Chapter 4: The Fitting

The surveyor let me keep the copy.

He had a whole stack of them in his truck.

That told me how sure they were.

I drove down the ridge road with it on the passenger seat.

I didn't stop until I was parked in front of the bridal shop on Main Street.

Iris's little blue car was out front.

So was my mother's.

The bell over the door jingled when I walked in.

Six women from the pack sat on the velvet couches with paper cups of champagne.

My mother was in the middle, holding a tissue.

Iris stood on the round pedestal in front of the three-way mirror.

She was wearing my dress.

My dress, the ivory one with the low back and Gran's lace sewn into the sleeves.

I had paid it off over two years, forty dollars a week.

They'd taken it in at the waist and shortened the hem for her.

The dressmaker knelt at her feet with pins in her mouth.

Everyone turned.

The dressmaker stopped pinning.

"Faye," my mother said. "Sweetheart, you shouldn't be here."

"It's my dress, Mom. I think I get to visit it."

Iris's eyes filled on cue.

"I told them we should buy a new one. I told them."

"There wasn't time to order one," my mother said quickly. "And it would have gone to waste."

One of the pack women snorted into her champagne.

I unfolded the deed and held it up so every woman on those couches could see.

"Somebody signed my name and sold Gran's ridge to a logging company. Four million dollars."

A murmur went around the room.

"That's not my signature."

"Faye," my mother said. "You're upset about Damien. Everyone understands. But this is a pack matter."

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