Lillian draped two silk scarves over her arm as Maryanne emerged from behind the counter. “You made lovely choices for the girls today, but I’m not surprised.”
“That’s kind of you to say, Mrs. Diamond.”
“I’d like it if you called me Lillian.”
“Are you certain?”
“I am.”
Maryanne gave her a shy smile. “Thank you—Lillian.”
They sauntered back through the store, but Lillian abruptly paused in front of a rack of children’s wear and turned to Maryanne. “Can I ask you a question?” Lillian didn’t wait for an answer. “What do you like best about your job? Assuming you really do like it.”
“Nice clients like you.”
“I was not fishing for a compliment; I’d like to know.”
Maryanne shifted her gaze from side to side as if looking for spies or a trap. “I like doing something that I’m skilled at. But more important, I like that because I work, my girls can go to college if they want. With the extra money, we’ve been able to afford tutors when the girls needed them, and that’s how we’ll pay tuition. My job is bigger than its tasks. It can create my daughters’ future.”
Lillian looked at Maryanne with new respect. Her answer was candid, honest, even inspiring. This woman was working with a purpose, and getting her daughters married wasn’t her goal.
“Is it only about your daughters? What about you, Maryanne? Do you enjoy your job?”
Lillian knew the question was forward, but she really wanted to know. Was it a bad thing if Maryanne had been motivated by her children and not personal growth? Now that she was questioning her priorities, Lillian wanted to discover what brought meaning to her own life. Even taking the time to consider that seemed a luxury. Yet it didn’t feel entirely comfortable. It felt like an unwanted gift wrapped in a bow of misgivings.
“I’ve never thought about that before.” Maryanne scrunched her face, perhaps shuffling her additional responses. “Well, I like having something interesting to talk about when I go home every day. No shortage of stories. Nothing inappropriate or private, of course.”
Lillian chuckled. “No explanation needed. My mother worked at Gimbels. She came home with the best stories.” The middle-class excess her mother had described had been hard for Lillian to even imagine then. Nightgowns, buntings, blankets, bloomers, diaper covers, bibs, bonnets, and more, all chosen by customers before the birth and delivered after. Like items brought about by some magic in a fairy tale—not like the reality in their lives, the lives of average, working people.
Years later, Lillian’s layette shopping experience had surpassed anything her mother had described—she’d bought one or more of everything in blue and then in pink. Oh, how she had missed her mother that day. Missed being able to share her own fairy-tale life. Somehow, talking with Maryanne made Lillian think about her mother and remember the good things. Was it just the lack of pretense? The easy conversation? How had she never recognized the parallels before?
Lillian and Maryanne smiled at a kinship neither of them had imagined. Maryanne reached over and straightened the toddler clothes on the rack beside them. Little blue sailor suits with matching wool caps.
“I bet your mother is happy for you,” Maryanne said. “Being on the other side of the counter, so to speak.”
The question ruffled Lillian’s mood. Her mother? Happy for Lillian? Happy about anything? The mother she remembered, the twinkle-eyed Anna Feldman who used to hand her a small wax-paper sack containing chocolate-covered pretzel bits （milk and dark）， was long gone. The sack had been full of pieces too broken for the candy-counter girl to display or sell. She blinked back a tear.
“Perfection is overrated,” her mother had said. Did she still remember that as she spent her days staring mindlessly out of the hospital window?
Lillian wished she could recall the truth of her mother’s smile. Whether it was genuine or not. Back then, Lillian had seen only a yummy snack inside the bag, not a metaphor for life. What else about her mother had young Lillian missed?
Chapter 15
RUTH
Ruth snapped to attention as Lillian and Maryanne stepped into the common area of the dressing room. They each smiled, and Lillian held out the selection of scarves. Spoiled for choice. A few moments later, Ruth walked into Carrie’s dressing room carrying Lillian’s top recommendations, grateful to offer their mentor’s good taste. Ruth was independent, not foolhardy.
“I like this one,” Carrie said, lifting the solid silk square, a few shades lighter than her dress, more of a cantaloupe color than pumpkin, but still part of the food group. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Ruth shuffled backward, pushed through the louvered doors, and, as they fluttered closed behind her, stopped to gaze at the cream-colored rectangle covered in hand-painted, deep red-orange poppies that was still draped over her arm.
The scarf, a soft, luxurious piece of art, reminded Ruth of The Wizard of Oz. Inspired beauty. Carrie should try it on as well. Life was all about having options. Without knocking, Ruth stepped back into the dressing room, and stared.
A purple and black circle the size of a quarter, maybe larger, marked the left side of Carrie’s neck.
Ruth gasped before she could catch herself. “That’s not a scar, Carrie. That’s a bruise.”
A scar represented the past. A bruise was current.
Carrie slapped her hand over her bruise and growled. “I know what it is.”
Things like this didn’t happen to girls like Carrie.
“What’s going on in there?” Irene asked from another room.
“Just pinched myself with the zipper,” Carrie yelled so the other girls could hear.
“Ouch! Be careful,” Irene said.
“See you all in a minute,” Harriet said. “Carrie, are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Here, let me do it,” Ruth said.
Carrie lowered her hand and looked away as Ruth stepped closer. As if handling butterfly wings, Ruth wrapped the cream and floral scarf around Carrie’s neck.
“I’m such a klutz.” Carrie turned her head to the left. “Bumped right into an open kitchen cabinet door. I swallowed a few aspirin and held an ice pack on it earlier. It’s more embarrassing than painful. You won’t say anything, will you? I didn’t tell anyone about your law school, or the bar exam, or your wanting a job—not even Eli.”
“Of course I won’t say anything.” Ruth arranged the scarf and tied it into a loose bow draped over Carrie’s right clavicle. “But you have to promise to be more careful.” A protective instinct tugged on Ruth’s heart; invisible yet experienced as strongly as if it were made of reinforced steel.
They walked out to the common area, meeting the other girls at the three-way mirror so they could admire each other’s choices.
There was nothing she could do in this moment, so Ruth allowed herself to have fun, twirling and giggling like a teenager with the others in their new outfits.
Surrounded by the other girls, she found the day overwhelmingly festive.
The rest of the morning at Saks was filled with fittings for those who were buying. Hats. Gloves. Shoes. Girdles.