Enchanting Lily (5 page)

She returned to the front of the shop in time to see a man shuffling up the sidewalk. A paying customer? No, it was Harvey Winslinger, her accountant. She’d hired him the day after she’d arrived on the island, at Jasmine’s recommendation. What terrible news did he have to impart?

She rushed to the antique wall mirror to check her hair—wild as usual. And she hadn’t dressed well or put on any makeup. Not that she had any interest in Harvey, who was rotund and married, anyway. But she responded the way a reclusive woman responded to any approaching stranger—by becoming self-conscious. She became aware
of the dust in the shop, its dimness and mustiness. She looked around at the mess of boxes, the carousels crowded with dresses and shirts, the checkout counter and cash register, the stack of credit card slips still wrapped in plastic, the shelf units that needed to be rearranged, and she suddenly felt overwhelmed. How would she ever organize this place?

As Harvey stepped inside, his face sober, she thought she saw a small shadow dart in after him, but she couldn’t be sure.

Kitty

As I slip in past the rotund man, the spirits seep in around me—through wood and stucco, concrete and glass. Their longing and sadness, hope and worry hover in the dusty air. The woman’s former mate is still here, as well—the dark, shapeless ghost of a man who can’t let go.

I hide beneath a rack of dresses, belly to the floor, the smells hitting me full force. Smoke and sweat and dead human skin, barely masked by laundry detergent. Mice, insects, a touch of moss. Perfume, tobacco, tears. The bitterness of an orange peel.

I hear a crow landing on the roof, its talons scratching at the shingles; the soft rumble of a furnace, creaks in the walls, and memories of trees inside the floor. Each plank once belonged to a majestic oak, its past imprinted in the wood.

But the sad woman and the rotund man are only dimly unaware of the many layers of reality, of the mingling of the living and the dead. Of what they bring in with them.

From here, I’ve got a view of the rotund man’s black boots and the sad woman’s gray running shoes. I have a strong urge to unravel her laces, but I refrain.

“Morning, Lily,” the man says in a thick voice, as if he needs to cough up a hairball.

“What are you doing here on a Saturday? Don’t you take weekends off?” Lily pretends to straighten a dress. I can tell when people are pretending. They fidget a lot but accomplish nothing. If I had hands, I wouldn’t waste them.

“Accountants don’t take many holidays in this economy.” The man takes off his raincoat and hangs it on a hook by the door. Raindrops are dripping all over the mat, which reminds me: I’m thirsty. I didn’t see any good puddles outside.

“I’m sorry,” Lily says, although by her tone I can tell she’s not sorry at all. People do that—they lie. “It’s just—I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I should’ve called.” He shuffles over, disturbing a sparkly dress on the way, and sets his briefcase on the countertop. He’s pigeon-toed, a term people use to describe walking with their feet turned inward. But I think of a pigeon, which reminds me that I’m hungry.

I move over between two gowns, where I get a better view of Lily and the man. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, wipes his forehead. “You still don’t have any place to sit.” He looks around the shop.

“Chairs encourage people to linger,” Lily says.

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“I want them to buy what they need and leave. I’m not much for trivial conversation.”

“Whatever you say.” The man snaps open the briefcase and brings out a file folder. Lily peers at what he’s showing her—paper with cryptic writing on it—and her right foot taps the floor. I never understood the power of writing to change a person’s mood, but I love the smoothness of paper, a perfect surface on which to sit.

“I’m afraid you may need a second loan to meet your expenses,” the man says. “I wish I could give you better news—”

“It’s all right.” Her foot taps faster. Her sad heartbeat quickens. “I’ll make do with what I have.”

The man clears his throat. “You’ll have to work hard
to make a profit.” He takes off his glasses, which have steamed up, and wipes them on his sleeve. He looks turtle-like without the spectacles. I’ve seen a few northwest turtles in the wild, but I’ve never tried to approach one.

“I haven’t even been open a month.”

“This is a tough business environment—”

“Thanks, Harvey. I appreciate your help. But I’m confident I can make it work.”

So that’s what he’s called, Harvey. I’ve never understood the human need for a name. Or two, for that matter.

Harvey’s eyebrow twitches. “If it helps at all, my wife enjoys stopping in. She’ll tell all her friends.”

“Very nice of her.”

“But you’ll need more than her friends.”

“I know. I’m optimistic.”

But I sense a current of fear beneath her words.

“Optimism. That’s a bonus in this down economy.” Harvey leaves the file folder on the counter and closes his briefcase. “Call me if you have any questions.” He takes his briefcase and heads to the door. I could leave with him, slink past his legs unnoticed, but the sad woman and the spirits keep me rooted to the spot.

Harvey pulls up his hood as he steps out into the rain.

Lily gazes at the door with a glazed expression, the look people get when they’re thinking too hard. She looks up
toward the ceiling, as if praying, but I’ve already seen what it took her much longer to notice. A moth, fluttering! I didn’t mean to reveal my presence, but I can’t help darting through the shop and jumping onto a table, knocking some ridiculously fragile object to the floor, where it shatters into a rainbow of tiny pieces.

Lily

How had this fluffy white cat slipped into the shop? Was this the shadow she’d seen, the slight movement at the corner of her eye? Was it the same cat that had scratched at the front door in the middle of the night? Had the poor thing been lurking near the cottage for days?

For a moment, as the light caught the cat’s fur, she thought she saw an aura, a subtle rainbow of color surrounding the cat, as if the creature was not of this world. Most peculiar and ethereal—one lambent eye was blue, the other green. An angel cat.

But when the cat moved into shadow, Lily saw merely a furry animal with dirty paws—a vagrant in search of sanctuary. The cat could be feral, sick, or rabid. And now a precious vintage tea set lay in pieces on the floor—a broken wedding gift from Josh’s mother. The jagged shards reflected the sunlight, forming a chaotic mosaic on the floor.
What a grand opening for my boutique. A tea set worth a fortune, destroyed in a heartbeat.
But then, anything beloved could shatter without warning, without hope of repair. Lily knew this only too well.

She had to get rid of the cat, so she propped the front door open. The island air rushed in thicker than usual, like syrup. She waved at the cat, trying to shoo it toward the door. But the cat would have none of it. The stubborn creature jumped onto an antique oak table and batted at a moth. The moth must’ve been inside the shop the whole time, unless Harvey had brought in the insect as well. Now the moth fluttered upward and landed on the ceiling fixture.

Lily didn’t have time for this, not when her shop phone was ringing. Not when she needed to set up a window display, maybe a sidewalk sale, carousels of little black dresses. She wondered what to do. Call Animal Control? Was there even an animal control in this small town? Maybe if she pretended to ignore the cat, it would go away.

But part of her longed for a companion. What if she allowed the cat to stay? Would it keep destroying things? As Lily swept up the pieces of the ruined teapot, the fluffy creature stretched and plopped down on an original Tabriz vintage carpet.

“No, not that one.” Lily yanked the rug away and brushed off the fur. The carpet held precious memories. Josh had found the rug, a rare specimen, at a north Berkeley estate sale in California. Now the weave was marred by muddy paw prints.

The cat gazed at Lily then opened its mouth, but only a ragged squeak came out. She had no idea how to pick up an animal without getting bitten or scratched. She’d never had a pet. Her parents had preferred to control their environment, and that meant no unpredictable creatures in the house. But secretly, Lily had always wanted a pet. And here the cat was, looking at her with those softly illuminated eyes. But she couldn’t attach herself to anything else living, anything that could die on her.

The moth was in motion again in a frantic whirring of tiny wings, the cat in hot pursuit. As if in a nightmare, Lily raced to catch up, but the cat leaped in an arc, claws splayed out, coming down on Lily’s vintage wedding gown, ripping a gash right down the center of the silk bodice.

“No, no! Not the dress!” The mannequin tipped
toward her, but she caught it just in time. “Get out of here, you silly cat!”

“Hello?” a young female voice said behind her. “I heard someone screaming. Were you robbed? Are you okay? I’ll call the police!”

Kitty

Police? I’m out of here. I’ve been down that path, the one that leads to the animal shelter. I’m not going there again. But somehow I’m trapped in this narrow, dusty space beneath a monstrous slab of furniture. Wish I could’ve caught that moth—

“No need for the police,” Lily says. “I wasn’t robbed. A cat ripped my wedding gown. I can’t believe this. Classic Versace.”

From here, I can see only the bottom of the girl who came in—her skinny jeans and red running shoes with
new white laces. She smells of watermelon shampoo and bubble gum, paper and licorice, lip gloss and raspberry perfume. She came from a breakfast of eggs and orange juice, a house of dogs and cats, a sad father who kissed her cheek before he left for the day. Her heart beats with its own kind of loss. But beneath the melancholy lies the resilient brightness of hope, the freshness of youth.

“So you screamed like you were dying,” she says. “Just because some little cat ripped an ancient wedding dress?”

I’m not exactly little, per se. I’ve seen smaller.

“The dress is not ancient,” Lily says. “It’s vintage.” I hear rustling, glimpse her gray sneakers as she walks toward the counter, the wedding gown brushing past me. She’s removed the dress from the statue.

“I thought vintage was, like, old wine.” The girl’s red shoes follow Lily’s sneakers.

“Vintage means the best from the past.”

This is what I smell in this shop, in the sweat and salty tears. Past joy and pain that humans never wash away. An inky presence, carrying a bitter scent of the afterworld, slides toward Lily and the girl, perhaps attracted by their warmth, their aliveness.

“It’s still about old stuff then,” the girl says. “So you got married in that dress?”

“A while ago.” Lily’s shoes come toward me again. She
gets down on her belly and peers at me. “Come on out, kitty.” I back up against the wall. From here, I have an exaggerated view of her nose.

“She’s scared,” the girl says.

Nothing scares me, except certain machines like cars and something called a Vacuum Cleaner.

The girl flops down beside Lily. As she leans forward, her red glasses slip down, and she hastily pushes them up. Now I have a view of two hairless human noses that can’t catch a scent to save their lives. Lily and the girl don’t seem to notice the inky spirit sliding past them, trying to take on a shape. This troubled being has lingered here a while. And behind the longtime presence, the amorphous aura of Lily’s former mate hovers, longing to touch her.

The girl’s wavy reddish hair falls over her face. Another whiff of watermelon shampoo. “So where’s your husband? Does he work in the city?”

“I don’t have a husband anymore.” The way Lily speaks, the real story hides beneath her words, like mice hoping not to be found.

“You guys split up?”

“Something like that.”

“Bummer.” The girl pushes a lock of red hair out of her eyes. “So you’re opening up some kind of shop full of old stuff. I mean, vintage.”

“I’m trying, but right now I have a problem: the cat. Any ideas?”

The girl sits back beside Lily, the ripped knees of her jeans pointing toward me. “I bet the cat used to live here. Cats can travel thousands of miles to return to their place of origin.”

Lily hesitates, as if unsure how to respond. “The previous owner didn’t mention—”

“Either way, she’s hungry. Give her tuna. Tuna will make her come out, I guarantee it.”

“How do you know it’s a girl?”

“Just guessing. You can’t keep calling her ‘it.’”

I slink forward. I’m glad nobody can see me drooling.

Lily gets up. “I think this cat was here once before, and I fed her tuna then, too. I might have another can in the kitchen.”

“Do you sleep here, too?” The girl looks around as if she might see a bed stashed nearby.

“I sleep upstairs.”

“That’s pretty cool. You eat here, sleep here, and you could totally have a shop cat in here.”

Shop cat. I like the sound of that—except for the plethora of spirits. They don’t all belong in here.

“It’s not that I don’t want a cat,” Lily says slowly. “But I’ve got a lot of work to do, and I’m not sure I’m ready…Anyway,
she must belong to someone. What if we take her to a shelter? Is there a humane society nearby?”

My hackles rise, and a soft rumbling sound rolls in from somewhere. It’s me, growling. No way am I going there.

“Not a chance.” The girl’s face contorts as if she accidentally sucked on a lemon. “Meow City is our only shelter on the island and it’s way full.”

I’m glad for me but not for my comrades who may have ended up there.

“Then what should I do?” Lily asks.

“If she doesn’t belong to a neighbor, then you could talk to my dad. He’s the vet up at Island Animal Clinic. I’ll call over there.”

Vet, animal clinic—not my favorite words. I’ll have to escape.

“Can you take her?” Lily says. “I’ve got things to do.”

“The clothes aren’t going anywhere. Didn’t they belong to dead people?” The girl gets up, her face disappearing from view.