“Who’s Susan?” Tina asked.
“A girl—used to live in town here. One of the young’uns I had at the high school back when I was workin’ in the lunch room. Sweet girl, Susan was. Got killed in a car wreck some years back. Back before y’all was even born.”
“A car wreck?” Harley said. “Do you remember when it was?”
Opha Mae shook her head. “Oh, lordy, that’s been a mighty long time ago. Can’t remember the exact year. But I remember the day. Always will. It was Halloween night.” Opha Mae smiled, looking at the photo. “She sure was a purdy gal, weren’t she? That long blond hair. Looked like it was spun right out of gold. I remember she used to walk past the pharmacy there downtown and all the men on Main Street would just a swing around and watch her as she passed by. Those purdy dresses of hers and those long, long legs.”
“What was Susan’s last name?” Harley asked.
“Thompson, I believe. Susan Thompson. Her folks was Alan and Cynthia. Her daddy passed away some years back, but I reckon her mama still lives in town over yonder on Cypress.”
Harley was about to ask whether Susan was seeing anyone before she died, when Opha Mae said, “Oh, and I got your costumes ready.”
Harley stared at Opha Mae, a confused expression on her face. “Costumes?”
“Yours and Matilda’s.”
Opha Mae opened the screen door to her house and grabbed a black trash bag. “Wilma ordered ’em.”
She removed two flour sack dresses: a long, slim one tailored for a woman and a short, wide one tailored, presumably, for a pig. The necklines were high enough for a Puritan church service, and the pea-green print, dappled with yellow, orange, and pink flowers, could best be described as The Brady Bunch meets The Swiss Family Robinson.
“Oh, and there’s bonnets too.” Opha Mae held up two mustard yellow bonnets, one in each hand. “Now, what do you think about that, Harley? Ain’t that somethin’? Just finished ’em on the sewin’ machine.”
Harley raised a brow and could hear Tina snickering beside her. “Wilma ordered those?”
“She sure did. And ain’t you lucky she spoils you and Matilda like she does. Thought it’d be right cute y’all havin’ matchin’ outfits for the festival. Kind of like twins does when they’s growin’ up. And since you gotta dress up anyway, you might as well ‘up your cuteness factor,’ as they call it. Not that you need it, Harley. I hope you know I ain’t sayin’ that. I ain’t like some folks around town who talks about you.”
“It’s okay,” Harley said. “I understand.”
“Anyway,” Opha Mae said, “Wilma thought it might help Matilda win that prize pig contest. And Wilma says it’d be good for you to stand outside the store yonder and wave at folks as they go by. Might get ’em to come inside.”
Or scare them away.
Dread crept over Harley, and as if Tina were reading her mind, she said, “Oh, I hope you don’t have to wear that thing, Harley. You couldn’t pay me.”
As Harley worked to construct an excuse why she couldn’t wear the costume, her cell phone vibrated, and Wilma, in her Oompa Loompa wig, appeared on the screen.
“Hi, Aunt Wilma.”
“You get your costume yet?”
Harley looked up at Opha Mae, who still eyed her with excitement as she held the flour sack dresses. There wasn’t a productive way to avoid this without injuring both women’s pride. “Yes, I got it. And the one for Matilda, too. Thank you and Opha Mae for thinking of us.”
“Have you tried it on yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“Well, you’ll need to be wearin’ it down at the store today. Festival’s already started.”
“Aunt Wilma, I don’t know if …”
Wilma disappeared from the screen, and the line grew quiet. Harley knew beyond the silence, a disappointed Wilma was trying to hide her hurt feelings. “I was just tryin’ to do somethin’ nice for you,” she said, still missing from the screen. “Don’t seem like you ever let me do nothin’ for you. Not even when you was a young’un.”
Harley couldn’t take the guilt trip, and as was always the case with Aunt Wilma, she conceded. “Of course, I’ll wear it. And Matilda will wear hers, too. The dresses are perfect for us.”
Wilma reappeared on screen, her wig tilted to one side of her head. “Oh, I can’t wait to see you, Harley, and wait till you get a load of my costume.”
A prick of dread crept up Harley’s back. “I’m sure it’s lovely.”
“No peekin’ now.” Wilma giggled, holding up the phone to her chin. “I’ll see you at the store directly.”
The call ended, and Harley returned her phone to her pocket. She stared at the flour sack dress and bonnet and decided that if she was going to do this for Aunt Wilma and Opha Mae, she might as well do it right. She took the dress from Opha Mae and slipped it over her shoulders.