New Uses For Old Boyfriends

by Beth Kendrick

  Daphne paused. “Maybe I don’t want to. I wish . . . sometimes I wish I had died, instead of your father.”

  Lila squeezed her shoulder.

  “I know that’s terrible to say, but it’s true. I’m too tired to keep going like this. There are too many memories, and it’s just too painful.”

  Lila wasn’t sure how to respond. She didn’t think that her mother would do anything to actually harm herself, but then again, she had started to realize that there was a lot she didn’t know about her mother.

  As if reading her thoughts, Daphne sighed and patted her hand. “You go ahead. Don’t worry about me—I’ll stop feeling sorry for myself in a bit, and then I’ll meet you at the store.”

  Before Lila could argue, her mother pulled the covers up over her head and dismissed her with a regal wave of her hand. “That’s an order.”

  So Lila did her hair and makeup to perfection, put on a simple navy sheath dress with a long coral beaded necklace, and drove down to the store by herself. One advantage to getting up at this hour was that there was plenty of room to park the obnoxiously oversize SUV.

  She entered through the shop’s back door and took a moment to savor the faint, lingering smell of fresh paint, the hum of the ventilation system, the soft, subtle blue of the walls that offset the colorful clothes arranged on the racks. This space, this moment, represented the culmination of a lot of hard work and optimism in the face of adversity. This was supposed to be her mother’s dream come true.

  But her mother couldn’t bear to face it.

  So Lila turned on the lights, unlocked the front door, hung the little wooden OPEN sign in the window, and waited for her first customer.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  She told herself that she had very modest expectations—after all, tourist season wouldn’t start for a month and most of her friends couldn’t stop by on a Thursday morning. Jenna had to take inventory at the Whinery and Summer was working on grant proposals for the historical society. Ingrid was at school, Malcolm was doing whatever nebulous consulting work he did, and Ben was still MIA.

  The first day is just a trial run, she told herself. The beginning is the hardest part.

  She consoled herself with similar platitudes all morning, straightening dresses on hangers and wiping down display cases and rearranging the bouquet of fresh flowers by the dressing rooms. But when the clock struck noon, her resolve crumbled. The time had come to admit how misguided this whole idea had been, how much hubris she had exhibited in entertaining the delusion that she could make a living trying to sell ancient articles of clothing from her mother’s attic to random strangers in a sleepy little town in Delaware.

  The bell on the front door jingled as the first customer strolled in.

  “Hey.” A tall, tan brunette with frosted lipstick and an unmistakable air of ennui strolled in.

  “Hi.” Lila tried to hide her dismay as the teenager smacked her gum while flipping through a rack of delicate lacy evening gowns. “Welcome to Unfinished Business. What may I help you find?”

  “Um . . .” The teenager wandered around, popping gum. “Nothing, really. I’m just kinda looking.”

  The bell rang again, and Lila was delighted to see that her mother had finally arrived.

  Daphne took one look at the aimless adolescent and swooped in. “Young lady, you are stunning.”

  The gum snapping stopped and a faint smile appeared on those frosted pink lips. “Yeah?”

  “You remind me of myself when I was your age,” Daphne declared. She crossed the showroom and confided, “I was a model, you know.”

  And just like that, the teenager was Daphne’s biddable groupie. “I go to school over in Wilmington. My sorority’s having an eighties party next month and I need something hot and retro.”

  Lila opened her mouth to suggest a yellow cocktail dress, but Daphne silenced her with a mere look.

  “I know just the thing.” Daphne plucked a shiny, cherry red minidress from the rack by the fitting room. “This will be perfect on you.”

  Lila recognized the vinyl dress with the gold metal rings on the shoulder straps and the low scoop neckline. “Wait, we can’t sell that.”

  Her mother ignored her and focused on the customer. A little spark lit up her dark eyes. “You know, I was wearing this dress when I met the love of my life.”

  The girl’s eyes started to shine, too. “You were?”

  “I was. And we were happy together for thirty years.”

  “So you think it’s good luck?”

  “I know it is. I have a good feeling about this party, especially if you tie everything together with the right footwear. May I suggest knee-high white boots?” Daphne ushered the girl to the dressing room and closed the curtain, wiping away a tear as she did so. “I can’t wait to see it on you.”

  “Mom!” Lila whispered. “How can you sell that dress?”

  Daphne looked at Lila, and her eyes were still shining—with tears, but most of all, love. “How can I not? It’s special to me, but I can’t ever wear it again.”

  “Ohmigod!” The college student was practically hyperventilating in the dressing room. “I look so good! Everyone else is going to be so jealous!”

  Daphne laughed softly. “See? Why would I leave it boxed up in a storage unit when it could be back in circulation? That dress was made for first dates and whirlwind romances. I love it, but I have to let it go.” She dried her eyes carefully to avoid smudging her mascara. “Even if I spend the rest of my life in Black Dog Bay, I’ll know that my favorite Paco Rabanne is still traveling the world, having adventures.”

  The sorority girl bought the Paco Rabanne—plus a gold and black Lanvin evening dress from the seventies and a short, strapless green Gucci dress featuring a skirt covered in feathers.

  “My friends are going to D-I-E die when they see this stuff.” The coed didn’t even flinch when Lila announced her total—more than three thousand dollars.

  “As they should,” Daphne said. “Your legs look fantastic in that Gucci.”

  “Please spread the word about us if you’re happy with your purchases.” Lila tucked a few business cards in with the tissue paper as she folded and bagged the purchases.

  The teenager whipped out her phone. “I’m tweeting about you guys right now.” She sashayed out with a newfound spring in her step, swinging her pink paper bag in one hand.

  “Look at her go.” Daphne smiled wistfully. “Working Main Street like it’s a Milan catwalk.”

  Lila wished she’d had the foresight to buy champagne for this moment. All they had to drink was a few cans of diet soda in the back room refrigerator, but they made do, clinking the cans together with a dull, sloshy thud.

  The door chime sounded again, and Daphne put down her can. “Here we go! On to sale number two!”

  They hurried back out to the sales floor to find Ben Collier standing in the doorway. He looked a little more rugged than the last time Lila had seen him, owing to a two-day stubble and clothes that had clearly been slept in. The harsh noon sunlight accentuated the fatigue evident in his face.

  “You’re back!” She dashed around the counter and gave him a hug.

  “I’m back.” He squeezed her tightly. “Thank God you’re here. I need your help.”

  She was afraid to ask the question, given his dishevelment, but she had to know. “How’d it go with Allison?”

  “Yes, tell us everything.” Daphne crowded into the hug.

  “Well.” He tried to disentangle himself, but Daphne held fast. “I think we’re getting back together.”

  “Ugh.” Daphne released her grip on his arms. “That’s too bad.”

  “Mother!” Lila looked pointedly toward the back room. “Would you give us a moment, please?”

  Daphne glowered, motioned from Ben to Lila and back again,
then mouthed, “Meant to be.”

  “Play the landlord card,” Lila advised Ben. “Tell her you’re raising our rent if she doesn’t make herself scarce.”

  But Ben, ever the gentleman, took off his hat and gave Daphne a placating smile. “How are you, Mrs. Alders? I hope your water heater’s not giving you any more trouble.”

  Daphne beamed. “Not a bit, thanks to you.” All sunshine and light, she turned and headed for the back room. “I’ll leave you kids to chat.”

  Lila rolled her eyes. “You two are perfect for each other. Bringing up the water heater? Shameless.”

  Ben chuckled. “It worked, didn’t it?” He straightened up and got serious. “I took your advice. I was bold. I took action. I drove straight to Boston and showed up at Allison’s door in the middle of the night.”

  Lila sucked in her breath. “I said be bold, not be the cause of a panic attack and a 911 call.”

  “No, she was okay with it.” His eyes darkened with intensity at the memory. “We talked and talked . . . and then we did some other things . . . and then we talked some more.”

  Lila made loops with her hand, prompting him to continue. “And?”

  “And she says she wants to finish grad school before she makes any huge life decisions.”

  “Ben!” Lila smacked his shoulder. “You didn’t tell me she was in grad school!”

  “Yeah, she’s finishing up her master’s degree. She graduates at the end of May. You were right.”

  “I was?”

  “Yeah.” Ben turned his cap over and over in his hands. “About my deadlines being arbitrary and selfish. I was focused on my goals and what I wanted, and I didn’t stop to think that her goals were just as important.”

  Lila was impressed with herself. “I said all that?”

  “You would have if I’d told you about her going to grad school. Anyway, we both agreed that we need to work together. What we have is worth it.”

  Lila felt a pang of love, but it wasn’t the kind of love she used to have for him. “Aww. You look so happy.”

  “Happy” might have been an overstatement—he actually looked completely and totally focused. Almost frighteningly focused.

  “She’s coming to visit this weekend.” His voice turned grim. “And I want everything to be perfect. My house, my family, the whole town.”

  “Sounds like a realistic goal.”

  He didn’t crack a smile. “Allison’s special. I don’t know how to explain it, but . . .” He gazed down at Lila. “When you and I were hanging out, it was great. It was like old times. But also it made me realize how much I missed Allison.”

  Lila tried not to flinch. “Oh.”

  “What I have with her is so different from what I had with you. It’s so much better!”

  She flinched. “I think I liked it better when you didn’t know how to explain it.”

  He looked horrified as he reached out to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  She waved away his apology. “It’s fine. I know what you’re trying to say. Besides, I could never stay mad at you.”

  “You’re not just saying that because I’m the landlord now?”

  She threw him a little wink. “Ben Collier, you will always be more to me than just my landlord.”

  He finally took a minute to look around the rest of the boutique. “The place looks great.”

  “Your team did a great job.” She summarized all the work they’d done while he’d been gone. “And my mom fixed the bathroom faucet.”

  His eyes widened. “Your mom fixed a faucet?”

  “Mm-hmmm. Used a wrench and everything. She has many hidden talents, apparently. So you’ll have to bring Allison by this weekend. I’m dying to meet her.”

  Ben hesitated. “It won’t be weird?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! I think it’s fantastic. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” Lila tilted her head. “So what do you need help with?”

  He looked determined and daunted all at once. “I want to get her something.”

  “Like a present?”

  He nodded. “Something really cool. One of a kind.”

  “That pretty much describes everything in this store.” Lila scanned the racks and shelves. “Help me narrow it down. What’s her style like?”

  “Uh . . . she wears jeans a lot.”

  “Fancy jeans or regular jeans?”

  “Uh . . .” He was starting to panic.

  Lila switched tactics. “What’s her favorite color?”

  He stared back at her like a job candidate who had just been asked to identify his greatest weakness. “When she’s working, she mostly wears black and white. I think?”

  “Okay, so classic.” Lila patted his forearm. “Simple. Understated. We can work with that.”

  “We can?”

  “Absolutely. Do you know her dress size?”

  “No.” His expression segued from panic to guilt.

  “All right, then we’re probably better off staying away from clothes. Let’s consider accessories. Does she like shoes? Handbags?”

  “I don’t know. She’s not into all that stuff.” A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. “She’s had the same purse the whole time I’ve known her. And she wears the same silver hoop earrings every day.”

  Lila’s ears pricked up. “She likes earrings?”

  He nodded.

  Before Lila could ask her next question, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID name and held up her index finger. “Hang on one second. I’m so sorry, but this is important.” She turned her back on Ben and answered with a husky murmur. “Proliferation.”

  “Actually, this time, the password is Pucci,” Malcolm drawled on the other end of the line.

  She frowned. “What?”

  “Stand by. I’m sending you a picture.”

  Lila held out her phone and clicked over to her texts, where she saw the photo: a rumpled cocktail dress beaded with abstract shapes of gold, magenta, and dark blue.

  She raised the phone back to her ear. “What am I looking at?”

  “I just left the thrift store in Lewes,” Malcolm said. “Some woman tossed that in the donation bin as I was walking out the door. Thought you might be interested.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “About fifteen minutes ago.” He paused. “Tag says Pucci.”

  “And you just left it there?” She could feel adrenaline surging through her body. “You left Pucci to fend for itself?”

  “I had to go. I’m on a tight work deadline.”

  “Then why were you at the thrift store?” she demanded.

  “None of your business.” His calmness only served to fuel her agitation. “If you want it, I’d get a move on. I saw a couple of old ladies eyeing it.”

  She held out the phone again, scrutinizing the picture. “You’re sure it’s authentic?”

  “Looked authentic to me. It’s gonna go fast at fifteen dollars.”

  “I’m leaving for Lewes right now.” She dropped her voice even lower. “And if someone else buys it before I get there, I’m going to come to your house and kick your ass.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  “Oh, and Malcolm?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

  Lila clicked off the line and beckoned to Ben. “Walk with me.” She ducked under the counter and grabbed her keys. “I have to go on an emergency fashion rescue mission. Let’s talk in the car.”

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Lewes.” She hollered toward the back room. “Mom? I have to go. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

  Daphne emerged, wringing her hands. “But what am I supposed to do if a customer come
s in?”

  “Be your usual charming self. Talk about the clothes. Reminisce about your modeling days.” Lila started toward the front exit.

  “You can’t leave me here alone!”

  “Thirty minutes.” Lila put one hand on the door. “Just don’t let the place burn down.”

  “But what if someone wants to buy something?” Her mother’s voice shook. “I don’t know how to work the cash register, or the credit card swiper thing.”

  “I’ll stay,” Ben volunteered.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Go. Hurry back.”

  Daphne visibly relaxed.

  Lila waved as she stepped into the sunlight. “You’re the best ex-boyfriend ever.”

  Ben waved back. “I know.”

  “Call me if you need anything, guys. And Mom, Ben needs a grand-gesture gift for his girlfriend. She likes classic jewelry. Help him out, and remember, he passed up corporate funnel cake money for us.” As the door closed behind her, Lila glanced down at the picture Malcolm had sent. “Hold on, beautiful. I’m on my way.”

  chapter 22

  Thirty-five minutes later, with the fifteen-dollar designer dress purchased and locked in her car, Lila pounded on the door of Malcolm’s house.

  “Who is it?” he called from inside.

  “It’s your partner in Pucci.” Pound, pound, pound. Lila winced and shook out her hand. “Open up!”

  “It’s unlocked.”

  Lila charged in, prepared to upbraid him for abandoning vintage couture in mint condition, and found him hunched over his sewing table while the Golf Channel droned in the background. For a moment, she hung back, admiring the view of his shoulders and his back and his forearms. . . . Then she spied the wedding dress.

  She approached the sewing machine with mounting dismay, staring at the piles of shiny white satin. “What is that?”

  His voice was nearly drowned out by the clatter of the treadle. “A dress.”

  She clutched her car keys in trembling hands. “That’s why you were too busy to go back for the Pucci this morning?”