Spirited (15 page)

“Deal.”

~*~*~

Willow turned her key quietly and inched the door open. She made it to the middle of the stairway before her father called out, “Is that you, Willow?”

Worrying her lip, she clutched the box with the dress to her chest. “Yes, Daddy. I know it’s late. I went shopping for my dress.”

“It’s rude to yell.” Her stepmother followed her words into the foyer. “Dinner is almost ready. I need you to clean up the kitchen. It’s your turn.”

Cleaning the kitchen, scrubbing the toilets and showers—everything really—was always Willow’s turn. Her stepmother enjoyed her role as purveyor of the inequitable distribution of chores. The only reason Willow didn’t mind was that, when she was cleaning, her stepmother didn’t nag her. Willow could escape with a scrub brush into her own alternate universe.

Her stepmother eyed the large white box. “What’s that?”

Willow grasped the box more tightly. “My dress.” When her stepmother reached for it, Willow added, “I got it from the thrift store.”

Immediately her stepmother withdrew her hand and curled her lip. “You’re going to wear a… used dress?” She raised her nose in the air.

“Yes.”

Willow scurried up the stairs to her room. She removed the dress from the box, then shook it out. Kara was right. It looked as if it had never been worn. Willow padded across the worn carpet, hung the dress beside her floor-length mirror, and turned to go downstairs.

“Give it back,” a female voice whispered.

Willow turned. The room was empty, but a slight breeze toyed with her curtains. She went to the window she had left open slightly. Her neighbors, the Warren twins, were playing outside in the yard, arguing over whose turn it was to play with a stuffed dog. Their voices must have carried. Willow shut the window and went downstairs to the dining room where her family was already seated.

“Mom and I went to Nordstrom’s,” her stepsister Sky gloated. She twirled a long blonde curl around a manicured finger. “I found the most divine little dress.” A white gold charm bracelet dangled from Sky’s wrist and jingled with her movements. “It’s champagne and beaded. An exact copy of the dress Leslie Lyle wore for the Oscars.”

Leslie Lyle was this month’s Hollywood
it girl
as well as Sky’s obsession of the month. Sky slapped an open magazine over Willow’s plate. “There’s Leslie wearing my dress. Mom said I was worth every penny.”

“It’s nice.” Willow pushed the magazine off her plate.

“Nice? You know nothing of fashion.” Sky narrowed her hazel eyes as she took her magazine back. “The only other one I would have wanted is the blue floaty number Leslie’s going to wear to the premiere of
The Mirror
. But Pierre hasn’t released any photos of that one to the public… yet. I look amazing in blue.”

~*~*~

An hour and a half after dinner, Willow was exhausted. Her stepmother had made spaghetti and meatballs and succeeded in getting flour and tomato sauce everywhere. Willow had had to scrub the tile grout with a toothbrush. No doubt Stepmother had done it on purpose. She and Sky enjoyed making messes for Willow to clean. Willow had given up fighting them. Her father seemed oblivious.

“Only four more months until college,” Willow said to herself as she climbed the stairs and made a quick stop to deposit Sky’s toothbrush back into the holder. She dragged herself into her room and had just collapsed on her bed when someone knocked on the door.

Dad poked his head around the door. “May I come in?”

Willow nodded, and her father entered carrying a small box. She sat up and leaned against her padded headboard as her father settled next to her.

“I know how important this dance is to you, sweetheart. I’m sorry I didn’t get you a dress. It’s just that your mother—”

“Stepmother.”

“Our credit cards are maxed to the limit right now, and Sky is… very…”

“Demanding,” Willow finished. “It’s okay. I love the dress I bought.”

“Is that it?” Her father motioned to the dress hanging next to the mirror. “Your mother looked nice in blue too.” He pushed the box across the comforter.

“What is it?”

“A tiger,” Dad teased.

“It’s an awful small box for a tiger,” Willow said on cue. They had played this game since she was small.

“Then you’d better hurry and let him out.” Dad patted her hand.

Willow opened the box. Inside was a pair of silver high heels. Thin and strappy with little rhinestones that sparkled like stars in the night. Willow pulled them out of the box.

“They were your mom’s,” Dad murmured with moisture shining in his eyes. “I thought this way your mother could be with you.”

Tears pooled in Willow’s eyes, threatening to ruin her mascara. Her mom had died six years ago. Willow still missed her. So did her dad, even though he had recently remarried. Willow hugged her dad and then slipped on the shoes. She teetered as she took a few tentative steps. The heels were higher than she was used to wearing. Once she got her balance, she sashayed a few waltz-like steps to the dress and held it against her. “They’re a perfect fit. Thank you so much, Daddy.”

Her father cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded hoarse. “I’m glad.” Standing, he rubbed his eyes. “Good night, sweetness.”

“Daddy?” She sniffed back a tear.

He paused studying her, “What is it, Willow?” When she hesitated, he added, “You can tell me anything.”

She only wished that were the truth. They used to be so close, but ever since her father had remarried, he was… different. Ruled by her tyrant of a stepmother. Willow just couldn’t bring herself to tell him what the past few years had been like for her when he was obviously suffering too. She buried the pain under all the heavy emotions she had been shouldering since her mom died.

“‘Night.” Willow crossed the room to give him a peck on the cheek.

As soon as the door closed, she returned the shoes to the box, slipped them under her bed, and padded into the bathroom she shared with Sky. After locking the adjoining door, she opened the jar of makeup remover, scooped a bit onto a washcloth, and scrubbed her face.

A thud sounded inside her room. Willow peeked around the open bathroom door. No one was there. She finished washing her face, brushed her teeth, and changed into her comfy drawstring pants and tank top. Her routine completed, Willow exited the bathroom and climbed into bed.

“Give it back,” whispered a female voice. Was that the same voice she’d heard earlier? Or had she dreamt it?

Willow threw the covers over her head. Slowly, she peeked out from under the wadded edge of her blankets and surveyed the room. The branches of the oak tree outside her bedroom window created long, gnarly shadows in the moonlight. Willow paused and listened, waiting for the voice to return. The only sound was silence. Perhaps she’d only imagined it after all.

~*~*~

Willow hardly slept a wink. The next morning she rushed about, getting ready for school. She hastened to the kitchen and placed a slice of bread into the toaster. Her father was watching the morning news. The newscaster’s voice carried into the kitchen from the living room.

Sky elbowed her way to the counter and added a slice of bread to the other slot. “You kept me up late with all that noise you made last night.”

Willow hadn’t made any noise last night. She ignored Sky, opened the refrigerator, and took out a carton of orange juice.

Sky grabbed the container from Willow’s hand and poured herself a glass. “Oops. That’s the last of the OJ. I guess you get milk.” Sky grinned.

Willow was allergic to milk. She ate her toast and then rushed upstairs to retrieve her backpack. Opening her bedroom door, she froze. Her clothes were strewn about her room, and the dress she had bought yesterday was stretched out on her bed as if someone had fallen asleep atop her comforter. She was about to yell for her father when she caught sight of her floor-length mirror.

Scrawled across the glass in red lipstick were the words:
Give it back
.

Willow grabbed her backpack and raced from the room, slamming the door behind her. She trembled as her heart thudded against her padded bra. Fear morphed into anger.

Sky had been known to throw temper tantrums, but this seemed a bit beyond her normal realm of let’s-torture-Willow-because-I-can-get-away-with-murder. Willow had had it with Sky and stormed down the hall to confront her. She pushed open Sky’s bedroom door just as someone shrieked. She scurried downstairs.

In the living room, Sky was sobbing loudly, her face against Dad’s suit. His hand hovered over Sky’s head as if he wasn’t quite sure how to console her.

“What happened?” Willow asked.

Sky lifted her head. Mascara streaked her high cheekbones and Dad’s lapels. “It’s terrible. She was so young, so alive.”

“Who was?” Willow asked.

“Leslie Lyle. She’s dead!” Sky screamed and raced up the stairs. Her bedroom door slammed, rattling the pictures on the living room wall.

Dad patted Willow lightly on the shoulder. “Sky’s staying home from school today.” He handed Willow the TV remote. “I’m going to change. Am I giving you a ride to school?”

“Yes, please.” Willow turned up the volume on the newscast.

Actress and socialite Leslie Lyle was found dead in her Beverly Hills mansion last week. The cause of the death is still being investigated. Authorities haven’t ruled out foul play. The body of the twenty-two-year-old actress was discovered by her personal trainer. At the request of the family, a private funeral was held three days ago.

Lyle was known for her ravishing beauty and even hotter temper tantrums. A fickle supporter of the fashion scene, Lyle was recently detained for the alleged destruction of the entire spring line of French fashion designer, Pierre. Her on-again–off-again boyfriend, Pierre, later dropped the charges. Fashion Forward
praised the tattered chiffon dresses.

On a related topic, the dress Leslie Lyle was to be buried in has disappeared. The gown is rumored to be the only original Pierre gown not destroyed by the actress’s outbursts.

More news after the break.

Dad came into the foyer wearing a fresh suit. “Are you ready? I’ll drop you off on the way to the office.”

Willow clicked off the TV. “Sad. She was very young,” she said to the empty television screen.

~*~*~

“Willow!” Abby jumped up and down, waving her hand above the crowds in the hallway.

The lunch bell always created a mass exodus. Students flooded the hall, a sea of multi-colored fish, and Abby was going against the flow. As usual. Abby ducked in and out, weaving through the throngs of students. When she finally reached Willow, she shoved a tabloid into Willow’s face. “Do you see it?” She shook the paper.

“I could if it wasn’t smashed up my nasal passages.” Willow took the magazine from Abby.

“That’s it!” Abby tapped the glossy paper. “Your dress. It’s Leslie Lyle’s missing dress!”

Willow studied the pen-and-ink stylized drawing, the type fashion designers favored, with a rail-thin model striking an unnatural pose as fabric flowed around her, almost seeming to dance off the paper. It did resemble her dress. The color, sleeves, and bodice were the same, but, this dress was much longer, complete with a frilly faux train.

“It’s very similar,” Willow said. She handed the magazine back.

“Similar? Willow, cripes it’s
the
dress. Designers often make changes to the final product. The article said it was custom fit to Leslie Lyle and she’s a bit short—”

Willow shot her friend a hard look.

Abby patted Willow on the shoulder. “Not that you’re short, really. But can you believe that
you,
Willow Martin, will be the only girl at Shermer High going to the dance in a
Pierre
original? It’s worth fifteen thousand dollars,” Abby squealed and hugged Willow with such force they both collided into the lockers.

Willow nibbled her fingernail. What if it
was
really Leslie’s dress? Had she imagined that voice? Maybe Sky hadn’t trashed her bedroom? And the lipstick note? Willow grabbed Abby’s shoulder and steered her into a quieter part of the hall. Colorful posters announcing the dance decorated the walls.

“Abbs, I have to tell you something really strange.” Would Abby think she was crazy? Was she crazy?

Abby’s smile faltered, and her brows scrunched together. “Okay, sure.” She placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You can tell me anything, Willow. What are best friends for?”

Willow brushed her eyebrows with her finger, debating on the least ridiculous version to tell. She decided the truth, all of it, was the best action.

“I think Leslie Lyle is haunting me.”

~*~*~

“What are you doing in my room?”

Sky spun around, clutching Willow’s blue dress against her chest. It flowed with her movement like silk dancing on water. A coy smile slid across her glossed pink lips. “You aren’t good enough to wear this dress. I know what it is, who it belonged to.”

“Get out of my room.” Willow tossed her backpack next to the dresser and stalked toward her stepsister.

Sky backpedaled and skirted out of her way, stopping in front of the full-length mirror. She held the dress against her, running one hand along the fabric, letting it flutter beneath her fingers. Suddenly Sky gasped and pulled back her hand as if she’d been bitten by a snake. She flung the dress to the floor. “Your dress pricked me!” A small dot of blood pooled at her fingertip. She sucked on it and looked fiercely at Willow.

“Serves you right,” Willow said. “Now get out of my room.” She pointed toward the door.

“Did you steal it, Weeping Willow? I bet you did.” Sky sashayed closer to Willow.

Willow clenched her teeth as Sky’s minty breath puffed against her flesh. She hated her stepsister’s pet name for her. She wanted to say so many things, tell Sky off for good. But Sky ruled the roost. A sad fact, and nothing Willow did would change that fact. Even her father usually sided with Sky and her stepmother. There would be no happily ever after for Willow Martin.