Sara, please, please calm down. You’re scaring me.”
I took a deep breath, but it didn’t seem to help. I took another. And another.
And another. Not helping.
We were sitting, Jayne and I, in the lobby waiting area at the Art Institute. In five minutes or so, I would be interviewed for admission to the school.
Another deep breath. I began to feel light-headed.
“What if it goes bad?” I asked. “What then?”
“Then you’ll go back and do it over.”
“What if they refuse?”
“Then you’ll find something else to do, something you’ll love even more.”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t do something else. I left my home to do this! It has to work.”
She patted my knee. “Everything works out. Sometimes not the way we’d like. I mean, I lost that Miami story that I wanted so bad, but then I went to Albany and met your brother. The person who went to Miami got a sunburn. I totally got the better end of the deal. Not that I’m comparing.”
“You don’t think I can do it.”
“I think they’re looking for determination, and you’re certainly determined.”
“How do you know that?”
“That you’re determined?”
“No, about how that’s what they’re looking for?”
Jayne gave a wry smile. “I’m a journalist. I have a phone. I find out things.”
“You might have told me that before.”
“Didn’t want to make you more nervous.”
I didn’t think it was possible to be more nervous—my stomach had passed butterflies hours ago and moved on to birds. Large, anxious birds.
“How do I look?” I smoothed my hair again.
“You look arty. You might not look arty anymore if you keep flattening your hair like that. Artists are supposed to be a bit messy. Like you only sleep when your muse is sleeping.”
“My muse?”
“Your creative inspiration. I was making a joke.”
“May I laugh when this is over?”
“Sure.”
I smoothed my new skirt again. I’d paired it with the hoodie decorated with chiffon. I thought the combination looked dressy and edgy at the same time.
After three lifetimes of worry, my name was called. I stood, making an effort not to teeter in my heeled boots. Why did I wear heels today, anyway? I wore my first heels five months ago. Why wear them now, when my connection to the earth seemed so unstable?
It was too late to change my footwear.
I followed the admissions interviewer into the offices. The walls were painted in bright colors and covered in posters for school events. I think the idea was to help students feel welcome.
It wasn’t working.
The interviewer introduced herself as Katrina and gave me a warm smile. “Tell me about yourself,” she said.
“Um…” Every single intelligent answer I’d rehearsed flew out of my head. “I like clothes…”
“I like clothes? Was I insane?” I wailed on the car ride back to the apartment.
“Well…” Jayne paused. “It’s true. You do like clothes.”
“But I could barely tell her what kinds of clothes or my sewing background, or hardly anything of use.”
“Did she ask about your GED?”
“She did.”
“And…”
“I couldn’t come up with anything evasive but truthful, so I told her everything. Told her I was Amish and dropped out of school like a good Amish daughter, but pursued my GED after leaving home to be a fashion designer.”
“That’s good! That shows you have drive.”
I rolled my eyes. “It sounds like a bad movie on that channel on your television—Timelife, Lifetime, something like that. I’m sure she thinks I’m a freak. An ex-Amish freak.”
Jayne reached out and ruffled my hair. “But we love our little ex-Amish freak.”
I batted her hand away. “Thanks, I guess,” I said. The thought of my upcoming driver’s test loomed in my mind, but I kept those thoughts to myself.
For the second time in a week, I took a seat in absolute terror. This time, however, I was a bit lower to the ground and about to move.
“Tap your brakes for me,” the DMV woman said.
I tapped. I also showed off my capabilities with my right and left turn signals.
Once she decided Jayne’s car was fit to enter, the woman, whose name was Carol, joined me in the car and fastened her seatbelt with a decided click.
The next twenty-five minutes passed in a blur. At length, I pulled back into the parking lot and brought the car to a complete stop, perfectly spaced between the yellow lines.
Carol didn’t say anything. Instead, she made a few marks to the paper on her clipboard. “You’re a very cautious driver,” she said at last. “You check your mirrors, drive defensively, signal ahead of time…my one question is if you maintained the posted speed throughout the test.”
“I don’t speed,” I said, sure of myself. I knew I didn’t.
“I didn’t think you were speeding,” Carol amended. “I wasn’t certain if you were driving at the recommended speed. But again, I had difficulty telling, and you stayed within an acceptable limit of the traffic flow.” She signed the bottom. “Eighty percent. You passed.”
“Really?” I felt the knot in my stomach release a bit.
“Take this paper inside, and they’ll prepare your license.” Carol’s lips tilted upward in what I expected was her version of a smile.
Levi waited inside. He stood and spread his arms wide when he saw me walk back in. “You look happy. Things go well?”
I showed him the paper. “I might have been going a bit slow, but she passed me.”
“Might have?” His brows arched. “I’d say probably, but that’s my humble opinion. Last I heard, Joely was ready to lace your shoes with lead.”
I filled out the appropriate paperwork and got my picture taken. The DMV employee handed me yet another interim card. “I think I like this picture better than the one on my permit.”
“It’s the practice.” Levi slung his arm around my shoulders. “Your student ID should be even better.”
My shoulders drooped at the thought of my disastrous interview.
“You’re not still worried about that, are you?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Things are going to turn out, Sara. Maybe not the way you plan, but they will turn out. Think about it for a moment. What will you do if you don’t get into the art program?”
“Work at the bookstore.” I scratched my arm absently as we climbed into Jayne’s car. “Figure something else out.”
“Does that sound horrible?”
“I really want to design clothes.”
“I’m not saying you can’t. You could always apply again or ask for a second interview.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You’re so practical. You and Jayne. You’re perfect for each other.”
His mouth stretched into a boyish grin. “I think so.”
“You guys going to get married anytime soon?”
“I thought I’d talk about that with Jayne first. Seemed fair.”
“You’re being evasive.”
“Maybe.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “She’s scared, you know.”
Levi shrugged. “Aren’t we all?”
Things fell into an easy routine at work. William picked on me less. We didn’t speak much except when he recommended one book or another that we’d chat about later. For work purposes.
Richard called and left a message on Thursday morning.
“He wants holiday decorations,” William said, his voice strained.
“Okay,” I answered. It seemed reasonable enough to me.
“Zach’s gone. He always took care of that kind of stuff.” William crossed his sweater-clad arms. “But you know how to decorate for Christmas, right?”
“Um…”
“You do, right?” His voice turned desperate.
I didn’t have the heart to break it to him.
“You don’t. You don’t know how, do you.”
I shook my head.
“But you’re a girl!”
“A girl whose parents weren’t into holiday decorating.”
“Atheists, huh?”
“Nonmaterialists.” I supposed that was the best way to describe them that didn’t include the word Amish.
“But decorating now isn’t, like, against your religious beliefs?”
“No,” I said, letting a small smile creep out. “I’ve just never done it.”
“Fine.” He reached back and scratched the back of his neck. “The tree’s in the back of the storeroom. To be honest with you, Zach usually puts it together. There are lights back there too, and Richard mentioned snowflakes in the window.” He frowned. “Do you know how to make snowflakes?”
“Snowflakes I can do.” Thanks to the Christmas program at the school, I had one skill to contribute. “Are there any pinecones?”
“Pinecones? I don’t know. I thought your parents didn’t decorate.”
“They didn’t, not like people around here do. But some pinecones and branches came inside, sometimes.”
“That’s something. Can you stay after hours today, help set things up?”
“Sure.” I’d need to let Jayne know, but I knew it would be fine. I drove the car to and from work now. Jayne was back to riding her motorcycle even in the wettest weather and loving every moment of it.
The day proceeded like any other until closing. Then William closed up and disappeared. Rather than stare out the window, I tidied up the register and walked the shelves, making sure every volume was where it was supposed to be.
As I approached the door to the workroom, I felt the pull of the Godey’s Lady’s Book. I didn’t know what it was, exactly, about those pages. I wanted to study the images and figure out how women could have worn floor-length, full skirts a hundred years ago and wear pants of indigo-dyed canvas with everything now.
It was true. I did love clothes. What would I do if I couldn’t learn about them?
I could always do what Joely suggested—go rogue, I think it was. But I’d spent time teaching myself things, learning everything I could while hiding things under floorboards in my room. The floorboard life was no longer necessary, but I felt I’d come to the point where I needed someone else to teach me things, to tell me what was important to remember about fabric and fashion.
William was still far from hearing and sight. I reached for the workroom doorknob, and it twisted easily in my hand. I entered, holding my breath. I saw the book on the worktable, placed to the side. I could see where William was constructing a special box for it, lined with what looked like silk. I started to finger the material but then snatched my hand away. Instead, I reached for the gloves that lay beside the volume and carefully lifted the cover.
The illustrations were so detailed. I loved how the editor, Sarah Hale, had included instructions to her readership showing how to make and construct hats and capes and ornaments for gowns.
At the sound of a door elsewhere in the shop, I carefully closed the cover and put the gloves aside and stepped from the workroom on quick, light feet, remembering my days smuggling magazines into my room. By the time William fully reappeared, I saw he had his arms so full of boxes that he wouldn’t have seen me anyway.
“Could you grab one of the top boxes, Sara? This tree box is killing me.”
I rushed over and removed the cardboard boxes on top, revealing his face.
He looked away, shuffled a few more steps toward the front windows, and all but dumped the largest box on the ground. “Zach’s a lot stronger than I gave him credit for. I may have to stop hassling him.”
I chuckled and set my own boxes near the large box. “What’s in here, anyway?”
“There’s the tree, for starters.”
“Um…” I looked down. I didn’t see a tree. I saw a box. “Where’s the tree?”
“In the box.”
I tilted my head. “The tree is in a box.”
“Right. We’ll put it together. If that’s okay—I ordered some takeout, thought this could take a while. You like Thai, right?”
“Oh. Sorry, I should have checked with you. I can order something else—it’s Richard’s treat.”
“I’ll try it. One of my friends is a foodie, so I eat new stuff all the time.” I looked down again at the box. I could only pretend I knew what I was doing for so long. This time, I wanted answers. “Now, tell me again,” I said, “why there’s a tree in a box, why it needs to be assembled, and if you want, tell me how it got in the box in the first place. Is it, like, preserved?”
William stared at me for a moment and then laughed. He actually laughed. “It’s fake. You’ve never seen a fake Christmas tree?”
“Um, no. What’s the purpose of a fake tree?”
“You decorate it like a real tree and then take it apart afterward. All the looks, none of the wildlife. Seriously, you’ve never seen a fake tree?”
I looked at the box yet again and shook my head. “Fake trees. You English people are crazy.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I bit my lip. Oops. “So how do you put together a fake Christmas tree?”
William opened the box, revealing evergreen branches bundled together with zip ties. “There’s a center piece…like a trunk. All the branches fit into slots. After that, I have no idea. This was Zach’s thing. He’s the only guy I know who can decorate a Christmas tree while impersonating Michael Corleone. If we get stuck, I’ve got his cell number.”
“You’d call him at home?”
“The guy left us high, dry, and up to our armpits in tinsel. Yeah, I’d call him at home.”
“What’s tinsel?”
“Cheapo shiny stuff that melts in vacuum cleaners. You ready to start this?”
So we started. I got scissors from the office and cut the zip ties from the branches. “These are different sizes,” I said as I made a pile of tie-free fake greenery.
William eyed the pile. “Big branches go on the bottom, right? Does that seem right to you?”
This side of William completely confused me. I was fairly certain he thought I was an idiot, and here he was asking my advice.
“Evergreens are shaped like this, right?” I made a tree-like triangle shape with my arms.
“Good call.”
“Why don’t we organize the branches by size?”
“Better call.”
A buzzer sounded in the back. “That’s food. I’ll get it.” William rose and jogged toward the back delivery door. He returned moments later with two plastic sacks full of white boxes.
“Obviously, the largest box held the tree,” I said, clearing a place on the floor to eat. “What’s in the others?”
“Lights for the windows and the tree, and some chintzy ornaments. I take it you don’t do chopsticks?”
“No thanks.”
“Whatever we don’t finish tonight we can finish tomorrow, if that works for you. Do you have plans tomorrow?”
“Kind of,” I said, thinking of Jayne’s movie nights.
“Oh.” He busied himself with opening the white boxes.
“I can probably…postpone it. It’s a thing my roommate does.”
“Okay. Whatever.” He held out a box. “Panang Curry?”