I thought of my private-sale shopping at the beginning of the evening. “How did you know?”
“I saw it! I was trying to get in the whole time! I just kept getting caught and—oh, never mind. Grab yourself a suitcase from the luggage department and you’re all ready to go.”
I felt something stirring inside of me. Hope? Optimism?
No. Better than that. It was certainty.
I was certain that I knew what I had to do.
“Can you excuse me a minute, Charlie?” I asked, then went and found my phone and called Lorna. I didn’t care that it was late.
Lorna’s scream of joy upon hearing I would be joining her could probably have been heard all up and down Massachusetts Avenue.
Next I texted Lex to let him know what I was doing, expecting him to get the message in the morning. Instead there was an immediate ding as his answer scrolled across the screen:
Delighted to hear it! Get yourself a suitcase and whatever clothes you might need for your stay. Consider them a Christmas gift from me! Say hello to Lorna and company and please try to find yourself a nice Italian boy. I want to hear all the lurid details when you get back in the new year!
XOXO’s from Lex
Finally, I went back to Charlie, but something was different. Charlie was wearing the little hat she’d dropped on her way in, but, more than that, something about her seemed to be … faded. The color of her clothes, the flush in her cheeks, all of it was muting as if she were disappearing.
“Charlie, what’s happening?”
“Oh, nothing, dear. Nothing at all. I’m just so tired. Time for bed.”
That was the truth. It was late, but I could catch a few hours before I had to go and meet Lorna at the airport.
We went back to the bedding department and our selected beds. This, believe it or not, felt like the craziest part of the evening to me. Getting into a model bed and sleeping in it. Pulling back the beautiful thick down comforter and sliding into the thousand-thread-count sheets. It was the coziest I’ve ever been.
Overhead, the holiday music played on, as it had all day and night, ushering in what was already the best—and weirdest—Christmas I’d had in decades.
From several yards away, I heard “Zooterkins!” and then a thump with what could only have been the accompanying flump of limbs.
“Charlie?” I called through the dim ambient light.
“It’s all right, dear, I just have trouble getting into these blasted tall beds.”
Elegant, I thought. They are elegantly tall beds. And we sold steps that led up to them because, yes, many people found them a bit challenging to get onto gracefully.
I had to try not to laugh. “Are you okay?” I asked her.
“Oh, yes, nothing can harm me now. It’s just been so long since I had to get into a bed.”
I wondered what she did instead of sleeping in a bed but opted not to ask, for fear the answer would be too long and go in too many crazy directions for me to follow. I needed sleep.
And after what seemed like no time at all, the heaviness of my exhaustion came over me like an extra blanket, sending me into a happy state of unconsciousness.
I don’t know how much later it was when I woke to the loud scraping of the plows outside. There’s always something a little sad, a little defeated, about that sound of plows at the end of the snow, indicating that the beautiful quiet flakes have stopped, the world is gathering into a nervous ball again, and it’s time to get back to life, get back to work, get back on the streets and do your thing.
Part of me didn’t want to. Not because I was wimping out on life or the trip, like Charlie might have said, but simply because this was the best Christmas Eve I’d had in ages and I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to it yet. It would obviously never be replicated.
But I did wonder if I could stay in touch with Charlie. Crazy, silly, fun, kind Charlie. Could some sort of bizarre friendship come out of this? Could we get together for lunch now and then? Could I start having Christmas parties (Imagine! Me having a Christmas party!) and invite Charlie each year to reminisce about the time we were trapped in the department store?
“Charlie,” I called, getting out of the delicious warm bed. “They’re clearing the streets, and”—I looked toward the window to make sure—“it looks like the sun is starting to come up.” I padded over toward the bed she’d chosen. “But I had this crazy idea, and I hope you—”
The bed was empty.
It looked like it had never been slept in.
“Charlie?” My eyes traveled to the floor at one side of the bed, then the other, as if I could see a Charlie-shaped hole in the ground where she’d fallen when she tried to get up, but of course there was nothing.
“Charlie?” I called again, louder, and started hurrying through the store, looking for her.
I looked at Filigree first, half expecting her to be there heating up a croissant or bagel and making coffee and tea, but it was empty and clean, exactly as we’d left it.
My next stop was the back room of the shoe department. She was probably there, working on picking up the rest of the shoes that had fallen when she came in. That made sense. She was considerate that way.
But no, the back room was perfectly clean, every box in place, nothing on the floor, no evidence that there had ever been any mishap whatsoever.
My pace quickened, not so much because I was worried about her—although I was—but because I was worried about me. Had I imagined the whole thing? How could she have disappeared without a trace, leaving everything in such perfect condition that there was no evidence of her at all? Even I would have trouble tidying up that much in such a short time.
So what had happened? Where was she? Where could she possibly be?
I searched the whole store, calling her name all the while, but couldn’t find a thing. Not one piece of evidence of her. I must have looked for forty-five minutes. It was crazy. There was no reason for it at all. No logical explanation beyond … well, beyond the story she’d told.
There was no way that was true.
Was there?
“Noelle?”
Someone was calling me from inside the store.
“Hello?”
“Noelle!” There was some relief in the voice. “Where are you, dear?”
It wasn’t Charlie, it was a man.
I moved toward the voice.
Chapter 9
It was Lex.
“Oh, there you are!” He hurried toward me, scarf nearly falling from the shoulder of his camel’s-hair coat. “I’ve been so worried.”
“Worried? Why? I can’t even imagine a nicer, or safer, place to be stuck.”
“You were all alone in this big place, with no security guard!”
It seemed rude to laugh, but our security guard was another character from Central Casting, probably better at playing checkers in the park than apprehending bad guys.
“It was fine,” I said, still a little disoriented by everything that had happened.
“Besides,” he confessed, “I was more worried that you wouldn’t have packed properly for Rome. Where’s your suitcase?”
“I-I haven’t—”
“I knew it!”
And he was right. “What time is it?”
“Nearly six,” he said. “You poor thing, have you been up all night?”
I remembered the unmade bed on the display floor. “Actually no, I slept pretty well, but—”
“Did you at least get something to eat?”
“Oh, yes, Gemma led me through that, it was no problem, but—”
“Well, we have to get your act together for your trip to Italy, then, don’t we? Thank goodness I made it on time.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s the real reason you hurried over here, isn’t it? You thought I’d wimp out!”
“Yup!” He didn’t even hesitate. “Now, did you at least pick out a suitcase?”
“No, but—”
“I knew it.” He took me
by the arm. He smelled of expensive cologne. It was wonderful. “Then we’ll start there.”
“Wait.” I stopped. “There was someone else here.”
He turned to me, alarm in his eyes. “Someone else is here?”
“Yes! Or no, actually, I think she’s gone. I don’t know.” I frowned and looked around.
“She?” He seemed relieved. I guess he was imagining some gun-toting robber.
I tried to explain as fast as I could. “It was an older woman,” I told him. “Maybe midseventies? I don’t know, she could have been older, but she fell off the shoe shelves and—”
“Fell off the shoe shelves?”
“In the back room. She was trying to get her hat.” I heard myself; I sounded nuts. I decided not to tell him about the weird time-travel hallucinations, for fear he’d have me committed. “That doesn’t matter—the thing is, her name was Charlie and she was a little batty and she was here with me all night but when I woke up a little bit ago I went looking for her and I couldn’t find her.” I stopped. I did sound crazy. The whole thing had to be a dream. It had to be from the stress of being trapped. Unusual situation, a little scary not knowing when I’d be free—I probably fell asleep earlier than I’d realized and ended up having a wildly vivid dream. “Or, you know? Never mind. Now that I think of it, it was certainly just a dream.”
He looked at me, thoughtful. “A dream. Hm.”
“I just woke up!”
He nodded, though he still looked like something was behind his thoughts. “All right, then, let’s do that shopping for your trip.”
Relieved that he was letting the subject go, I said, “I think that sounds absolutely wonderful!”
He took me to the coat department first and picked out an elegant kimono-style black coat, midweight, with three-quarter-length sleeves that looked like something Audrey Hepburn might have worn. “This will be perfect in Rome this time of year!” he enthused.
Around the store we went, picking clothes, gloves, even a fascinator hat, which he assured me I could pull off and which would be absolutely wonderful in Italy.
Then to the shoes.
“You’ll need these Jimmy Choos,” he said, pulling the sample off the table. They were pointed-toe pumps with a wrap ankle and impossibly high heels, in a shimmery gold.
“I’ll fall off those Jimmy Choos!”
“You’ll learn to walk in them like every other stoic woman,” he said, then laughed. “Italian men like a long, lean leg.” He put his index finger to his chin and looked around. “The SJPs, of course.” He picked the Minnie bootie with a zipper back, stacked chunk heel, and silver faux-snakeskin uppers. “Very stylish.”
I’d never worn anything so stylish in my life. I tried to picture myself walking elegantly in them. I had a better chance in the SJPs than in the Choos, but I was ready and willing to take them all on.
“You’ll also need some practical choices, of course. Naot?” He went to the table and picked a lovely black leather pair of open toe sandals you’d never know were comfortable because they were so cute. “You don’t even need to break them in.”
“Good, because there’s no time.”
We rushed around, picking items from here and there, even a bottle of Miss Dior perfume, which Lex swore suited me exquisitely.
The pile of more practical clothes I’d already set aside at the beginning of last night was bagged and put in my office, none of it—according to Lex—suitable for my European excursion.
All of this was punctuated by calls from Lorna, telling me she’d gotten the ticket, then telling me we weren’t able to sit together because it was too late to choose, but reassuring me the trip wouldn’t take too long and my flying anxiety didn’t need to come with me.
As I was about to drive to the airport—full of apprehension—Lex said, “You told me about a woman here with you last night. Charlie?”
“Yes.” I felt embarrassed. “But she just disappeared. I don’t know, Lex, maybe I was exhausted and had a long, vivid dream. But, boy, was it vivid.”
“Can you tell me what she looked like?”
I sure could. “But I’m really not sure it wasn’t just a dream.”
“And I’m not sure it was.”
“Okay…” I described her in great detail, adding the crazy hat at the end like icing on the cake.
“I know this sounds nutty,” Lex said, “but she sounds exactly like Charlene Pennymar.”
I thought for a moment. Why did that name sound familiar? Then it hit me. “The woman whose file you wanted me to find.”
He nodded. “Every year about this time, I start wondering whatever happened to her. This year the curiosity really got to me.”
“Why? Who is she?”
He gave a slightly self-conscious laugh. “She worked here some years ago and took on a job helping out with the holiday rush. It was a hard time; Mother had just died. Somehow Charlene knew all the right things to say and do, and even though she got a lot wrong—boy, did she get a lot wrong—she said she was here to help me, and she did.” He looked off into the distance and nodded. “I never forgot her.”
“Sounds like a godsend,” I said, then realized that’s exactly what Charlie had claimed to be.
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “She was a kind lady. Very grand. In the most unassuming way possible, that is.”
Somehow that simple description seemed to sum her up for me. I continued to describe her, fascinated to find out if Charlie was indeed Charlene. I didn’t tell him about my time-travel stories, though.
“That sounds just like her,” he concluded. “And somehow it seems just like her to show up exactly when I was looking for her.”
“Or when I was,” I said softly.
He must not have heard me, because he said, “Were you able to get any information from her about where she might live now or how we could find her? I’d love to wish her happy holidays.”
I shook my head. Should I really tell him she claimed to be my guardian angel? He’d think I was crazy. I didn’t need him thinking I was cuckoo right after he’d helped me find all those glorious clothes and get packed for an overseas trip. So I simply said, “I suspect she came back to say hello to you and ended up locked in, like me. She was a little … dotty.”
He smiled. “Like you?”
“Oh yes.” I smiled back.
His smile faded slowly. “In all sincerity, I would have loved to see her again. She was a very special, cheerful lady. I always associate the holidays with her now.”
“She could come back.” I shrugged. “Keep an eye out for her. I have the feeling she shows up whenever she’s needed.”
* * *
A few hours later I was making my way onto a crowded Boeing 747. I’d signed in late, thanks to buying my ticket late, so I was in the third and last seating group. Fortunately my carry-on was small, so I was able to fit it into the jammed overhead bin.
I sat down in the seat by the window—this always made me feel less claustrophobic while miraculously not triggering my fear of heights—and leaned my head against the wall, looking out at the airport workers loading luggage onto the plane and wondering if I was making a huge mistake by embarking on this journey.
The two seats next to me were mercifully empty, though I had little hope they’d stay that way. It had been a lot of years since I was on a flight that wasn’t packed full like a tin of sardines.
Lorna came over and sat on the edge of the end seat to talk to me, ready to jump in case the occupant showed up.
“So are you ready for Christmas in Italy?”
“There won’t be much of Christmas left when we get there,” I pointed out.
She frowned. “Okay, Captain Buzzkill, are you ready for Boxing Day in Italy?”
“Yes!” I laughed. I was. I was ready for anything in Italy. I didn’t know where this newfound optimism came from, but I was going to enjoy it as long as I could.
“And New Year’s Eve,” she pointed out. “Don’t f
orget, whoever you kiss at midnight, you’ll be kissing for the rest of the year.”
“I’m not seeing any big romance blossoming here suddenly,” I said to her. “But thanks for the … warning?”
“Or promise.” She shrugged. “It depends how you choose to look at it.”
“Jury’s still out.”
Lorna laughed heartily. “I want you to know I don’t believe this Negative Nelly act for one second. You want to have fun; you’re just afraid to. I guarantee you, you are going to have fun on this trip.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed heartily. “Don’t worry, I know that.”
“Good.” She held her hand out for a high five.
I slapped my hand to hers. “This is going to be great. Thank you so much for talking me into it. Most people would have given up at the first no, because it’s so ridiculous to say no to a glorious opportunity like this, but not you. Thank you.”
“I knew you wanted to come.” She winked.
The cabin bells tolled, and she stood up. “I’m going back to my seat, but it looks like you’ll be alone. I’ll come back when we’re in the air.”
“Great!”
I watched her make her way back to her seat and was beginning to wonder, giddily, at my luck in having the row to myself when I saw a man coming onto the plane and making his way down the aisle.
My heart sank. There was no way he was going to go past me; virtually every other row was at least two-thirds full.
Sure enough, he stopped at my row and opened the overhead compartment, somehow shoving his carry-on in.
My purse vibrated, and I realized I hadn’t put my phone on airplane mode. That was weird. I could have sworn I did. Nevertheless, it was dinging. I didn’t want to be the jerk interfering with airline/tower signals, so I opened my purse and took out my phone, but it was off after all. I puzzled over that for a moment and couldn’t think of anything else in there that could be causing the problem.
As I put my phone back, though, I noticed a loose piece of paper in my bag. That hadn’t been in there before. What was it?
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