“Put it on top of those boxes,” Grandma instructed, and he quickly did as he was told.
Turning to me, Grandma gave me a once-over, then hugged me tightly. “Don’t be scared. This will be an adventure.”
“I should be saying that to you.” And I should. But all my wires were crossed lately.
Walking to the passenger side of the car, Grandma said, “Well, I’m saying it to you.”
I rushed to her side once more and hugged her again.
She whispered in my ear, “You’re going to be okay.”
Pulling away, Grams gave me one last squeeze of encouragement and sat inside the car. “More than okay. You’re going to win that contest tomorrow, and your dreams of fashion school will finally happen. I just know it.”
Why did that make me more nervous than excited?
“Speaking of which . . .” I shut the car door. Her window was rolled down though, and I continued. “I should get to finishing the dress,” I said, hoping the terror wasn’t obvious in my eyes.
“Well, so far, it’s the most stunning piece you’ve ever created. You’re a shoo-in.” Grandma winked as she buckled her seatbelt.
As Buster slid into the driver’s seat, he waved to me. “We’ll see you tonight for dinner.”
Nodding, I waved good-bye.
And they were off, driving down the road and away from me.
With a loud sigh, I entered the building and went up the stairs. The runway show was tomorrow, and I needed to finish this dress.
Plopping down on my chair, I pulled layers and layers of fabric toward me until I reached the bottom of the skirt. Time to hem. Placing it under the sewing machine, I clamped down the presser foot and began to sew the endless hem. The further I’d sew, the more fabric appeared. Hours passed as the never-ending hem kept going and going, until finally the bottom of the dress was finished. Breathing a sigh of relief and satisfaction, I moved on to the detail work of the bodice and skirt.
One bead at a time, each one hand-sewn onto the surface, I felt as if I were a god creating my own universe. I’d been at it so long that when I glanced at the time, I gasped in panic. If I didn’t leave now for Buster’s, I’d be horribly late. And as cautious as I was about Grandma moving in with a complete stranger, I still wanted to make a good impression.
Typing the address into my phone, I was relieved that it was in walking distance, only a few miles. I could take the bus, but the early evening air would do me good, clear my head.
Grabbing my keys, I left the apartment building and followed the map on my phone.
The sun lowered on the horizon, still an hour or so from setting, but by the time I reached Buster’s, the sky was streaked with deep oranges and reds. It was calming, peaceful, and for a few seconds I was able to clear my mind of the stress of what I had done and of what was to come.
Buster’s house had charm much like its owner, with bright red trim around the door and windows and a deep gray, painted on the wood-slatted walls of the one-story house. Three steps led up to a front porch that spanned the length of the house, with a swinging bench on one side and a couple of wicker chairs and a broken tile-mosaic-topped table on the other. I knew already that Grandma and Buster would spend a lot of summer nights out here on this porch. The neighborhood was suburban, with other houses of unique designs and color schemes, not the cookie cutter houses that seemed to be the norm nowadays.
As the sun sank behind the hills, the light grew dimmer and I had a full view of Buster’s front window.
I stopped at the sight in front of me. In the living room, Buster and Grandma waltzed across the floor in perfect unity.
Affection radiated through my body at seeing them so happy, and yet an oppressive weight pushed down on my chest at the same time.
I had been replaced.
Sighing, I walked up to the front door and knocked.
Moments later, Buster opened the door and smiled at me warmly. “Howdy do, Jeraline. Come on in.”
Entering Buster’s house, it was as charming as the outside—a living room on the right, a bedroom door in the back center, and the dining room on the left with a swinging door that led to what I would assume was the kitchen. The furniture was old and sturdy, like Buster. Some of Grandma’s boxes littered the floor next to the bedroom door, but nothing that would take long to unpack.
Holding his hand out, Buster pointed to the round dining table with steaming hot food resting on its surface. “Right on time. Let’s all sit.”
My tummy grumbled at the display: pot roast and gravy served with potatoes au gratin and sautéed carrots. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. Sitting down, I managed to say, “This looks amazing, thank you.”
Buster and Grams shared a smile, and Buster replied, “You’re very welcome. Now dig in.”
***
Afterward, I was sure my stomach would burst open from fullness. Buster walked through the swinging door (which I was right, it did lead to the kitchen) and came out holding a tray with three large cups of tea. I had asked for Earl Grey and was thrilled when I saw the metal strainer indicating it was loose leaf. As he placed the cup in front of me, the rich and fragrant smell filled me with warmth. “This smells delicious. Thank you, Buster.”
“My pleasure,” he responded and sat down after handing a mug to Grandma and taking one himself.
Dinner conversation had been small talk about the move and the weather, but now Grandma gave me a look that suggested things were about to get serious. “Jeraline? Buster and I were wondering if you could help him reshingle the roof. I know you used to help with your father’s handyman work when you were younger, and it’s going to start raining soon.”
What?
Wasn’t expecting that.
“I barely remember how.” I tried to hide the befuddlement from my tone.
Buster smiled at me as if to say Trust me, this wasn’t my idea, then eased my mind when he said, “I worked at a roofing company for twenty years or so. I just need an extra set of hands?”
The image of Buster trying to shingle this house by himself made my palms sweat. “Yes, of course. You’ll have to remind me of what to do.”
With a genuine nod of gratitude, Buster answered, “I appreciate it.”
Taking out the loose leaf strainer, I placed it on the tray.
“Well, now.” Buster perked up and took the strainer full of Earl Grey. “I used to be able to read these things. An old gypsy taught me how. What do you say, Jeraline? Want to know your future?”
No.
“Sure, why not?”
“Now, this is exciting,” Grandma chimed in.
Buster put on his reading glasses and dumped the tea leaves onto the table in front of him. He studied them for a good few minutes. Sweat dripped down my neck. Why was this so stressful?
A strange look crossed his face.
Oh man. Every muscle tensed in anticipation.
I couldn’t hold back. “What do they say?”
“Yes, Buster, what’s Jeraline’s future?” Grandma gave me a wink of encouragement.
But Buster used a napkin to gather the wet tea leaves and placed them back on the tray with a forced smile. “I guess I forgot how. Getting old.”
Nuh-uh.
He had seen something.
Grabbing the now soaked napkin full of Earl Grey, I searched for answers, but all I saw was a glump of brown.
“Okay, now you’re both making a mess.” Grandma shook her head in mock annoyance. Picking up the napkin of tea, she placed it back on the tray and stood. “I’m going to put this in the kitchen.” And with that, Grams left the two of us alone for a moment.
“I know tea leaves and tarot may seem silly to you, but sometimes they show things. Usually they’re just pulling on the person’s energy, their thoughts, if that makes sense.” Buster’s expression was one of concern, which of course then made me concerned. Why was he telling me this?
“So you did see something?” I prodded cautiously.
&n
bsp; “I saw what the leaves picked up from you,” he said cryptically, then sighed. “You know, Jeraline, I served in Vietnam,” Buster said out of the blue. Where was this coming from?
“I didn’t know,” I answered lamely.
“It was the scariest time of my life. Not because people were trying to kill me; that I could handle. It was because I was shooting back.”
Hercule Poirot appeared next to Buster. “The chap has figured you out.”
My eyes went toward the swinging kitchen door, as I wanted to grab the pile of tea to try to read it again.
Buster cleared his throat, regaining my attention. “You’re sent to war to murder, and you come back to live a normal life, like it didn’t happen, like you didn’t kill fifteen souls. I remember each and every one of them. Their faces are burned into my memory forever.”
Hercule gave me a solemn shake of the head. “You really should turn yourself in.”
I sat so still, my breath held, forgetting how to function.
He continued, “There’s nothing more terrifying than taking another human being’s life, even if it is to save yours.”
Shaking his head in disappointment, Hercule said, “There is no justification for murder.” With that, Hercule Poirot disappeared back into the ether.
What do I do?
What do I tell him?
Grandma? How long does it take to put a tray down and come back?
“I can’t imagine,” I answered, knowing full well I didn’t have to. I had lived it.
Buster’s expression was kind and sympathetic, which only frightened me more. “I’m sure you could.”
Grandma’s voice cut the quiet. “It’s such a beautiful night. We should go out on the porch.”
I jumped back in my seat on reflex. Not wanting Grandma to think anything was wrong, I began to gather the plates on the table. “I’ve got this. You guys enjoy the night.”
Buster took Grandma’s hand, then turned to me. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for you. I know we just met, but I’m a good listener.”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
What could I say?
Watching the two of them head outside, I was filled with dread.
Buster knew, or strongly suspected at the least, yet he had said nothing.
Maybe that meant I could trust him.
I didn’t know for sure.
Bringing the dishes into the kitchen, I knew it would only be a matter of time before my secret was out anyway.
I prayed I wouldn’t fall apart before then.
I entered the apartment and flipped on the lights. My hands were full with a large bag that contained the biggest petticoat I’d ever seen. It was all smooshed up at the moment, but this gown was going to be enormous. Placing the bag down at my feet, I got a good look at the apartment.
The TV was off, and Grandma was gone.
Locking the door behind me, I needed to leave the living room. It reminded me too much that I was alone.
Walking into my bedroom, I maneuvered past my cutting table and sat on the edge of my bed, peering out the window. A few of the lights were on in the building next door, and a flash of movement caught my eye. A couple danced and then kissed in a perfect romantic moment.
Emma appeared next to the window, staring at the couple.
“Jealous?” I asked her.
The man dipped the woman, and they both laughed, in love.
“Definitely,” Emma sighed.
As I watched the couple with the same yearning as Emma, the man’s face distorted into my attacker.
Nearly falling off the bed from the sight, I glanced back up at the couple, but my attacker was gone, just another stranger dancing with his partner. I pulled down the shutters.
Emma focused on me. “Runway show is tomorrow.”
Standing up, I grabbed the dress and plopped down on the chair next to my sewing machine. Taking a threaded needle, I began sewing on more crystals. “I’m almost done. Only a few more of these diamonds.”
After another hour of hand sewing, the beading was done, and I hung the dress on the door.
“It’s beautiful,” Emma admired.
“I can’t believe I finished it.” I really couldn’t. But it was as magical as I’d imagined it would be.
“Better get some sleep. You need your beauty rest. You are going to be modeling tomorrow,” Emma positively beamed.
I groaned, “Don’t remind me.”
Putting the dress into a garment bag, the zipper barely made it up, it had so much fabric. Crawling into bed, I tried to shut out all the noise in my head as I closed my eyes.
Please don’t screw this up.
***
Feeling it was serendipity, I walked up to the renovated warehouse that normally housed bingo but would now be the location of the runway show. The gigantic neon sign on the roof was a weird sense of comfort as I entered the large opening. All the picnic tables had been stacked against the wall and in their place was a judging booth on the left (right on top of the bingo stage) and a long makeshift runway down the center surrounded on both sides with fold-up chairs filled with people. Curtains framed the front of the runway, and according to the email I had received two days ago but read for the first time this morning, that was where I was supposed to go.
Carrying the garment bag in my arms was difficult. Together the dress and petticoat weighed about thirty pounds. This was going to be a spectacle. I just hoped it was a spectacle the judges would like. At least I had already done my hair and makeup before I left, hence why I was running late.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. The show was about to start soon.
Hurrying through the curtains and trying not to knock them down with the bulk of my dress was a challenge, but I finally pushed my way inside.
Packed with models and designers getting ready, the sight sent my heart straight to my toes.
What was I doing here?
As I was about to run screaming, Grandma arrived and walked over to me, giving me a much-needed hug.
All my nervousness spilled out in one sentence, “I’m so late and the show is about to start and I’m not dressed yet.”
Grandma forced me to look at her by holding onto my arms. “Deep breaths. You’re going to be fine. Your hair and makeup are already done, and it’ll take you two minutes to get into your gown.” Then she winked at me with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. “And I’ve been here a while and have seen the other contestants, you’ve got this in the bag.”
“Grandma, you don’t know that.” I appreciated her support, but observing all the models in front of me made my mind squeeze with embarrassment. “Oh man, I should’ve hired a model.”
Tightening her grip on my arms, Grandma said, “I saw your dress before it was even finished, and it blows all these other designers out of the water. You’re going to be the star, and you are a model. It’s better showing off your own design anyway.” Glancing over her shoulder toward the closed curtain, she turned back to me with an eyebrow raised in excitement. “That boy, Josh, from the picture you stole is here. I gather you two have been talking some more?”
Gulp.
“He actually came?” I peeled away from Grandma’s embrace and approached the curtain, still lugging my dress. I peered outside.
I must have walked straight past him. He sat by himself in the second row of chairs, shifting in his seat and wringing his hands.
On the loudspeaker, a voice boomed, “All contestants have your models or yourselves report to the start of the runway.”
The curtain dropped, and my eyes widened in terror.
Grandma grabbed the garment bag out of my arms and helped me get dressed in comic speed. Though there were vanities and mirrors all around, I was too scared to look at myself.
But Grandma radiated pride. “You are so beautiful, just look.”
I didn’t want to.
I was terrified for some reason.
Grandma sc
ooched me to a mirror against my will, and my breath caught in my throat.
The dress.
Me.
I . . .
A swirling galaxy wrapped around my body as if I were the sun in its center.
I did it.
I had brought my imagination to life.
And now I was going to show it to the people who held my future in their hands. The judges who would decide whether or not my dreams came true. All of it rested on this dress.
And it was spectacular.
Grandma kissed my cheek. “Now get up there and show them how talented you are.”
Back to reality.
Back to my entire nervous system shutting down.
There was so much pressure on this moment, on this runway. My entire future depended on it.
I nearly swallowed my tongue when the announcer said, “Jeraline Arnold!”
“That’s you, go!” Grandma gently shoved me forward.
Scrambling up the stairway, I walked up onto the start of the runway.
I couldn’t believe I was doing this.
Puke.
Yup.
Gonna puke.
The woman in charge of the models waved frantically for me to go. Charged up with nerves and terror, I stepped out onto the runway and tried to walk “cool” without flailing like a total idiot.
My eyes met Josh’s, and my stomach twisted in on itself, but I managed a small smile. He gave me a little wave and a grin. Did I feel calmer or more nervous? I couldn’t tell. In fact, I wasn’t even sure if I had circulation in my legs.
The judges sat behind their table, stern faces, marking their papers, watching my every move.
Why did I do this on purpose?
Grandma was now in the front row with Buster, and she motioned for me to smile.
Right. Smile. As opposed to what I had probably been doing, which was a lot of grimaces and horror-stricken widened eyeballs.
I sure hoped my plastered grin didn’t make me look like a serial killer, but it was all I had in me at the moment.
I couldn’t do this.
I wanted to run.
I wanted to hide.
My legs grew more and more numb, and I didn’t think I’d make it down the runway.
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