Dovetail: A Novel(39)

He turned to look, and a surge of recognition came over him. He knew her. The feeling of familiarity was so strong that without a second thought, he called out, “Hey!”

At the same time, her eyes widened with delight. “Hi there!”

He let go of his end of the cart to walk over to where she stood, his brain searching for how they would have met. School? A job? Mutual friends? He was far from home, so whatever the connection, it was quite a coincidence.

She tilted her head to one side, a puzzled look on her face, as if she were trying to parse out the connection as well. He saw her with surprising clarity, like watching a film where the camera went in for a close-up. She was exceptionally pretty and wore a sleeveless floral dress with a pleated skirt that flared outward and red shoes with a clunky heel and bows on the toes. Her arms were tanned, and her light-brown hair was pulled up into a high ponytail. As he drew closer, she said, “I don’t know you, do I?” She crossed her arms.

“I’m not sure. You seem familiar.” Now Joe felt like an idiot. It helped that she’d had the same reaction. “For a split second, I was certain I knew you, but maybe not. I’m Joe Arneson, by the way.”

“Kathleen Dinsmore.”

They compared notes, trying to figure out when they might have met. They covered where they’d lived, gone to school, and traveled. The only commonality was Pullman, but they’d never crossed paths there. Furthermore, Kathleen had visited Pullman only as a child, and Joe was new in town and had never been there before. Joe had never met her great-aunt, and Kathleen had only spoken to his grandmother on the phone. “Well, that’s weird, then.” Joe scratched his head. “I’ve never had this happen to me.”

Marcia came up from behind Joe. “If you two are going to keep flapping your jaws, I might as well get in a smoke break.” She pulled a pack of Winston Lights out of her front pocket and lit a cigarette with a Bic lighter. The end glowed when she inhaled, and Joe turned back to Kathleen.

“I’ve been going through my grandmother’s old photos. Maybe your great-aunt was in one of them? If she looked like you when she was younger, that would explain why you’re familiar to me.” Maybe it was that simple.

“Maybe,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced. A bell jangled from the front of the store. “I have a customer. I’ll be back.” She walked out with a swish of her skirt.

Joe turned to Marcia. “Is the 1950s look coming back in style?” He didn’t know any women close to his age who wore skirts or dresses unless they were going to a dress-up event like a wedding. The norm, as far as he could tell, was stone-washed jeans, with the preferred brand being Guess. And the ponytail? Not a common sight. It wouldn’t work with the layered haircuts that were currently popular.

“God, I hope not.” Marcia shrugged. “It’s called vintage clothing. We got four trunks and three racks full of it from an estate sale, and most of it fit Kathleen like a glove. You never saw a woman so excited about a bunch of old clothes. She took to it right away, and I haven’t seen her wearing anything else since. She said it’s a new look for a new life.”

“She didn’t like her old life?”

“I wouldn’t know. She doesn’t talk about it.” They stood in silence for another moment while Marcia finished her cigarette. After she dropped the butt and stamped it with the toe of her Doc Martens boot, she snapped her fingers. “Party’s over, pretty boy. Time to get back to work.”

Kathleen returned to the back room just after they had finished emptying the truck. This time she had a dark-colored apron over the front of her skirt. She ran a hand over the credenza, then looked at her fingertips. “It’s clean,” she said incredulously.

Joe beamed. “I know. I used a lot of Murphy’s Oil Soap and elbow grease to get it that way.” A thought plagued him. “That’s not going to lower the value, is it? I didn’t ruin the finish or anything, I don’t think.”

She laughed, clearly amused. “No, cleanliness is generally considered a good thing. It’s just that my aunt warned me that most people bring in things that are filthy. I mean, really disgustingly grungy. Cobwebs and ground-in dirt and grease. But your furniture looks like it’s ready to go on the showroom floor.”

“Well, thanks, I do my best.”

“I really appreciate it.”

Marcia coughed. “While you two are busy giving each other warm fuzzies, I’m going to cover the front of the store.” She sauntered out, thumbs in her pockets.

“Friendly girl,” Joe said. “Very sweet.”

“She came with the place. I’d be lost without her.”

“Ah, well, as long as she serves a purpose.” Joe got out the inventory sheet, and they walked through the room, with Kathleen checking off each item as she identified it. She laughed at one of his entries. “Desk with mirror?” She raised her eyebrows. “That’s what we’re calling it?”

“That’s not a desk with a mirror?”

“No.”

“Antique furniture isn’t my thing,” he admitted. “What’s it really called?”

“A vanity dresser with mirror,” she said, pulling over a desk chair and sitting in front of it to demonstrate. “Say I’m a lady going out for the evening. I would sit here to do my hair, or have someone else do it for me.” She twisted the ponytail into a bun, turned her head slightly to assess it, then let it go. “Also popular? Powdering one’s nose, or adjusting a hat to get it angled just right before securing it with a hat pin.” She looked up at him and winked. “Or, some ladies just liked to stare into the mirror and admire themselves.” She leaned into the mirror. “Look at me! I’m so pretty.” Her eyes were solemn, but her mouth twitched into a grin.