Page 117 of The Design of Goodbye
An employee with short black hair and lime green cat-eye glasses walked over, eyeing Liam and me suspiciously. “Would you like to try it on?” she asked.
I swallowed, still unable to speak.
“She might want to,” spoke up Liam, staring at me with concern. “Later.”
The lady looked me over. “It should fit.”
“It will,” I said, wishing she’d leave me alone. “I’m looking for something, if you don’t mind?”
More suspicion clouded her features, and I was worried she was going to kick us out.
“Well,” she started, turning to leave, “I’m Annabelle. Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Madison,” whispered Liam once Annabelle was gone, “what’s happening?”
I pulled back the neckline and there it was: a small purple X. I could barely breathe. “My mom made this.”
He stepped closer. Our shoulders touched. “Are you sure?”
“I can spot my mom’s style anywhere,” I explained. “She had a fascination with the Victorian era, specifically the eighteen sixties. She gave a lot of her pieces a Victorian twist. Like this dress”—I ran my finger down the skirt—“notice the double-skirted appearance? That was common later in the decade, but you’dneverbe able to fit a crinoline under this skirt, because it’s too formfitting.” I pointed to the bottom of the skirt. “And it’s short. This dress would only stop mid-thigh on me. But this?” I pulled back the collar again and touched the small X. “My mom sews an X on every piece she makes. It’s her signature.”
Liam stared at me, eyes wide as he took a moment to process it all. “What are you going to do?”
I turned around, my shock making me unsteady. Liam grabbed onto me, and I hoped he wouldn’t let go.
Annabelle was standing behind the cash register. I pointed to the dress and asked, “Can I get the contact information for this designer?”
She shook her head. “That’s confidential,” she answered. “It’s against our rules to contact designers on behalf of customers. If you purchase the dress, I can write your name down. When she comes in again, I’ll give her your contact information.”
Was my mom living in Traverse City? All these months, had she been a little over forty miles from me?
“I’ll purchase the dress.”
Anabelle’s eyes widened. “You don’t want to try it on?”
I shook my head and had my credit card out by the time I got to the cash register. I didn’t care how much it cost. I wasn’t leaving the dress—which kind of felt like part of me—in this store. “It’ll fit.”
After I paid, I asked, “Can I give you my information now?”
It was likely my mom would never contact me, but I imagined her coming in here and finding out I’d purchased the dress. I imagined her reaction when she found out I’d been here. That I knew.
“Sure.” Annabelle grabbed a pad of paper and looked at me over the rim of her glasses. After I gave her my number, she asked, “What’s your name?”
“Madison Winters,” I said. “Her daughter.”
* * *
Once outside, I breathed in the crisp December air and tried to calm down.
“You okay?” asked Liam.
“I think so.” I sighed. “Maybe this is a sign.”
“A sign of what?”
I stared at the elaborate wreaths hung on shop doors and festive scenes displayed in windows. Strands of lights hung on trees that lined the sidewalk of the outdoor shopping center. By the sheer quantity of them, this place must’ve been magical at night. Had my mom witnessed the magic?
If she had, I wondered if she’d thought of me.
