“Madge! Bev!” Goldie waved over two women who were walking our way. “She’s here!”
With all the clucking and exclamations, Madge and Bev made me feel like a celebrity. Widowed twins, they had the habit of finishing each other’s sentences, which made for rapid-fire conversation I had to watch closely in order to keep up.
“We heard you’d gotten in, that your flight wasn’t even—”
“Delayed! What a miracle! And was the traffic okay—”
“In Des Moines? We haven’t been since—”
“The fair last year. But we took University—”
“Avenue to avoid the interstate. Makes us nervous. Especially when you—” There was a brief pause as Madge turned to Bev, who picked up the thread.
“Oh yes! Got a horrible virus. Hit right after the Ferris wheel. Fever for days and loose stools that lasted for weeks.”
“All right then,” Gigi said, pulling me along. “Show’s over, ladies. We’ll be happy to have you for dinner soon so we can all interrogate Grace on her life in the big city. I know Madge and Bev have started a list of questions, isn’t that right?”
The women nodded, smiling as Gigi led me back toward our booth. “It’s up to three pages! Single-spaced!” Bev called out with a wave.
I chuckled as we made our way back to the bright rainbow spilling out of Gigi’s booth. “Do they always talk like that? And have they always had matching perms?”
“Absolutely,” Gigi said. “Took me three years just to tell them apart. You can remember that Madge has her ears pierced. Bev does not. The thought makes her squeamish.”
We reached the booth and I marveled again at the unique fabrics making up the dresses. I was turning to ask Gigi where she’d found them when she cleared her throat in a way that was everything but subtle. “Customer, nine o’clock,” she said. “Follow my lead.”
A woman pushing a stroller smiled as she parked it just outside the booth. She glanced at her sleeping baby, a stunner with round, apple cheeks and eyelashes that fanned over them.
“I have at least ten more minutes while she sleeps,” she said softly, already scanning the racks. “And then it’s go time.”
I laughed and waited for Gigi to do the same but she had a fixed smile on her face and began speaking in a halting tone.
“I make all the dresses by hand,” she said, sounding a bit like a robot. I stared. “The fabrics are vintage, which means they are original to the time period. The time period is the nineteen seventies.”
The woman cocked her head, a quizzical look on her face. “I see,” she said slowly.
I cleared my throat. “That print looks beautiful with your skin and hair.”
The woman’s eyes lit up as she considered the dress in her hand. “Isn’t this great? I really love the colors.”
I narrowed my eyes and with sudden inspiration said, “Hold on.”
I walked around Gigi, still frozen to her spot, and found the toolbox she’d stashed under a folding chair in the back of the booth. I rummaged around in her emergency sewing supplies, past buttons and spools of thread and scissors, until I found a seam ripper. Walking back to our customer, I took the dress from her hands and looked at Gigi. “May I?”
She nodded, eyes glued on the seam ripper.
I carefully removed the oversize collar and set it aside. Pretty, even stitching lay where the collar had been and I smiled. “Do you have a moment to try it on? I can finish the look when you’re in the dress.”
The woman nodded and with a quick glance at the baby, still sound asleep, she ducked behind a screen, Gigi’s makeshift changing room. Gigi caught my eye and I nodded, excited. The woman appeared moments later and walked to the full-length mirror propped up against the side of the booth. She nodded appreciatively, and her face lit up as she took in the view.
“I love the way this dress makes me feel,” she said, turning to the side. “I just wish—”
I knew exactly what she wished and I was already on it. I took a cushion ripe with pins and started to work, seeing the dress for what it could be as I worked. I raised the shoulders, fitting the dress to her pretty curves. I cut a long line, making a slit up one side, adding another inch when the woman nodded encouragement.
“You have a great waist,” I said through a mouthful of pins, “so let’s show it off, shall we?” I pulled up the waistline to where her natural waist fell, and heard her murmur her approval. Taking a step back, I looked at the changes and said, “I can finish them for you this week and have it ready by Wednesday.” And then, because it was true, I added, “You look gorgeous.”
The woman was smiling, shaking her head a bit. “I can’t believe you did that. It’s perfect, like it was made just for me.”
I shrugged and met her eyes in the mirror. “It kind of was.”
She turned to Gigi. “I’ll take it. What’s your price?”
Gigi had been silent through the impromptu alterations, but now she just looked confused. “My price?”
“Sixty dollars,” I said.
“Done,” the woman said, and went to change back into her street clothes.
Gigi turned to me and mouthed, “Sixty dollars?”
I cringed. “Is that too low?” I whispered. “You weren’t saying anything, so I—”
The woman returned, paid for the dress, got Gigi’s address for a Wednesday pickup, and pushed the stroller just as her baby began to fuss. “Victory!” she said over her shoulder, waving as she walked away.
“Gigi,” I said, “I’m so sorry. Did I underprice? I should have waited for you to speak. They’re your dresses, after all.”
Gigi whooped a laugh and then caught herself when people turned to look. “Are you kidding?” She grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me loudly on each cheek. “I would never have asked for more than ten for its original condition. Sixty dollars! And she seemed happy about it!”
I laughed, glad to have helped sell a dress. “Of course she was. She looks phenomenal in that dress.” I fingered the next dress on the rack and said, “How many dresses do you typically sell at these things?”
Gigi waved the thought away with her hand. “Oh, I haven’t sold a single dress in months.”
I stared and she saw the shock on my face.
Shrugging, she said, “I told you this was more for the social aspect. Plus, I like making the things. Keeps the mind sharp.” She smiled at my open mouth. “Silly girl. Don’t you remember that life isn’t all about money? Though,” she said, hands up in defense, “sixty dollars is nothing to sniff at, I’ll give you that.”
A deep voice interrupted our conversation. “Just when I think I’ve seen it all, here is Grace Kleren, up and at ’em before noon.” Tucker shook his head. “These kinds of changes are too much for a small-town guy like me.”
I felt my stomach flop and scowled in response. “Of course I’m up before noon,” I said, noting how easily the feistiness came back into my voice when talking with Tucker. “In New York, I’m up every day by six to make it to work by eight.”
Tucker let out a low whistle. “That’s some commute.”
I gave a tight smile, tipping my chin. “It’s not bad once you get used to it.”
He kept my gaze and said with a quiet but distinctly sharp edge, “I suppose that can be said for all sorts of things.”
My heart was beating wildly and I was grateful when he looked away. “Morning, Gigi,” he said, and went to hug her. She could barely fit her arms around his strong frame, but she made a valiant effort before pulling back.
“How are you doing, Tuck? You eating well? You bachelor types aren’t always so good at feeding yourselves.”
He grinned. “I do all right. Though I’ll never pass up the chance to eat something from your kitchen. I’m available every weeknight. And weekends too, come to think of it.” He sneaked a glance in my direction. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to put you out, especially since you haven’t been feeling well.”
Gigi frowned.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” She bristled, stood straighter. “I feel perfectly fine. People think that once you hit seventy, you spend your days dodging one ailment after another. It’s rather irritating, if you ask me. And incorrect!” She poked a finger into Tucker’s chest.
He chuckled. “Point taken, Ms. Hanson. Unless given copies of your medical report, I will assume such news is only small-town gossip and nothing more.”
I watched them laughing together and felt a pang of regret, that I’d hurt both of them with my absence and that I’d missed so many years of their easy friendship.
“Listen,” Tucker said, catching my eye. “I know she’s on the clock, Gigi, but would you mind if I stole Grace away for a bit? Before the rush? I believe I owe her an apology.” He looked at me, and I felt instantly nervous, although I couldn’t place why.
“Well”—Gigi drew out the word—“typically I wouldn’t allow it, but since Grace just sold one of my first dresses ever, I’m feeling generous.” She pushed us out of the booth before I could voice a protest, Tucker one half-step behind.
We made our way through the growing crowd. At one point, we navigated through a mini-throng and Tucker put his hand on the small of my back to guide us through. I tried my best to ignore it, or at least neutralize the rush of adrenaline at his touch. This is ridiculous, I thought. You’re not eighteen anymore. Get it together.
We reached the outside of the large tent, and Tucker nodded toward a little stand to the side of the entrance. I smiled.
“That’s what I thought,” he said before walking to the order window. He returned a few minutes later with a white paper bag full of piping-hot, fresh-out-of-the-fryer mini-doughnuts, bathed in a glorious dusting of cinnamon and sugar. I waved to Mr. Jenkins, who had ducked his head through the small window of his portable doughnut stand.
I closed my eyes as I bit into the first doughnut. “Unbelievable,” I said, plucking out another for quick consumption. “These are crazy good. The kind of good that can make a girl forget all sorts of things, like being fit and sometimes vegetarian and a lover of ancient grains.”
“Think of them as a peace offering.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, face serious. “Listen, Grace, I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you in town the other day. It was small of me to make it tough for you during that conversation. It hasn’t been sitting well with me since, and I want to apologize before I waste another day wondering about it.” He clamped his mouth shut, his expression unreadable. It struck me just then how different he was. The old Tucker was an open book, and the one before me was concentrating on his words, treating them with too much care.
I offered the bag to Tucker, who took two and popped them into his mouth. I swallowed hard. “Pretty sure a rough welcome back is the least you owe me.”
“Nah,” he said, taking another doughnut for himself. “Ancient history.” His smile seemed forced. He nodded toward the path. “Want to walk?”
I followed him as he continued talking.
“I’m going to ignore the bit you just said about vegetarianism,” he said as we settled into a comfortable pace. “You do remember my uncle raises cattle.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “I do. His beef is the principle reason I never order a steak in New York. Even for two hundred dollars, those steaks always disappoint.” I ate a doughnut, letting the sugar and cinnamon melt on my tongue.
He nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Smart girl.” He caught my eye before continuing. “How about a take two?”
“Take two?”
“My first attempt at seeing you again after a decade didn’t go that great, so I’d like to try again.” He smiled shyly at me. “How are you, Grace? You look well.”
I laughed, relief filling my chest. I could handle small talk. “I am quite well, thank you,” I answered, mirroring his formal tone. “And you, Tucker? Catch me up on the last ten years.”
He thought a bit before answering. I waited as our footsteps fell quietly on the carpet of spring grass. “Things are good. I build houses, start to finish, and I love it.”
“I’ll bet you are fantastic at it.” I was sincere in my compliment. I remembered well Tucker’s willingness to work hard and work well, his bright mind, his eagerness to do something right, whether it was sneaking a key from the janitor and filling my locker with white tulips, my favorite, or helping to paint a friend’s barn until the job finally finished at three a.m.
He blushed under my gaze. “I’m grateful to do work I love,” he said gruffly, and then turned the question to me. “What about you? I’m assuming you’ve taken the New York fashion world by storm by now.”
I returned his smile with effort. “Oh, yes. Right. The storm is barely able to keep churning in my absence.” The words caught in my throat and I turned my head so he couldn’t see my face.
We walked without speaking for a while, beyond the hay-covered “parking lot,” then along the newly tilled fields that surrounded the fairgrounds. Tucker reached down to gather a handful of soil and I felt a wave of sadness, remembering all the times we walked the perimeter of Silver Creek and how he would do just that, letting the dirt run through his fingers slowly as he formed his thoughts and words. I waited for what he was working on, but he remained silent.
Soon we came to an old footbridge, and I felt my heart pick up speed, remembering. This bridge was the place where Tucker had finally gathered the nerve to kiss me for the first time, a million years and miles ago, when we were still kids in junior high. I felt suddenly awkward and looked at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge if he was thinking of that moment too, or if those memories were long gone, covered in the dust of too many other hurts and broken promises.
He cleared his throat, and winced as he came to lean against the railing. “I know it’s old news, but I should probably also apologize for the subpar kissing skills I showed in this spot a few years ago. I was, ahem, a bit inexperienced.”
I laughed, relieved I wasn’t the only one lost in that memory. “I just remember my legs shaking and hoping you didn’t notice.”
He raised an eyebrow, then turned his attention back to the ambling creek below. “I definitely did not notice your shaking legs.”
We stood still, a healthy distance between us, watching the water. The air was crisp and clear, still alive with the lingering chill of winter, still ringing with the simple honesty of Tucker’s admission.
“So here’s the thing,” I blurted before I lost my courage. I turned and started to walk again, across the bridge and along a neat line of trees bordering the next field. “I’m not here because Gigi is sick. I’m here because I totally blew it in New York and I need to get back on my feet. Turns out I didn’t have what it takes. . . .”
Tucker listened as I told him the story of my downfall, how I’d outspent and undersaved, how, after a hopeful beginning at Milano, I’d wasted years of my life with nothing to show for it, not even a houseplant. He listened, just as he’d always done. When I’d finished my full confession, I realized we’d slowed our walk to a stop.
He turned to me. “Gracie, you’re really good at what you do.” He looked at his handful of dirt and let some slip through the cracks in his fingers before continuing. “I hope you give it some time before throwing it all away.”
I plunged into my next words before I could stop myself, my hands gripping the half-empty bag of doughnuts until my fingernails dug into my palms. “Tucker, I’m sorry for how I left.”
He shook his head and said, “You don’t have to—”
“I do,” I said. “I should have apologized years ago, but I was young and dumb and scared.”
A half smile formed at the edge of his mouth, and he looked at me. “Scared? I can’t see it.”
I sighed. “Oh, believe me. I’m a big scaredy-cat when it comes down to it. And I’m sorry I didn’t give you what you wanted. What you deserved. Still do, as far as I can tell.” I blushed.
He cocked his head, looking confus
ed. Mischief in his eyes, he said, all innocence, “Grace, are you asking me if I’m seeing anyone? Because I feel like you are.”
I stopped breathing for a second. “No. I mean, of course not. I have no right to ask.” I started back toward the tent, but he stopped me, laughing.
“Gracie, I’m just giving you a hard time.” He turned me toward him, leaving his arm around me for a beat before letting it drop. “We have history, and that’s perfectly fine. We’re grown-ups now, right?” He smiled, and for the first time, I could see, really see, a new sadness in his eyes. “You can ask me if I’m single.”
I tried to look friendly, mildly interested, like I’d asked him if he had seen the latest episode of American Ninja Warrior.
He leaned over to scoop up another handful of soil but let it run out quickly before he stood up again. With a wicked grin, he said, “Sort of.”
Starting toward the tent, he walked five paces before calling over his shoulder, “You coming, Kleren?” He turned to walk backward a bit, his gait easy and strong, the grin on his face pulling me in just as it had when I’d first developed an all-consuming crush that had propelled me straight through junior high and to the day I left on the Amtrak train six years later.
I sighed. “I’m coming,” I said, and jogged to where he was waiting for me to catch up.
eight
Gigi was on a tear.
She didn’t even want to take the dresses back upstairs to the spare bedroom. As soon as we walked in the front door, arms heavy laden with the colorful fabrics, she barked, “Drop them on the couch, on the chairs, anything soft here in the living room. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
I laid a pile of dresses on the armchair next to the fireplace. Gigi hustled to the toolbox and retrieved her seam ripper. Without a word, she picked up the nearest dress and started in on the collar. That one done, she moved to the next dress on the pile.
“Gigi,” I said, “I didn’t mean you had to change all your dresses. That style just worked for that woman. The dresses are very . . . well made.”
Heart Land Page 7
