She looked pitiful as she walked up the stairs to her apartment. It was five o’clock, so I had only two hours until the store closed. My parents always kept the gallery open longer hours during the holidays to give more people time to come in, and it was something I thought we should continue doing. Between me and Violet, it was easy to be flexible; I didn’t mind the longer hours. It wasn’t as if I had someone to go home to.
The door opened, making the bells jingle. I looked up from the desk to see Margaret standing before me, her grin angelic and wide.
“Hi,” I said and laughed, shocked at how fast she got over to me. It was as if she appeared out of nowhere.
Margaret clasped her hands in front of her. “Good afternoon, Lydia. Been busy today?”
She wore a different red sweater from yesterday, but there was still a sprig of mistletoe wrapped in glittery ribbon pinned just below her collarbone.
I chuckled again. “Of course. And I’m not complaining in the least. I love being busy.” I glanced around the store and sighed. “Violet just left, though. She wasn’t feeling well.”
Margaret clucked her tongue. “It’s probably the flu. Unfortunately, it’s going around right now.”
“Let’s just hope we don’t get it,” I added.
Margaret nodded and laughed. “Exactly.”
“Are you here to pick up your paintings?” I asked.
She nodded again. “I am. Is it a good time?”
“Of course it is.” I waved for her to follow me. “Come with me to the back, and I’ll help you carry them to your car.”
Margaret smiled. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”
She followed me to the storage room where both paintings she bought had been bubble-wrapped in a million layers. I handed her the smallest painting that didn’t weigh as much, and I took the larger one.
“Lead the way,” I said as we left the storage room.
Margaret opened the gallery door and held it wide for me. “My car is right over there.”
I followed her line of sight to a yellow 1974 Volkswagen Beetle Super Convertible. When I turned sixteen, it was the car I wanted, but no one nearby was selling one. My mouth dropped open in awe as I stared at it.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
I looked over at Margaret and she giggled. “Do you like it?”
“Uh, I love it,” I answered. “I’ve wanted a car like that for forever.”
We walked over to it, and I couldn’t help but admire its pristine condition when she opened the passenger’s side door. The interior dash was all black, and the white leather seats appeared as if they’d never been sat in. There wasn’t a stain or speck of dirt anywhere.
“If you ever decide to sell this thing, you let me know,” I said seriously.
Margaret placed the painting she carried carefully in the back seat and reached for mine, setting it beside the other.
“I will be happy to.” Once they were secure, she shut the door smiled. “Thank you for helping me put them in the car.”
“You’re welcome.”
As I stared at her, she looked exactly like she did in my dream, even down to the freckles that spanned across her cheeks and nose.
“Have a good evening, Lydia,” she said, circling over to the driver’s side.
“You too,” I replied.
I walked toward the gallery door, but something stopped me, and I turned back and called out Margaret’s name. She opened her door slowly and cocked her head to the side, peering at me curiously but also in a way as if she knew I was going to stop her.
“Is there something on your mind, child?” she asked.
