The Boutiques
The following Saturday, I drove us to the strip mall with my hands clenched around the steering wheel.
Hope sat dangerously in my chest.
After a year of grief, I was daring to feel it again.
I should have known better.
The first three boutiques used gentler words.
“Limited inventory.”
“Sample sizes only.”
“We could special order, but not in time.”
The message was the same in all three.
They thought she was too big for their dresses.
By the fourth store, I could see Hazel folding inward. Her shoulders crept toward her ears exactly the way they had at Mason’s funeral.
I forced brightness into my voice.
“There’s one more place. The pretty one on Maple.”
“Mom.”
“Just one more, sweetheart.”
The old nickname almost slipped out.
I caught it in time.
That word belonged to Mason. Only Mason.
