Enchanting Lily

by Anjali Banerjee

  His frown deepened, bushy eyebrows brooding and almost Neanderthal. “Did you leave anything lying around? Rubber bands? Jewelry? Buttons?”

  “I don’t leave things lying around.”

  Dr. Grinch followed her into the kitchen. “You have to treat a cat like a toddler. She may put things in her mouth. Floss, thread.”

  She didn’t need a lecture. “I’ve never had a toddler, and she didn’t get into anything.”

  “Did you feed her anything different?”

  “I gave her only cat food.”

  “I see.” He did not look convinced.

  “Can I take your jacket?” Why did she bother with politeness?

  “I’ll keep it on. Where did she go?”

  “Probably upstairs. This way.” She turned and led him through the kitchen, imagining Bish and her mother waiting at home, disturbed by his late-night foray into downtown Fairport. Or were they glad to be rid of him?

  He followed her up the stairs, his boots clopping on the steps. He should’ve taken them off, but she did not want to be rude and point this out.

  In her room, he glanced at the bed, the vintage dressing table, the set of shelves lined with books arranged by height. She hadn’t yet unpacked a few boxes. She realized now that her bedroom screamed “widow,” from the dusty, unused bottle of Dior perfume on the dressing table, to the cotton bra thrown over the back of a vintage chair. If she was going to show the bra to a visitor, she thought, at least she could’ve chosen a Victoria’s Secret black lace number, but she no longer even owned such a thing.

  Dr. Cole glanced at the bra, and his face flushed. Lily ran over, grabbed the bra, and stuffed it into a drawer. Her cheeks heated again. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  “I’m the one intruding.” He glanced at the book of poems on the bedside table. “I have that one in paperback.”

  “You have a book of poems?” She could barely contain her surprise.

  “Picked it up a while ago.”

  “You’re into poetry. I mean, that’s great.” She tried to imagine him reading poetry, but no image came to her.

  “When I get time to read.”

  “I’ve only read a couple of the poems. Jasmine gave me the book.”

  He nodded, brows raised. “Ah, I saw you in the bookstore.”

  “And I saw you.”

  “And now here we are.”

  “Here we are.” She became aware of the permeable membrane between her interior life and the world outside. If Dr. Cole happened to open the top drawer of the bureau, he would find Josh’s briefs, undershirts, and socks still folded inside. He would think her foolish and sentimental, or maybe just plain weird. She’d kept a few of Josh’s jackets, too, and a few pairs of shoes, all hidden in the closet.

  Dr. Cole’s gaze rested on a twitching tail sticking out from under the bed. He put his bag on the dresser, got down on his knees, and peered at the cat. Then he pulled her out and tried to examine her, but she wriggled away and slid back under the bed.

  He stood and brushed off his jeans. “She seems all right, but I suggest we give her time to calm down. Then I’ll take another look.”

  “I’m relieved that she seems okay, at least.” Lily had a strange urge to push him into the hall. She’d become protective of her space. She’d kept Josh close to her, and now Dr. Cole’s imposing presence was getting in the way. He was alive, breathing, solid, and no matter how unlikable he was, he was a man. She felt fascinated by him, by his complex broodiness, and yet she felt guilty for even wondering anything about him, as if she were betraying Josh.

  Dr. Cole stepped into the hall, and she turned off the bedroom light. For a moment, the two of them fell into the strange intimacy of darkness.

  “Would you like a drink while we wait for the kitty to come out?” What was she saying? Did she even have a drink to offer him?

  “I could use a cup of coffee.”

  At three a.m.? “Coffee, of course.” Had she unpacked the coffeemaker?

  He stepped back into the bedroom, brushing past her, and grabbed his veterinary bag. Then he followed her down into the kitchen again and stood at the counter while she rummaged around in the cabinets. His presence made the room seem smaller and somehow bare. She should have fruits and vegetables on the countertop, onions hanging in a basket, but cooking hadn’t interested her much lately.

  “What did you mean?” he asked.

  “About what?” Why couldn’t she find any coffee?

  “About not wanting to have anything else die on you?”

  “Oh.” She froze, her hand on a packet of teabags. “My husband. He passed away several months ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “I understand why you called about the cat.”

  “Maybe I was silly.”

  “No, not at all.” He didn’t ask any more questions.

  An awkward silence.

  “So, how is Bish?” she asked, still rummaging.

  “She says you’re taking her to some estate sale.”

  “Oh, I’m not going.”

  “She seems to think you are.”

  “I’m pretty sure I told her I’m not.” She couldn’t find any coffee. Since when had she become such a hermit, with nothing to offer a visitor? “I’m afraid I’ve only got Ovaltine and Earl Grey tea. Herbal teas, too.”

  “Ovaltine? Who drinks Ovaltine anymore?”

  “It’s left over from…before.” From Josh.

  “Quik tasted better than Ovaltine.”

  “I remember Quik. Strawberry Quik was my favorite. All that sugar, with a picture of a pink rabbit on the label.”

  He looked out the window at shadows in the moonlit backyard. “The name got corrupted. Strawberry Quik is now a code word for a kind of crystal meth.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Read it online.”

  It was so strange to have him in here, someone so different from Josh. Dr. Cole was unreadable, while Josh had worn his emotions on the outside. He’d loved clothes but had not been much interested in using a computer.

  “I’d offer you the real Quik if I had it, but it’s the Ovaltine or tea.”

  “A glass of water will be fine.” He stood so still compared to Josh, who’d always been doing something with his hands.

  She poured a glass of water. “Sorry about the coffee.”

  “I can do without.” He pointed out the window, looking upward. “That’s an old maple.”

  “Came with the property.”

  “My wife used to press maple leaves into books.”

  Lily wondered about his wife who, she thought, must be delicate and exuberant like Bish. “I used to do things like that. But I pressed flowers, too.”

  He nodded, swigged down the water, and put the glass on the counter. “Where is the vomit?”

  “Excuse me?” She blinked at him, then remembered. “Oh.” She pulled out the garbage can from beneath the sink. “Are you sure you want to see it? It’s gross.”

  “I’m used to gross.” He opened his bag, extracted a pair of vinyl surgical gloves, and started picking through the garbage. Now he truly knew how Lily lived—on microwaveable meals, prepared breakfast cereals. Tea bags. Garbage could reveal too much about a person’s life or lack thereof.

  “There, in that paper towel,” she said, trying not to dry heave.

  He opened the towel. She looked away. “Squeamish?” She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “I’m not used to examining cat vomit.”

  “It’s my job. Here, look. Don’t be shy.” He showed her a compact, sausage-shaped cluster of hair, which he extracted from the mass of half-digested food. “It’s a hairball.”

  “Oh. Really?” He would tell this story for years, the one about the clueless woman who didn’t know the difference between acute food poisoning and a hairball.

  “There are two kinds of hairballs. One kind is formed at the back of the cat’s throat, the other
in the stomach or small intestine.”

  She tried not to retch again. “Is it dangerous?”

  “It’s healthy for her to clean the hair out of her system now and then. But hairballs as big as baseballs have been found in the stomachs of some cats. Not that you need to worry about that. You could brush her regularly. That might help.”

  “You mentioned that.” She leaned against the counter, feeling a bit lightheaded. “Two days ago, I never would’ve imagined that I’d be standing here in the night, next to a veterinarian, both of us examining a hairball. I never pictured having a cat in the shop.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, life can throw you.”

  “I feel silly.”

  “Aw, you didn’t know.” He dropped the hairball in the garbage. “I’ll take another look at the kitty and make sure she’s okay, so you can sleep easy.”

  Did she ever sleep easy anymore? “I appreciate your help.”

  He was already heading back down the hall, but this time he stopped in the front room and looked around in the dimness. “This where you sell the dresses?”

  The shop seemed somehow inert in the darkness, like a movie scene waiting for lights. “This is it, what there is of my livelihood.”

  “You sell men’s clothes, too?”

  “In a section along the south wall.” She followed his gaze to the male mannequin.

  “I like that jacket.”

  Her heartbeat kicked up, and she realized the jacket, designed and worn by Josh, just might fit Dr. Cole. “It’s one of a kind.”

  “I need a suit for the veterinary conference next month. Can you believe I don’t have a single suit that still fits?” He patted his belly, which looked firm to her. “Maybe I could find something here.”

  “I have limited inventory, but what I do have is unique.”

  “Maybe I can try that one on?”

  “The one on the mannequin?”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  She felt a strange jolt. The jacket held too many memories. On their seventh anniversary, Josh had surprised her by taking her dancing at the Bayside Lounge in San Francisco. Now she remembered the evening as if it had happened only the night before—the scents of perfume and alcohol, the feel of his arm around her waist, his minty breath on her cheek.

  But the jacket could fit Dr. Cole. She could make a sale. She fought a quick, silent war with herself, then she said, “I should’ve pinned a note to that one. It’s only a display model. I’m afraid the jacket is not for sale. But, if you give me your size, I’ll look through the rest of my inventory. I’m sure I can find the perfect suit for you.”

  “Perfect, huh? I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Do you know your size?”

  “I can check one of my suits, but they’re all tight.”

  “I would need to take your measurements then.”

  “Then I’ll have to come back.”

  “You will.” For a moment, they looked at each other, then he went upstairs to check on the cat one more time before leaving.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lily

  After Dr. Cole left, Lily could not sleep. She thought about a suit for him. What would work? Not a brown silk sports jacket. She couldn’t picture him with a fake tan, swinging a golf club. Not the gray flannel or seventies black polyester. Nothing mod. Nothing disco.

  In bed, the cat curled up at her feet, not making a sound, and in the morning, the kitty woke first, sitting on Lily’s chest and pressing a paw into her cheek.

  Lily sat up, blinking, trying to clear the fuzz from her brain. She’d dreamed of cutting up her wedding dress while Ida cheered her on.

  Downstairs, the cat sat on the newspaper and knocked over Lily’s teacup, spilling liquid all over the obituaries. The first advertisement for the shop hid in the bottom right-hand corner of page seven. Would anyone see it? Perhaps she should’ve bought a bigger spot. This morning, she planned to post Found Cat flyers all over town. She was creating the poster on her computer when Paige Williams waltzed in wearing a bright floral raincoat and boots, flashing her usual sunshine smile.

  “I hear you have a cat in here,” she said in her perky voice. “With two different-colored eyes, no less!” She whipped off her raincoat, revealing a pink cashmere sweater and a clingy black wool skirt.

  “News gets around fast.” Lily clicked the mouse to close the computer file. “How can I help you today?”

  Paige looked around. “I might need a dress for a reception.” The cat trotted straight over to a deep emerald evening dress, one of Josh’s best creations. Paige’s gaze followed. “Oh. My. Ida was right!”

  “You spoke to Ida?” Great, the poor woman was spreading word of her mishap.

  “She stopped by my office, said something about the cat showing her a dress that had to be cut right off her, but she insisted that the cat had a message. She’s on some kind of liquid and fruit diet now.”

  “Oh, I feel terrible. I didn’t mean to—”

  “She’s always looking for messages from the universe. She’s like that, you know.” Paige rushed over to the emerald dress. “What do you think? Will I look good in this?”

  “It’s one-of-a-kind formalwear. Hand-sewn inseams.”

  “I’ll try it on. Thank you for showing this to me, kitty.” Paige carried the dress into the fitting room. When she emerged, the dress looked almost right on her—but it didn’t quite fit.

  She turned sideways and examined her profile. “What’s with the sizing? How can this be too small?”

  Oh no, not again.

  “Sizes are all different, depending on the year of manufacture and the brand name. A size sixteen from the fifties might be a size eight today.”

  Paige sighed and stared at some distant, happy moment. “It’s so much like the dress I wore on my honeymoon. I felt like anything was possible.”

  “What do you mean? You don’t think anything is possible now?”

  Paige shrugged. “Oh, you know, I’m older now. Jaded. I was idealistic when I was young. I didn’t even think about the fact that I was young. You only think about it when you get older. Maybe I assumed my youth would last forever. I thought love could be forever, too. I saw all these people around me breaking up, and I thought it would never be me. I was so much in love. I thought I could excel in my job and get rich, too, but here I am, cobbling together a living from two different jobs. Sometimes we have to face the limits of what is possible, don’t you think?”

  “I know what you mean, but you’re not old. You’re a breath of fresh air,” Lily said.

  Paige gave her a grateful smile. “Nice of you to say.”

  “I mean it, and I still believe anything is possible. Maybe life gets harder, but…just because your husband acted like a jerk, it doesn’t mean life ends for you. You deserve better. There is always something new around the corner.”

  “For you, too,” Paige said, her eyes bright. “Don’t you think? Don’t you want to find someone again? I mean, your husband passed over a year ago, didn’t he?”

  How had the conversation shifted back to Lily? “He did, and I don’t know—maybe I’m not ready. I suppose I’m married to this shop right now. And the dresses inside. My husband designed this one for a local production of West Side Story.”

  “You mean it was a costume? That makes it even more special.” Paige glanced out at the window display across the street. “Nice stuff in that shop, but the clothes don’t have character.”

  “That’s what I think, too, but don’t tell anyone.” Lily felt a warm rush of satisfaction.

  Paige turned in a complete circle in front of the mirror. A spark of yearning came into her eyes. She looked at the cat, who sat on a nearby table, her rear end dangerously close to a folded silk scarf. “I do need something special like this,” she whispered to the cat. “I’m going to my ex-husband’s wedding. Can you believe it? I know the divorce was partly my fault. He was a jerk, but I played my part. I own up to that.”

  Lily fr
oze in place, no words coming to mind. How could she respond to such a personal confession? “His wedding! I can understand your reluctance to go.”

  A single tear trickled down Paige’s nose. “I mean, I know he cheated and everything. I want to put the past behind me. But now, yes, John’s getting married and I—”

  “You want to look good.”

  “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. The kitty is easy to talk to, don’t you think? Cats don’t judge you. They don’t talk back. They don’t argue. They don’t give you advice.”

  Lily couldn’t dispute that. “I have to admit, I talk to the cat, too. Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

  “I bet she keeps a lot of secrets. If only she could talk. Or maybe she wouldn’t want to.”

  The cat squinted at her, and Paige took a deep breath. “What do you say, kitty? The dress doesn’t fit. I wish it did, but it doesn’t. There you go.”

  Lily saw, now, how the emerald dress could fit Paige. She could add lace along the waist and neckline, perhaps a triangle of black. “I could…make some adjustments.” Had Lily just spoken aloud?

  Paige’s face brightened. “Really? You could?”

  “I’ve done a little sewing. I’ll need to take your measurements. I’ll be right back.” Lily’s heart pounded as she rushed behind the partition and into her makeshift office. What was she doing? Where did she keep the cloth tape measure? Did she even have one anymore? Could she remember how to take measurements?

  She found an old tape measure in the bottom desk drawer, grabbed a pencil and paper, and returned to the shop. As she measured Paige’s waist, hips, bust, chest, and neck, her training returned like old whispers. Chest measurement is above the nipple, under the armpit. Waist—bend to one side, measure at the deepest wrinkle.

  “The sleeves are tight,” Paige said.

  “I can add a gusset, a diamond of dark fabric beneath the armpit, to increase the size of the sleeve.”

  “That’s an ingenious idea.”

  “Nobody will ever know, even if you raise your arms above your head.”

  “The waist is so small. If I bend over, I can’t breathe.”