Nan headed to Marta’s for lunch. Bark sat by the door after she left like he was hoping she’d come right back.
“Did Nan leave?” I asked.
He tipped his head to the side, considering the question.
After I showered, I raided Nan’s closet and found a white cap-sleeved sweater. I paired it with my navy blue capris—which were the only nice pants that still fit me—shoved my too-big feet into a pair of Nan’s navy flats, and slipped her chunky red Bakelite necklace over my head. It was a bit on-the-nose nautical, but it looked purposeful. Plus, the sweater hung long and was thick enough to hide a multitude of sins. Older women are much kinder in the ways they dress themselves.
I knew Nan would willingly allow me the use of anything in her closet, but I didn’t want to admit that I hadn’t managed to keep myself in presentable clothes. I also knew if I told Nan I was looking for a job, she’d start in about how I didn’t have to do that right away and I was welcome to stay with her for as long as I wanted, and goodness gracious, sometimes it’s okay to let someone take care of you. But I needed to keep my hands busy, to have a paycheck and a purpose. And I had to make sure I wasn’t more of a burden to Nan than I’d already been.
I stopped at the bakery next to the tailor shop to pick up a half-dozen madeleines and two cups of Earl Grey.
My nerves were out of control. It was ridiculous to be afraid. If Isaac said no, I could go home, put Nan’s clothes back, and climb into bed like I hadn’t even tried. But I’d loved working in Isaac’s shop. All through high school, I “made my bones,” as he said, hemming pants and fitting wedding dresses. I hoped going back to work for him might be like hitting restart, but it was hard for me to want things.
The bell on the door jangled when I stepped inside.
“Hi, Isaac,” I said when he appeared through the curtain from the back room.
He greeted me with a huge smile.
I handed him a cup and the bag of cookies. “We didn’t get to talk at Nan’s party, and I wanted to say hi.” I hated having an ulterior motive. I’m not sure I would have come by otherwise. I never knew how to put myself in another person’s path without a reason, even when I wanted to.
“Wonderful!” Isaac said. His eyes lit up when he looked in the bag. “My favorite!”
He sat on the stool behind the counter, gesturing to the stepladder. I took a seat. We held our paper cups and ate cookies as if chewing required full attention. Without the job question hanging over my head, it would have been a comfortable silence. I decided to bail on the mission. The stress was keeping me from enjoying my time with him.
“So,” Isaac said, then paused like he was waiting for the translation of what he wanted to say. “You have come home.”
Isaac’s parents fled Germany to Denmark, where he was born. He was raised in Copenhagen until his family moved to New York when he was fourteen. His English was perfect, but I think maybe he had to filter what he wanted to say through Danish to German and back before his thoughts came out clearly in English. I always wondered if that’s why he was so quiet, or if he would have been quiet in his native tongue too.
“Yes. I’m home.” The words formed a lump in my throat.
“Your grandmother is so happy,” Isaac said, taking a sip of his tea. “She must be . . . happy . . . of course.”
“I hope so. I’m happy she’ll have me back.”
“She always will,” Isaac said, smiling.
“How have you been?” I asked, like I was reading lines from a script of polite conversation.
Isaac stretched his fingers, then clenched them, head wobbling from side to side.
“Arthritis?” I asked.
“Yes. I don’t want to quit, but my doctor says it might soon be time.”
I couldn’t figure out how to ask for help, but I had no qualms offering. “Need a hand?”
He nodded quickly, relief in his face. “Could you start Sunday?”
“I could,” I said, trying not to laugh at how easy it was. Everything else in my life felt complicated.
“Wedding party, and the bride . . .” He winced. She was probably a talker. Most people took their cues from Isaac. Customers whispered their requests. But every so often, someone kept going at high intensity, and I’d see on Isaac’s face that it chipped away at him. I could handle it a little better than Isaac could, but I understood.
“What time?” I asked.
“Ten a.m.”
“I’ll be here.”
He patted the counter. “Good, good,” he said, and gave me a warm grin. “Your grandmother’s necklace looks pretty on you.”
“I borrowed it,” I said. “Don’t rat me out.”
“Oh, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
After we finished our tea, we went to the back room so Isaac could show me the dresses we’d be fitting. The bride’s gown was a strapless A-line drowned in sloppy tulle ruffles.
I looked at Isaac.
“I know,” he said, like he could read my thoughts. He showed me the rack of bridesmaid dresses. Nine of them. Each one a slightly different style, all in a horrid shade of mint green. Uneven stitching. Crooked straps. The boning in the strapless one showed where it shouldn’t.
“She ordered them from a store on the internet,” Isaac said in disbelief.
“At least none of those girls are going to want to wear them again,” I said. “I can’t think they’ll last much past the day.”
“I hate working on bad work.”
“Me too,” I said, thinking of all the time I spent in the costume shop at the theatre, fixing Edith’s mistakes after she went home.
“Well,” Isaac said, “we’ll do the best we can do. As always.”
It shocked me how hard I fell for the belonging in those words. He studied my face while I tried not to cry.
“Good, good,” he said, zipping up the last garment bag. “We’ll do what we can.” There was a bend in his voice. Like maybe it meant something to him too.
* * *
After I left Isaac’s, I stopped home to change and went to Bitsie’s house to sew. I needed presentable clothes for work.