George put his phone away and got back to work.
***
Emma flipped through a rack of white blouses and pulled out one in her client’s size. “Okay, Gloria. Try this one with the skirt we found.”
All the worries and shame were pushed far, far, down where only Emma could see them, and she had powered through three appointments before this one without anyone asking if she was okay, including her own sister. Maybe acting was her true calling. Emma was not okay, of course. When she got home, she’d have to explain to Harriet that Elton didn’t, in fact, want to date her.
When Harriet had arrived all cheerful and ready for the day, Emma couldn’t bear to tell her right then, but putting it off just meant dwelling on it some more. She’d been so wrong about so many things.
Emma wasn’t used to feeling uncomfortable in her own skin or in doubting her intuition, but right now, she was pretty much questioning everything.
Emma was not a matchmaker, she was a disaster. The crawly feeling of regret ate away at her, reminding her she’d thought George was judgmental and nosing into her business. Now, he had every right to say ‘I told you so.’
Gloria came out of the dressing room, and Emma quickly filed those thoughts away. Gloria was paying for Emma’s time, and she deserved the best.
“What do you think?” Gloria asked, crossing and uncrossing her arms.
Emma walked around her in a semi-circle. “Hmm. It’s a little see-through. And I want it to work not just as an undershirt, but on its own. Let’s keep looking.”
They scoured the whole store for possibilities and then walked next door. Having two quality stores in close proximity made it a prime location. They were used to Emma coming and pretty much let her have the run of the place, including her own dressing room they didn’t unlock for other customers and a fifteen percent discount for all her clients. Here, she was important and needed. Boutique places like this relied on her to give them steady business.
She wished she felt as confident in everything else.
Gloria ended up with almost everything she needed, and she and Emma scheduled a follow up in two weeks. With a little time to try everything out, the client would have a much better idea of what was still lacking and what was working. Chances were good they’d end up returning one or two items that never left the closet. Clients often couldn’t verbalize what it was they had against the item, but it usually was just something so outside their comfort zone they couldn’t bring themselves to wear it beyond the dressing room at the store, no matter how fabulous it might look on them.
Emma rehearsed what she might say to Harriet on the drive home—different explanations and suggestions for where to go from here. She was actually feeling okay about it until she realized what she was doing: trying to solve something that was never any of her business in the first place.
Elton’s, and Granddad’s, and George’s words went round and round in her head, and the truth sank like a stone deep inside her. What right did she have to give Harriet advice? About anything? George had said she didn’t read people well, probably not even herself.
Emma rubbed a hand over her face. Self-improvement was much harder than a makeover. But that’s what had to be done. A makeover from the inside. No one else could know about it. Because what if she failed? What if they watched to see if she fell back into the same old patterns? And what if she did?
She got out and went into the house where she greeted Granddad and sat down just in time to see him put the final pieces into his puzzle. Harriet came out to watch too. Apparently, he’d been working on it on and off all day.
“Don’t you feel accomplished?” Harriet asked him.
“I feel like I want my kitchen table back. What happened to the bottom of the box?”
The three of them searched high and low until they found it in the recycle bin. Harriet had mistaken it for shipping packaging when she was tidying up.
Harriet grabbed up her purse, and Emma knew her window of opportunity was closing. The weak part of her wanted to put it off for tomorrow. After all, Elton hadn’t even come up in the conversation today. But she knew Harriet occasionally texted back and forth with him, and that couldn’t happen again. Elton couldn’t be the one to tell her. He was about as subtle as a sledgehammer.
“Hey, could we talk for a minute?”
Harriet glanced up from digging in her purse. “Sure.”
Granddad was reading his John Grisham novel in the other room.
Harriet set her purse down and sat in one of the front room chairs they never used. They were Granny’s chairs, so Emma kept them there, in the same spot by the window. She sat in the other one and kneaded her fingers together.
“I’m not sure where to start, except that what I have to tell you needs to be all true, with nothing that tries to put me in a better light. Because the light shining on me is ugly right now.”
Harriet cocked her head, looking concerned. “Miss Emma, you are worrying me a little. Is everything okay?”
“No, things are pretty much terrible.” She could admit it now. There was no reason to keep it all tucked away anymore. “I questioned your relationship with Martin and planted seeds of doubt in your mind, and I lied to myself about my intentions, telling myself it was for your good. But the whole time I was worried you would quit and move to be with him, and I was happy when you broke up. I thought if I could just find you a boyfriend here, it wouldn’t matter. But Elton was a bad choice. He’s not right for you, and you’re not right for him. In fact, last night he came over and askedmeout. I’ve been contacting him, asking him personal questions, all in a quest to set him up with you, and he thought it meantIwas interested in him.”
Harriet cleared her throat. “Well, when it rains, it pours.” She blew out a long breath. “Oh, dear.”
“It’s okay to be mad at me. I would be.”
