Chapter 8 Maddie
MADDIE
I’m feeling overly emotional as I wait for the lady to bring back a coat for me to try on.
It could be because this whole place reminds me of Delilah, right down to the false enthusiasm of the saleslady.
But it’s probably the mention of my dad back at the thrift shop. It means everything to me that Mrs. Miller remembers me. And all I want to do is go visit the factory, where I know the ladies will be kind to me and share memories of my dad.
But it’s not my factory anymore, it’s Delilah’s. And she’s just as likely to shut it down as she is to keep it. I couldn’t bear to go in there and accept their sympathy only to see them all out on the street in a week or a month.
“Here we are, Miss Foster,” the saleslady sings out as she trots toward me with a wide smile and two coats. “This one is a favorite of mine. It’s warm but it has a slim silhouette.”
She hands me a bright pink thing with a black zipper that seems too lightweight to really be a coat, and gazes at me like she thinks I’ll be thrilled.
When I pull it on I can tell right away that it’s made of that magical stuff that holds in body warmth. It’s warmer than it looks and I look sort of amazing in the mirror, slim and curvy, like all the wealthy local ski bunnies.
But it’s not really me.
“Oh, that’s fabulous,” she says. “I brought another just in case, since this line runs small, but that fits you perfectly. You look like a movie star.”
I glance at the moss-green puffer coat she’s still holding. The color is much more me, and it has a hood, which would be really nice since it’s so windy up on the mountain.
“Try the one with the hood,” Jake barks out suddenly.
I almost jump out of my shoes. He’s been so quiet that I almost forgot he was here.
I’m annoyed at him for being so gruff, but even more annoyed at myself because I’ve noticed how handsome he is like eighty times already today.
He was so lost in his phone at the thrift shop.
It’s interesting that he’s paying attention now.
This place is super expensive. Of course he’s paying attention. Plus the salesgirl is flirting with him pretty shamelessly.
I don’t know why that bothers me, but it does. Every time she smiles at him I get this awful feeling, like she’s running her long, blood-red fingernails down a chalkboard.
I peel off the pink coat and hand it to her, taking the nice fluffy green one instead.
It’s every bit as warm and cozy as it looks—heavenly.
But this is on Jake’s dime, so it’s his decision. And since he’s a guy, I’m guessing he’ll pick the one that makes me look more like a movie star than a lumberjack.
Our eyes meet in the mirror again, and just like last time it happened, I feel like little bubbles are filling my chest.
“Yes,” he says, nodding once. “That’s good for the mountains. And it brings out your eyes.”
His jaw tightens like he’s furious, and I’m left reeling, trying to figure out if he really just gave me a compliment.
“That looks warm, Maddie,” Dylan says approvingly. “And when it snows, you can go on the ground with me and make shapes.”
“Thank you, Dylan,” I tell him, grateful to be distracted from his father. “This was such a nice thing for you and your dad to do for me. And I can’t wait to make some snow angels with you.”
He beams at that and his little chest puffs up so much it looks like he might float right out of the store.
“She needs boots,” Jake says flatly.
“Jake, it’s too much,” I tell him. “There isn’t even any snow.”
“There will be,” he says without making eye contact.
“I asked for it,” Dylan says, as if by way of explanation. “In my letter.”
This kid is just the absolute best. I wrap an arm around his shoulders and give him a quick squeeze. I really do hope he gets his snow.
And a pretty snowfall might even impact his dad’s views on the lodge. I doubt it, but it might.
The salesgirl guesses my shoe size, and once again she’s annoyingly accurate. I follow her this time and she points to a bench where I sit obediently.
She disappears in back and I realize I’m going to have to take off my sodden sneakers and reveal my wet socks. It was so rainy this morning, and my footwear really wasn’t designed for it.
Shame washes over me, and I remind myself inwardly of all the times Dad and I volunteered at the homeless shelter. I never faulted any of the people we served there for the condition of their clothing, so I shouldn’t be ashamed either.
We’re no better than anyone else here, Dad would tell me softly once in a while, like he was afraid I’d forget. We’re just luckier.
Tears prickle in my eyes and I wish so much that he could be here with me. I know he would just grin at me and wink, and I wouldn’t care about my socks at all.
A moment later, the lady is back with a couple boxes of boots.
I slide my sneakers off and look up to see her eyes on my wet socks, her nose wrinkled up.
“Bring Miss Foster some warm socks to try on,” Jake snaps.
She’s on her feet in an instant, grabbing the softest, thickest socks I’ve ever seen off the rack and hustling over with them.
“You can’t just try these on,” she says tentatively.
“We’ll buy them,” Jake says. “Obviously. She can wear them out.”
“Very good, sir,” she tells him, handing off the socks.
I make quick work of wadding up the old ones and shoving them in my sneakers before pulling on the fluffy ones.
The new socks are like two little woolen clouds. I feel like a new woman. As much as my dad wasn’t one for luxury, he was a big believer in the power of new socks. I always thought that was pretty silly. I get it now.
A few minutes later, I’ve also got a really nice pair of waterproof winter boots that somehow look cute too. Jake has decreed that I’ll be wearing the socks and boots out, so my old gross stuff is packed up in one of the boxes.
We approach another counter and I’m literally afraid of how much this will cost. If he wants me to pay him back, I’ll have to work as his part-time nanny until Dylan is thirty-five.
“You need some gloves,” Jake suddenly says.
I glance up, but he’s looking at Dylan.
“I have mittens,” Dylan reminds him.
“You need gloves that keep your hands warm and dry in the snow,” Jake tells him. “A good hat and scarf too.”
The salesgirl catches us looking at the racks and scurries back over.
“We’re fine on our own,” Jake tells her dismissively without even looking up.
I almost feel bad for her when I see her face fall.
“What about these?” Dylan asks, holding up an absolutely enormous pair of fleece-lined black leather driving gloves.
“Let’s look over here,” I tell him, indicating a smaller rack with the kids’ stuff on it. “The ones at the top are good for making snowballs.”
His face lights up and he grabs a blue pair, but they’re too big.
“They have red ones in your size,” I tell him, holding some out. “These are perfect for making snowballs.”
He tries them on right away, looking absolutely thrilled when they fit… well, like a glove.
I grab him a hat and scarf to match and he beams up at me.
“You too, Maddie,” Jake says firmly.
I can’t even argue. I don’t have gloves or a scarf of any kind. And at this point, what are a few accessories compared to the fortune he’s insisting on spending on me?
Dylan picks out green ones to go with my new coat, and Jake heads for the counter.
“But what about you, Dad?” Dylan asks plaintively, standing stock-still by the racks.
“I’m fine,” Jake says.
“Don’t you want to play in the snow with me?” Dylan asks softly.
I swear Jake’s usual tough expression melts into sadness for a fraction of an instant. Then he frowns again and marches over to the racks, spinning one aggressively as if he’s not sure what color he should choose.
“Blue,” I hear myself say out loud.
“That will bring out your eyes,” Dylan adds wisely.
It’s exactly what his dad said to me earlier, but somehow I feel my whole face burning up and I wish I could throw myself into icy Angel Lake.
Jake turns away from me and pulls a pair of blue gloves off the rack, then grabs a scarf as well and marches over to the counter again with our mountain of new items.
He’s not even looking at me, but somehow I feel him taking me in.
He’s getting the blue because I liked them.
It shouldn’t be a big deal, but I feel almost breathless by the time we get to the register.
“Can we go to the park?” Dylan suddenly asks. “It’s not raining anymore.”
I look down at him, but he’s not asking me. He’s tugging at his father’s sleeve, and suddenly all I can notice is the size of Jake’s arms, and how wide his shoulders are. You don’t have much use for a frame like that in a boardroom.
“Sure,” Jake says. “You two go on. I’ll be right there.”
I’m honestly grateful—both to escape him for a moment, and not to have to see the total on that register.
Dylan grabs my hand and blasts toward the door, like his dad is going to change his mind.
I’m pretty sure he’ll be glad to have us out of his hair. He’s asking the lady at the register to remove all the tags, so he’ll probably be standing there forever.
I open the door and the blast of icy air from outside feels heavenly on my heated cheeks.
We pass the knitting store, and a touristy candy shop that must be new.
Next is the Lenni Lenape Museum where my dad used to take me every time we visited Angel Mountain.
I remember getting lost in the displays about how Native Americans lived and fingering the beautiful turquoise jewelry at the checkout while Dad bought a book and the owner smiled at me indulgently.
I wonder fleetingly if Dylan is the right age for the museum, but he’s already spotted the park and I practically have to jog to catch up with him.
He opens the gate and we walk just inside before I turn back to close it.
When I turn around again, I expect to see Dylan heading off on his first adventure.
Instead, he’s still standing in the entrance, looking paralyzed with indecision at all the options.