Lymber craft's Arc

Chapter 33 of 70

In the morning Lymber called her mother and said one word. Dress. Polly said, be ready at ten. I'll drive. Lymber fed Jett and handed him to Paul with a bottle and a burp cloth. Violetta sat on the kitchen floor with the puppy and a plastic bowl. Lymber changed twice before she settled on jeans that still buttoned and a loose black top. When Polly pulled into the drive, Lymber climbed in without looking at the mirror in the hall. The boutique sat on the corner with dresses lit up behind clean glass. A bell rang when they walked in. A woman with a measuring tape asked the date. Polly said, eight days. The woman's face did not move. She said, we have a sale rack in the back. Try that first. Lymber pulled six dresses and carried them to the fitting room. Five did not fit across the chest or pinched her waist. She hung them back on the rod and sat on the little bench. Polly knocked once and said, one more. Try the one with the beading. Lymber said, I saw the price. Polly said, try it. Lymber pulled the sixth off the hanger. It was a ball gown, sweetheart neckline, fitted bodice sewn thick with jewels and small clear stones that caught the light when she turned. The skirt spread out wide and hid everything she wanted hidden. She zipped it herself. It closed. She stepped out. Polly looked at her and then at the tag. Polly said, two hundred. Lymber said, that can't be right. The woman with the tape checked the sticker and nodded. She said, last one in that size. Someone returned it yesterday. Lymber looked at the mirror behind Polly and did not flinch. Her chest looked right. Her waist looked right. The stones threw small dots of light on the ceiling when she breathed. Polly said, we'll take it. She opened her wallet and counted the bills flat on the counter. Lymber said, Mom. Polly said, my grandson wears a bib to breakfast. Let me buy the dress. The woman folded the gown in tissue and slid it into a long white bag. Lymber carried it out with both hands. In the car she laid it across the back seat like a sleeping child. Seven days. She had the dress. Now she had to fit into it on Saturday, and the fear moved off the mirror and onto the food on her plate.