“I don’t know what to tell you, dear.”
“She’ll come.”
“No, I mean about your problem.”
“Oh, well. It’s not really a problem. I’m making it a problem.”
The radio mumbles. The door chimes, but it’s the UPS man. Mrs. Crowley smiles at him and signs for a small package. The deliveryman nods at Suzette and leaves. When he closes the door, the tinsel garland that’s draped across the store sways under the fluorescent lights.
“I think you should talk to your betrothed. I know what sadness is, my dear, and you look sad.”
“Oh. Well, I’m not… Maybe, yeah. A little.” Yes, she is. Is that what this all has been about? A need for something she can’t find? Why has no one else noticed this besides the woman who owns this dry cleaning place? But Damon notices. That’s what his text is about. He notices. He cares.
“Does something about the wedding make you sad?” Mrs. Crowley puts a dollop of Avon lotion on her hands and rubs them together.
“Kind of.” She takes off her vest. “It’s warm in here.”
“I’m always cold, as you can see.” She gestures to her sweater and smiles again.
Suzette is in full nail-biting mode. She shreds her thumb nail with her top tooth. “She makes me sad,” she finally says.
“Ms. Tyler?”
“No. My sister.”
“Oh.”
“You remember her, don’t you?”
“If I recall, there were three girls in your family, no?”
“Good memory. My older sister, I mean.”
“Of course. Beautiful, beautiful girl.” She frowns and looks down. She shakes her head. For some reason, Suzette wishes she’d say her name. Lisa. “You don’t ever get over that loss. It leaves a scratch in you like a record that never plays right again.” Mrs. Crowley reaches her hand out and waves it at her. “Now, don’t bite your nails, dear. Let’s not make things worse.”
Suzette smiles. “I haven’t bitten my nails this much since she was dying. It’s awful for someone to know they’re dying, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Crowley’s stare is far away. “Yes, yes. It is.”
“I didn’t know what to say to her.” She takes a deep breath. “I tried to act like she would still wear that dress… that this was like a broken leg, and she’d be out and about when it healed.” She looks at her other hand and realizes she hasn’t eaten the candy cane. The wrapper comes off so easily, and she wonders if they plan it that way in the factory. The thought comforts her—that someone in a far-off place cares.
“Tell me her name again?”
“Lisa.” It feels so good to hear it in the air. The two syllables echo for a second. Lisa. Lisa. She whispers it sometimes when she’s in the car by herself. Sometimes she writes the name over and over on a notebook page or a dry-erase board. She just wants her name to stay current. She loves when someone sends a Christmas card to the family and still puts Lisa’s name on it.
“Lisa, yes. Well, we do the things they weren’t able to,” Mrs. Crowley says. “We vote because they can no longer vote. We look at the ocean because they can’t. We think about them when we put up a Christmas tree, and later when we sit there and gaze at the lights. We do all the things they can’t. That is how we love them when they’re gone.”
Suzette swallows. She hopes her eye makeup isn’t running. She wipes her face and checks her hand. “I just wanted her to wear a wedding dress first.”
“I know.”
She snorts. “I think I picked these green dresses so she wouldn’t feel bad. Maybe in the back of my mind, I didn’t want my wedding to be nicer than hers, even though hers didn’t happen.”
“Oh, darling.”
“I moved to Finland because I was so sad. Because I wanted to try to be happy. But I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t make it work.”
“It’s good to try as many things as you can. Who knows what will stick.” Mrs. Crowley comes around and holds out her arms. The woman never seemed like the hugging type. Suzette holds the candy cane in her fist and laughs through tears as the older woman wraps her arms around her.
“Thank you.”
“I think you should give this a try. This guy. This future that might be happy. You might like it.”
Suzette digs a tissue out of her vest pocket and blots her eyes. “Thanks.”
The door dings then, and Mrs. Crowley ducks away and heads back behind the counter. “Ms. Tyler.”