracle worker. I swear, she resurrects garments that I would have consigned to the rags bin.”
“She did a great job on this one,” I say as the woman pulls the curtain back for me to step into the makeshift dressing room.
With the curtain closed again, I slip out of my coat, quickly shed my clothes, then climb carefully into the dress.
I step back out and look at myself in a full-length mirror attached to one of the tent poles.
The dress looks even better on me than I expected.
It falls just past the knee and pulls in at the waist, making me look slimmer than I actually am.
Even the bust fits, lifting my breasts and hugging them to reveal a seductive flash of cleavage.
In this dress, I could give Kalina a run for her money any day.
I turn back around to show Dawn, but she’s still lingering near the front of the tent, half hidden behind a rack of clothes that she’s pawing through slowly, head bowed.
I call to her. She looks up, then reluctantly saunters toward me.
“What do you think now?” I ask.
Before she can answer, the store owner pipes up. “Dawn? My goodness. I don’t believe it. I haven’t seen you for ages. Ever since the—”
“It’s been a long time,” Dawn says quickly. “How have you been, Roxanne?”
“Oh, can’t complain.” Roxanne steps close and pulls Dawn into a tight hug. “How about you?”
“I’m doing fine.” Dawn glances back toward the front of the tent. “Married now.”
“Wow. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“And your parents?”
“They’re good.” Dawn looks at me. “So what do you think, is the dress going home with you?”
It is, because it’s beyond fantastic. I hurry back behind the sheet and change.
When I come out, Dawn is gone. I pay for the dress and wait while Roxanne folds my new favorite garment and slips it into a large twist-handle brown paper bag with the Cindy’s Closet logo stenciled on the side.
Then I go in search of my friend, whom I eventually find three booths away, inspecting a display of handmade scented candles.
“Sorry,” she says at my approach. “Didn’t mean to abandon you back there.”
“No problem.” I watch her pick up a candle marked Autumn Delights. “What’s the deal with you and that woman? Sounds like you were old friends. Did something happen?”
“Not really.” Dawn shrugs. “People drift apart. You know how it is.” She sniffs the candle, then reaches for her purse. “I think I’m going to get this.”
Dawn turns and walks to the register without a second glance in my direction.
Did I do something wrong by wanting to buy that dress in the other booth?
She’s usually so relaxed and open. Friendly.
Something is off with her, but I have no idea what, because she’s clearly not in the mood to share her feelings. At least, not with me.